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ohtobeleah · 11 months

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Scream // Jake Seresin

🔪 Summary: When home alone on Halloween Eve, someone keeps calling you from an unknown number. As fear begins to consume you and panic builds as you run for your life, the masked stranger really takes advantage of the pretty girl he’s decided to hunt down.

🔪 Warnings: Mask kink, CNC (consensual non-consent) knife play, unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), choking, hair pulling, dirty talk, degradation, creampie, rough sex. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Ghost Face likeness/cosplay.

🔪 Word Count: 7.6k

🔪 Author Note: Happy Halloween ya filthy animals. Hope you enjoy this X-rated Ohtobeleah Halloween Special! Concepts are open for this one too! Especially with that ending….

Spooky season. It had to be your favourite time of year. The fall brought so many changes and flavours and aesthetics you just couldn’t resist. From the pumpkin spiced everything’s to the burnt embers and oranges that littered the trees that lined the sidewalks. To the overconsumption of old Halloween classics and seasonal house decor that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Halloween was and always would be, yourself favourite holiday, and for that you thanked the pagans for their belief system many centuries ago. Without them? Why else would you have an excuse to sit in your living room with what felt like an endless supply of single wrapped sweets and chocolates that you should very well have been saving for the trick or treaters that would be roaming the streets of suburban Texas the following night.

“Is that how you wanna spend your summer?” You’d seen IT probably a million times before, but it was always a good start. “Inside of an arcade?” Eddie Kaspbrak asked little Richie Tozier as you popped another Reese's peanut butter cup into your mouth.

“Beats spending it inside your mother.” You couldn’t help but to say the line out loud knowing exactly what comeback was coming around the corner. Like clockwork little Richie said the same thing he always said and you laughed like an adolescent. Yeah, the IT Saga was always a good place to start before moving into the Halloween Collection and Scream Series.

You were what some would call ‘Basic’ But to you basic was better than being overly ambitious and lacking in complete pop culture appreciation for the movies that were, in your very not so professional opinion, the backbone of the spooky season film industry.

In need of another glass of Prosecco or perhaps something a little stronger and gin based, you made your way into the kitchen after you’d paused your movie. The house smells of cinnamon and pumpkin, there was no escape from the ever present and consuming aroma of fall as you took a moment to decide if you were going to finish that bottle of Prosecco or move on to the big boys. The gin sours. After all, you were home all alone on Halloween Eve and there was nothing stopping you from getting a little tipsy in the quiet and comfortable silence of your humble abode.

Even your Flyboy boyfriend, Jake Seresin, wasn’t coming home. The original plan had been he was taking some much needed leave to come home and spend two full weeks back in the arms of the woman he loved so dearly. But things changed, life happened, and all of a sudden you were facing the reality that you would be alone for the Halloween holiday head on.

You couldn’t blame him, it was just the way the job went sometimes. Things came up, plans changed overnight and soon enough, four entire months had passed since you’d last seen Lieutenant Commander Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, or as he was more affectionately known to you as, Flyboy.

It was just the way the pumpkin spiced cookie crumbled this time around, but Jake had promised the minute Robert Floyd was back on deck after his four weeks of leave for paternity were over, he was racing back to you.

In the middle of your silent thoughts on when you’d get to see your boyfriend of three years again, your phone began to vibrate back on the coffee table where you’d left it. The ringer had been silent—but the vibration against the glass was all you needed to hear as you padded back into the living room. Still drinkless and very much sober, something that needed to change very quickly if you were going to enjoy your time alone.

You anticipated the call to be Jake, but when the caller ID didn’t read ‘Flyboy’ with one of those obnoxious pink hearts next to it, you frowned. All that was staring back at you was an unknown number, one you hadn’t seen before. One that didn’t look familiar or resemble any contact you might have accidentally deleted from your contacts.

You’d heard what could become of curious minds, but that didn’t stop you from swiping the pad of your thumb across the vibrating screen before you held your phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked cautiously, already wondering who could be calling you this late who didn’t know you.

“Hello?” A voice you didn’t recognise mimicked your greeting.

“Yes?” You grimaced at your own stupidity for a second as you made your way back into the kitchen.

“Who is this?” The man on the other end of the phone asked like he wasn’t the one who called you.

“Hmm—Well who are you trying to reach?” You tried to remain polite, for all you knew as you reached up for the bottle of gin, it truly could have been a mistake. A wrong number situation if you will.

“What number is this?” The man asked, a little more confused.

“Well what number are you trying to reach?” Your patience was going a little thin, but nevertheless you remained polite.

“I don’t know.” The man on the end of the line sounded as if he shrugged with a cocky little smirk. Was this some sort of prank call?

“I think you have the wrong number.” As if you were going to play along. Prank calls around this time of year were a dime a dozen and you just weren’t in the mood for childish antics.

“Do I?” He asked, almost shocked, like he knew that he had the right number all along. Because he did.

“It happens.” You shrugged it off with a quick eye roll, silently masking your annoyance. “Take it easy man.” You ended the call with a quick sigh and placed your phone on the counter as you went about making yourself a stronger, more appropriate beverage. The night was still somewhat young and you wanted a buzz. But then, once again, your phone rang with that same unknown number. At first you weren’t going to answer, but something inside you told you it could just be one of Jake’s friends pulling a prank.

“Hello?” You tried to mask the annoyance in your tone but it must have come across as clear as day as you answered the phone. Same unknown number, same smug voice.

“I’m sorry—I guess I dialled the wrong number.” The man on the other end sounded like he smiled through his words.

“So why’d you dial it again?” It was a genuine question, why would someone who dialled the wrong number dial it again? On purpose.

“To apologise.” The man replied rather quickly as you worked to pour yourself a rather strong shot of gin. It was going straight into the shaker.

“Well consider your apology accepted.” How stupid was the guy? “Goodbye now—“

“Wait, wait—don’t hang up.” He nearly begged, you could hear the desperation in his voice, the need to keep you on the line. What was this weirdo playing at?

“Why would I not?” You frowned, stilling your movements to pounder this entire situation. Who the fuck was this guy? What did he want? Did you know him? Was this some sort of prank?

“Because I wanna talk to you for a second.” Oh okay, now you got it.

“They’ve got numbers for that kinda shit.” You chuckled to yourself under your breath. “I ain't that kinda girl.” You didn't even bother saying goodbye this time, you simply pressed the end call button and went about making yourself a drink.

By the time you got settled back on the couch amongst a sea of throw blankets and halloween themed pillows, the TV had dimmed. If anything that was a clear indication as to how much time you had actually wasted talking to that random creeper on the phone.

As you got settled, the buzzing vibration of your phone on the coffee table scared the ever living Christ from you. You groaned when you saw it, that same unknown number. With a huff, you answered.

“Why don’t you wanna talk to me?” Your heart nearly sunk at the harshness the man used as you held your phone up against your ear.

“Who the hell is this?” You frowned again, this time you weren't playing games. You’d spent enough time entertaining this lunatic and now it was time to get to the bottom of who the fuck was messing with you.

“You tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine.” The man chuckled to himself as he watched you get up off the lounge and slowly approach the nearest window to have a cautious look outside.

“I don’t think so.” The only thing you could see were the small pumpkin lights that boarded the front porch as they softly illuminated the stone in an orangey hume. Besides those small plastic pumpkin lights? There was nothing but darkness until the street.

“What’s that noise?” The man asked, trying to keep the conversation going. He sounded far too intrigued by you and your surroundings.

“I’m trying to watch a movie, now would you quit calling me?” You hissed through a huff as you made your way back to the couch. You were going to have to rewind your movie now, completely having lost track of where you were up to because of this lunatic.

“What movie is it?” This game was becoming old and cheap, you couldn’t help but to roll your eyes as you sat back down and fixed the fuzzy grey blanket that was one of Jake’s favourites. God you missed him, wished he was here. “The one you’re trying to watch?”

“IT, Chapter One.” There was a sharp, get to the point, I’m over this damn conversation tone in your voice as you picked up the remote to rewind the movie.

“Oh so it’s a scary movie?” The man sounded as if he raised an eyebrow at your explanation.

“Well I tell ya what Sherlock Holmes—“ Once again, you weren’t trying to be nice, so the sarcasm dripped from your mouth like liquid candy. “You’re onto something there.”

“Do you like scary movies?” He prolonged the question rather politely, but you didn’t miss the way his voice dropped an octave as your heart quickened inside your chest.

“I do—“ Your house was far too quiet for your liking as you spoke on the phone to this complete stranger. You’d all of a sudden lost all interest in your movie as you looked back to the front door. Did you lock it?

“What’s your favourite scary movie then?”

“I’m not sure, there’s a few that I could choose.” In an overprotective manner you walked back to the front door to check if it was locked. It was.

“Oh come on now, you’ve gotta have a favourite scary movie.” The man asked as he watched you walk around your house to check all the locks on all the windows and back door. “What comes to mind?”

“Fine, Halloween—“ None of your attempts to secure your humble abode would avail to anything. “You know, with the guy in the white mask that walks around stalking babysitters.” Because the man you were currently talking to was already inside your home. The home you shared with your loving, cock sure, flyboy boyfriend who was still in damn San Diego.

“Yeah, I know it.” The man replied softly, he was just trying to keep you on the line.

“So—what’s your favourite? Since you needed to know mine so desperately.” It even surprised you, but before you could stop yourself from entertaining this creeper any further the words had already escaped. You mentally had to slap yourself across the face for that one. That one was all on you.

“How about you guess?” The man chuckled as he watched you walk back from the back door to the living room where once again, you sat back down on the couch.

“Is it Nightmare on Elm Street?” Why oh why were you doing this to yourself?

“Is that the one where the guy had knives for fingers?” The man sounded like he had a smile on his face, like he was enjoying this a little too much. Like he was just waiting for the right moment to come around.

“Yeah, Freddie Kroger.” There was an ever increasing pit in your stomach that wouldn’t go away, something wasn’t right about this entire interaction. Who the fuck was this guy and why was he calling you on Halloween Eve.

“Freddie, yeah that’s right, I guess I do like that movie, it’s pretty scary, don’t you think?

“Well, the first one was but the rest sucked.” Again, why the fuck were you entertaining this guy.

“So—you gotta boyfriend?” There it was, the last of many red flags. The first three being the late night unknown phone calls.

“Why? Are you gonna ask me out on a date, Mr. Cold Call guy?” A little teasing wouldn’t do any harm you thought to yourself as you popped a piece of candy into your mouth.

“Maybe—“ The line went silent for a moment as your heart rang in your ears. “So? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“I do—“ You didn’t even need to lie, you did in fact have a very loved, very attractive, very not here at the moment boyfriend. “So, unfortunately for you there’s not gonna be a date.”

“How could there ever be a date when you still haven’t told me your name?”

“Why do you wanna know my name?” The next few seconds of time slowed down into nothing as your heart sank into your stomach and your head rang in fear. The man you’d been talking to with the rough voice and the polite responses had you turning seven colours of bad shit as he spoke.

“Because I wanna know who I’m looking at—“

“What did you just say?” You shot up off the couch as you looked around your home frozen in fear.

“I said I wanna know who I’m talking to.” The man tried to plan it off cool, calm and oh so collected but he knew he’d been heard and heard correctly.

“That’s not what you said.” You could feel your heart hammering against your chest like it was trying to escape, but your feet refused to move.

“What do you think I said?” He egged you on as you heard what sounded like footsteps coming from the laundry and tears began to well in your eyes.

“Look, I gotta go, this is starting to get fucking creepy and my boyfriends gonna be home any minute.” The man on the end of the line could hear the shake in your voice as you tried to hang up and get out of this situation. He chose to play on your fear a little more.

“Wait, I thought we were gonna go on a date?” He questioned rather quickly as you tried to regulate your breathing and get your feet to move. This wasn’t happening, this was like the beginning of some slasher 90’s horror movie where the ignorant girl gets killed for not using her brain.

“Nah—you’re dreaming.” You pulled the phone away from your ear but froze in fear when you heard the man scream down the phone at you.

“Don’t you fucking hang up on me.” He spat with venom in his tone.

“Listen asshole—“ You spat back as you finally let the anger overtake the fear inside you.

“No you listen here you little bitch—“ He argued back as he watched you storm into the kitchen looking for a weapon to defend yourself with, only then did you realise the knives in the knife block had all been removed. “Hang up on me and I’ll gut you like a fish!”

“Is this some sort of sick joke to you?” It was like nothing you had ever experienced before. God you wished Jake was here right now, he would have told you not to answer an unknown number.

“More like a game—“ You should have listened to the little voice of his that lived in your mind. You never should have answered the phone. “Can you handle that—Y/n?” The way he said you named made all the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention.

“Can you see me?” You asked as you looked out the window once more, when there wasn’t an immediate response you growled into the phone. “Listen, I am two seconds away from calling the police—“

“I don’t think they’re gonna make it in time sweetheart.” The man chuckled rather menacingly and it made your blood boil. “But they’ll definitely get here with just enough time to see what your insides look like.”

“Ahh!” The doorbell rang and you swore your heart nearly exploded when it did. “Who’s there!” You shouted as you back away, screaming and crying into the phone. “Who’s fucking there!”

“You should never say who’s there, don’t you watch scary movies?” The man chuckled. “It’s a deathwish.”

“You’ve well and truly had your fun, now please—leave me alone.” You whimper for mercy, this was all too much.

“Or else what?” The man asked curiously, he wanted to know exactly what you were going to do about all this. He was, after all, the one with the upper hand.

“Or else my boyfriend will be here any second and he’ll be pissed when he finds out what cruel sick bastards been harassing me!”

“Isn’t he outta town?” How did? How the hell did he know? Had you told the mystery man fucking with you.

“No!” You denied the fact that Jake was out of town, still stuck on base in San Diego when he should have been here. “No he’s not, and he’s big and fucking jacked and he flys fucking military planes for a damn living and he’ll kick the ever living shit out of you!” You shouted into your phone as you backed away from any door and window you could possibly get away from. Spinning around to make sure you had good enough vision of the whole house.

“Oh yeah?” The man laughed on the other end of the line. “Sure, I’m shaking in my boots honey.” There was no question he could tell he was scaring you beyond belief, he’d watched you for the better half of five minutes frantically rush around the house locking all the doors and windows. “His name wouldn’t happen to be Jake? would it?” This was going to be so much fun.

“How do you know his name?” There was a clear whimper in your voice as tears streamed down your cheeks. Fear was caught in your throat like a ball of wax, choking you completely.

“Turn around—“ Slowly, you hung up the phone you held with a vice grip and turned around. To your absolute horror, there he was, the man who had been on the phone with you. Only you recognised the outfit with ease—it was a GhostFace costume. A really good one too. One that wasn’t from Dollar General the night before Halloween. This one had been thought out, the costume had intent and it was detailed.

“Boo.” Was all he said as he took a step towards you. “Aw look at you.” He chuckled to himself as he approached and you remained still in complete and utter fear. “A little scared are you?”

“How—how did you get inside my house?” It was a stupid question to ask, but as the man in the GhostFace mask approached you, you felt like you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.

“You looked me in?” He simply explained as he showed you a shape, clearly brand new knife. “Now we’re all alone, with no one to interrupt.” It was slow, but the man behind the mask moved the knife closer and closer to your chin until he was using the knife's edge to tilt your chin up.

“I—“ Before you could speak, the man brought the knife down by his side and tilted his head. The silence that followed was all consuming as he just stared at your frozen, shaking and clearly terrified state.

“Y/n?” He growled from behind the mask, all you did was stare at the mask. That all consuming, all encompassing mask that made your heart beat so hard inside your chest you swore your sternum was about to break “Run.” Was all he barked and that’s all it took for your flight or flight to kick in.

“Help!” You shouted as you turned in the opposite direction and ran towards your front door. “Help me! Someone!” The masked man was right on your heels with heavy strides that made the timber flooding of your home creak with anticipation and excitement.

Oh to be hunted, oh to be caught.

You tried your best to get the front door unlocked in time but you just weren’t quick enough, or perhaps being caught was exactly what you wanted to happen. Just as you opened the front door and took two strides out onto the front porch—an all encompassing arm wrapped itself around your waist and the other wrapped itself around your mouth.

Your eyes shot out of your skull as you felt yourself being dragged back inside your house. Your feet slipped under the anxiety of it all and soon enough you were on the ground being dragged back across the living room by the man in the GhostFace mask.

“What’s the matter darlin’ I thought you said your boyfriend would be home any minute?” The man teased as he manhandled you up by your hair, forcing you up to your knees as your own hand came up to grip around his wrist, giving him two very firm squeezes in a row. Green, you were emerald green and everything in between as you clenched your teeth together and let your tears fall free. “I don’t see him anywhere?”

It was like nothing you’d ever felt before, the feeling of being completely overpowered by someone. Being told you had no control, no say.

“Fuck. You.” You spat as the man worked to pull off the black cloak he was wearing, revealing under a simple outfit of dark blue jean, a nice brown belt that matched the leather of his boots and a white-T.

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna do.” You didn't register what that meant at first, but as you watched the man in the mask unbuckle his belt with one hand as he held onto your hair tightly with the other, that's when you started to feel the all too familiar heat pooling between your legs.

“No!” You shouted as you tried to rip your hair out of his tight grasp. “No! Get away from me!” Kicking and screaming you tried your best to free yourself from your captor's hold, but it was to no avail.

“My cocks been aching for your mouth since I saw you pop that candy into it.” There was a distinct primal need dripping from every word the masked man spoke as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down ever so slightly to reveal what you had been anticipating since before your phone rang for the first time that night. “Now you’re gonna suck me off like a good fucking girl before I gut you.” The threat could’ve been taken suggestively or literally, but as the man pumped his entire fist around the throbbing velvet length right in front or your face, you could have sworn you drooled. But you couldn't break character, not yet, it was far too early and you wanted to see just how far this could actually go before you had to tap out.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You turned your face to the right to try and save yourself from the ever looming sexual act you knew you were about to perform. Pre-cum oozed from the throbbing tip that looked exactly like the colour of your boyfriend's lips. A mix between pink and red, the perfect soft flesh colour that you adored. It looked just as pretty on his cock, but you would tell him that, not right now.

Not when he was dressed up as your favourite Ghost Face Killer for Halloween Eve.

“Uh uh uh–” His voice still sounded like his, but with the mask it muffled the familiar twang you had leant to love. Without that comfort this felt all too real, you weren't going to lie and say you weren't a little scared. But that's exactly what you had asked for when Jake had agreed to do this for you. To play into one of your biggest and longest standing sexual fantasies. “Don't you turn that pretty mouth away from me, we’re just getting to know each other.”

“I'm not sucking your dick.” You hissed through gritted teeth as the masked man crouched down a little further and used his free hand to squish your cheeks together as you kneeled before him. “Fuck you!”

“You have two options here.” He growled from behind the mask, if you looked close enough, you could see those familiar lips of his behind the darkness. “Either you do what I say, everything, without a fucking fuss–” There was a very distinct pause that the masked man made you sit in contemplation in before he told you your second option. The one he knew you wouldn't like very much. “Oh i'll just kill you, right here right now, no one will hear you scream, no one will know who did it, you’ll become a forgotten first kill because let's face it sweetheart, no one really gives a shit unless you're a final girl.”

There had to be someone psychologically wrong with your brian and how it was hard wired to experience pleasure, because in that moment, in that very millisecond of time, your core throbbed at the thought of being used against your very willing will. The idea of consensual non consent had been brought up a few times, by you of course. Jake took a little while to come around. He wasn’t too keen on the whole idea of forcing himself on you, he wasn’t sure how it all worked, but once he understood the concept, once he understood how to act and how to communicate while you were deep, deep in that subspace scene he knew you loved, it became as easy as riding a bike for him to please you.

“Well?” It was like he could see the cogs turning inside your mind as your eyes never left his from behind the mask. “What’s it gonna be?” When you didn’t answer and instead involuntarily shook in his grasp, Jake took a split second to check in on you. He stood up slowly, letting the hand that had once been squeezing your cheeks caress the side of your face as he pulled you closer to his hardened sex by your hair. “What colour?”

“Green.” You replied and within a second, Jake had made your mind up for you and was guiding his tip between your lips.

“Suck my dick sweetheart, come on, be a good girl for me.” It was hard to pretend to protest, but you tried to keep your mouth shut until Jake was gripping your hair a little tighter until you gasped at the pain. “That’s it, good fucking girl.”

With eager hips Jake growned at the feeling of your mouth taking him in, so warm and tight around his throbbing girth. The mask he wore, the one that seemed to get you off to the heights of heights was humid from his open mouth breathing. But like hell was he about to ruin this roll play, he’d rather pass the fuck out than ruin the illusion the both of you had so perfectly orchestrated.

“Oh god your boyfriend’s a lucky guy isn’t he?” You couldn’t help but to look up as the man in the mask looked down at you. Fuck—your panties were soaking, arousal pooled between your folds as you felt the very tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.

The eye contact was intense, you knew it was Jake but something about that damn mask had your head spinning so violently that your eyes watered with fear and need. You wanted to fight, to run, to fake the unwillingness to cooperate just to see how far Jake would go.

“Don’t fight it baby—“ He growled as you strained to stop your head from bobbing up and down his length. “You’re doing such a good job, fucking whore of a thing aren’t you?” The feeling of his slightly calloused hands keeping your head right where he needed it to be was pure pleasure—being used like this, being told what to do even if you didn’t want to do it. “Fuck look at those tears, what are they for huh?”

The man in the Ghostface mask, your boyfriend, Jake, dragged his thumb across your cheek to collect the tears that fell as he fucked your face to a rhythm that had him weak in the knees.

“Ohhh god I’m so glad I didn’t decide to kill you straight away. Stupid girl—“ He went on to say as the tip of his hardened and throbbing cock bashed against your throat, making you gag around him before he held you still. He made sure that you couldn’t breathe, not while you were choking on him and only him. “Maybe this will teach you not to answer unknown numbers, there’s some fucked up people in this world sweetheart.” He teased as you pushed against his jean clad thighs, trying to push him away so that you could feel the sweet relief of oxygen returning to your lungs. “What did I just fucking say huh!?”

“Let me ggoo—!” You screamed as the man in the mask pulled himself out of your mouth and let you go. He watched with a curious held hilt as you crawled away crying and gasping for air. “Get away from me!”

Jake pumped his hand up and down his shaft a few laboured times before he stuffed himself back into his jeans and went after you with heavy strides. You hadn’t gotten far, but oh how thrilling and invigorating was it to be hunted in your own home.

“Gee that boyfriend of yours is running real behind on schedule isn’t he?” The man in the mask chuckled as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, you were hiding just behind the countertop. “Come out, come out wherever you are.” He cooed childish as he stepped slowly, the floorboard squeaked under his boot as he did so. “Y/n, I know you’re in here sweetheart, why don’t you come out so I can cut you up.”

You were careful not to make a sound as you placed your hands over your mouth and pulled your knees up close to your chest. Every second that passed? Your heart threatens to break out of your body. You knew deep down that the guy in the mask was Jake, but he was doing this a little too well.

“You wanna play psycho killer?” You mumbled under your breath. You really didn’t know how you were going to get away, but you knew that the man in the mask was about to come around the corner and see you hiding clear as day. “Fine!!”

As soon as Jake rounded the corner he was met with you first to his stomach with enough force that it had him doubling over. His moment of weakness gave you five seconds to run out of the kitchen and straight up the stairs. The plan all along has been to eventually end up in your bedroom.

As you ran down the hall towards your bedroom, the man in the mask was quick to catch up. After all, this man was a highly skilled Naval Aviator who was fighting fit. You never stood a chance at getting away.

“Ahhhh!” When you saw him in the mirror standing right behind you as you looked for a place to hide, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. This was what it was like to be hunted down, used, tormented.

“What’s the matter Y/n?” The man teased as he tilted his head and stepped towards you, pointing the knife he held in his hand your way. “It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Leave me alone!!” The sound that came from you was something straight out of a horror movie as the man stepped closer and closer, completely ignoring your cries and pleas for him to stop.

“Get on the bed—“ Was all he demanded as he pointed the knife to the mattress. “I said, get on the fucking bed!”

“You’re gonna have to force me or kill me because I’m not letting you touch me again.” The standoff continued in the all consuming silence of your bedroom as your core throbbed and soaked your delicate panties. This was it, all the talks, the explanations, the ideas. They all boiled down to this moment.

You trusted Jake Seresin with your life, so much so you let him in on a fantasy of yours, a kink so deep and nasty that you’d never told any of your ex boyfriends about. You didn’t trust them to do this with you. But Jake? Ten fold.

“Colour?” It would be one of the last check in points before you got exactly what you wanted, what you so desperately craved. Jake remained in character as he once again looked you right in the eyes through his mask.

“Green.” At your whimperious admission, Jake lunged at you with so much force it truly knocked the wind right out of your lungs. He had you pinned on the mattress within seconds of your admission. “GET OFF ME!”

“Shut the fuck up.” The man’s hand came up to tightly wrap about your throat, squeezing the sides to restrict your breathing. “Now listen here and listen good, I’m gonna fuck you real good, and after you cum all over me—I’m gonna make sure no one ever finds out what happened to poor sweet Y/n when she was murdered in her own damn home.”

You were manhandled by your neck and hips to flip over onto your stomach into that position you knew your body loved the most. Doggy style. Something about the angel always sent Jake's length so deep you swore the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with every thrust.

You felt the edge of the man’s sharp blade run slowly over the fabric of your pyjama shirt, directly down your spine as you shivered under the touch.

“I bet you're a tight little thing.” Too afraid to move, you felt the elastic of your pyjamas pants slipping past your hips until the chill of your bedroom kissed your exposed cheeks. “Holy fuck look at you, you’ve ruined your panties.” The man growled as you heard him shimmering out of his jeans behind you. “Someone likes to be taunted, don’t you darlin’?”

Again you could do anything but remain silent and shaking in fear as you felt the man’s hands trail up under your shirt, across your smooth ass and finally down between your dripping folds. The anticipation was all consuming.

“That boyfriend of yours is a lucky guy—“ You saw a flash of white light illuminate your bedroom for a brief moment as you felt a hand pressing your head down into the mattress. Holy mother of god he’s taking photos. “I’ll need these for later.” He admitted as another flash went off. Photo after photo.

“Please, please don’t do this—“ You cried as you felt the tip of his cock sliding up and down through your folds. Collecting all your arousal as he did so to slick up his length to fit right inside. “Please—“

“I love it when they beg.” Was all the masked man said before he was pushing himself inside you. Your eyes rolled so far back into your head at the overwhelming pleasure that you swore you saw your own soul. “Ohh fughh—such a pretty pussy you’ve got, go on, scream for me darlin, no one's gonna hear you.”

“AHHHH!” With every frightful, pleasurable thrust you screamed into the mattress. “Stop! Stop please!”

“Oh but you feel so fucking good.” The man growled as his free hand that wasn’t pressing your face into the mattress came up to slap your ass. You jolted from the sting. “Look at that, so reactive.”

Again you felt another sharp slap as the man behind you quickened his pace.

“Ah fuck!”

“That’s it baby, I know you love it—“ The man let go of your head as his hands came to hold

Your hips tighter than ever before, pulling you back into him as you tried to get away. “I know you love this, being used, don’t run away, stay right here on my cock.”

Jake didn’t let up as he fucked deep and hard into your push from behind. You couldn’t see the mask, but the idea of him wearing it was even to have you seeing stars. Every thrust brought you closer to that ever looming orgasm that threatened to crash over you and every slap against your ass sent you further and further into that sun space where you could just feel and exist.

“Dirty fucking thing look at you, fucking a killer.” The man taunted you as he pulled you up by your hair so that your back was flush against his chest. When did he remove his shirt? Was it when he took his jeans off? Did he also take the mask off? “Unbutton your shirt.” He hissed as he slowed down the pace to a barely there rhythm. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you like it was dying to coat your velvet walls.

“I said!” The man held the knife to your throat as he fucked you slowly from behind, keeping your back pressed against his chest. “Unbutton your shirt—“

With shaking hands and the inability to fully comprehend how pleasure filled and ignited your nerve endings were, you slowly but surely unbuttoned your shirt, leaving you in nothing but your bra. The black lace one Jake adored to no end.

It matched the panties you’d ruined, the ones the man had dragged down your legs along with your pyjamas pants.

“What colour?” When you didn’t answer straight away Jake frowned behind his Ghostface mask and dragged the knife away from your neck along your sternum towards your core. “Sweetheart, it’s me, I’m here, what colour are you?” The gentle words broke through the blinding spell of the role play situation you were in. It was all fake, you were safe, Jake would never do anything to hurt you. “It’s me, just me.”

“Green—“ That was all Jake needed before he was pushing you back down onto the mattress, he manhandled you expertly so that he was on top, sliding back into you like you were his home, like you were made just for him. “Ahh! Fuck!!”

“Naughty little thing—“ He growled behind the mask that hovered over you. His hips slammed into yours as he hovered over you with a hand on either side of your body. “I can feel you trembling.”

That coil had begun to wind to new heights as you wrapped your legs around Jake's waist and dragged your nails down his back. You were getting close, oh so close to that orgasmic euphoria you’d been searching for since that first phone call.

“Ohh fuck yes I can feel you gripping my dick, ohhh fuck, that’s it sweetheart, bet you wish that boyfriend of yours could see you like this huh?” The taunting mixed with the rhythm of Jake's rutts we’re sending you towards the edge of the cliff face you wanted so desperately to jump off. The mask that was staring you right in the face though, that’s what was doing it the most for you. “You wanna come? Wanna cum like a little whore all over my dick?”

Needy little cries were all you could reply with as the man in the mask trailed one hand down between your bodies to circle the pad of his thumb against your sensitive bundle of nerves. “I’m close too, which means you’re gonna be full of my cum, dripping, completely stuffed full of my load.” He moaned through the mask as your back arched and your eyes rolled. You were so deep into your sun space Jake hardly recognised the please in your eyes. “Colour?”

“I’m coming!” It was all you had the energy to say before your cries and whimpers and desperate pleas all mixed together into a babbling mantra of euphoric high. Your back arched all the way up till your stomach was pressed against Jakes and he was following within seconds. Seeing you like this, so spent and fucked out and blissfully under control made the orgasm that was pooling at the base of his shaft shoot up to overcome his entire being.

“Ah shit! Fuck fuck fuck fuck, baby yes—ahhhh Christ!” It was one of the most intense orgasms Jake Seresin had ever had. The load he pumped inside you was thick and heavy and dripped around his shaft as he continued to fuck you deeper and fuck you through your own high.

His back bled from your nails scraping down his muscles, but he didn’t mind, they were worth it to see you like this.

The second he could, Jake was taking the Ghostface mask off and coaxing you to look at him while he was still buried deep inside you. Tears welled in your eyes as old tears stained your cheeks. His gentle touch made you jump.

“Shhh baby it’s me, just me.”

“Jake.” You sobbed as he came down to kiss your lips as gently as ever before trailing those same soft kisses across your collarbone as you came down.

“It’s just me darlin’ you did so well for me.” He whispered sweet nothings across your fiery skin. “You played along so well.” Jake knew you were gonna take a while to come down, he knew it would take a while for you to process everything, from the phone call to the oral to the knife okay. But he already had a plan in place and a surprise organised for you tomorrow night.

“I’m gonna run us a bath.” Jake mumbled against your skin as he left a few marks behind in his wake. You swallowed heavily in response as your body continued to experience the after effects of being so deep into role play. “I love you so much, thankyou for letting me in, for letting me bring your fantasies to life.”

“Are you staying with me in the bath?” You could barely speak as Jake helped you up, handing you your pyjama short back as he dismounted from your bed. His cock remained flaccid and coated in a mix of your arousal and his cum.

It was just as important to receive the aftercare than to experience the high. Jake was good like that, and you’d discussed this beforehand with him. That you’d need time to come down after and just be held and brought back to earth. Jake was more than accommodating to your needs.

“Absolutely, I’m not going anywhere.” You managed a smile as you watched Jake pick up the Ghostface mask and stare at it. “You know there were two of these guys right?” Jake smirked as he threw it over onto your bedside table. “Kinda makes you wonder how far we could take this role play kink of yours.”

“Who’d be your Stu Macher?” You asked as you stood from the bed to give Jake a kiss so gently it was like the wings of a butterfly had handed against his cheeks. “It’s bath time Loomis.” You cooed as you patted Jake's shoulder twice. “Come on.”

“I’ll wash your hair for you.” Jake followed you into the bathroom eagerly before he shut the door behind him. It was good to be home.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“This is awesome.” Javy beamed when he saw you and Jake at the annual Seresin family Halloween party. The Daggers had all been granted a week's grace and they all decided to utilise the time off to attend the celebration. “Sidney and Billy, that’s awesome.”

“If only he knew—“ Jake whispered in your ear as you giggled and pushed at his chest. You were still buzzing from your night with Jake. High on the ecstasy his Ghostface impersonation gave you. “Come on now, don’t act all shy.” Jake teased as he kissed you tenderly, tilting your chin up with his index finger. The costume was really making you dizzy, you were still all consumed by your burning desire to act out your wildest fantasies.

“Oh.” You felt your phone ringing in your back pocket. “Huh.” You had to laugh at the irony. “It’s an unknown number?” You turned your phone to Jake as he smirked and nodded.

“You should answer it.” After all, he did have a surprise for you. “Go on now, don’t be shy.” With confusion laced into the lines and fake blood on your face, you swipt your phone along the screen and held it to your ear all the while you kept eye contact with Jake.

“Hello?” You asked cautiously, still not sure what the hell was going on.

“Wanna play a game?” Bradley spoke through the phone as you caught sight of him behind Jake’s shoulder. Dressed in that all too familiar ghost face costume. After all, there were always two killers.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: 🏷️ @attapullman @330bpm-whiplash @mamachasesmayhem @echo-ethe @avengersgirllorianna @nmw-am @eli2447 @hookslove1592 @kmc1989 @seitmai @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh

#jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman imagine #tw: scream #tw: ghostface #tw: cnc #jake seresin smut #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun hangman #top gun fan fiction #top gun fanfiction

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whenmemorydies · 2 months

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See this?

Carmy is about to pull this shit. He is really about to go in and likely blow up one of the only good relationships he has left from The Beef. After yelling at Tina from the pass. After stressing out everyone and their fucking dog cos he thinks this is acceptable behaviour if its all in service of a star?

This part of 3x03 Doors was such a jagged scene for me because of a few things (including what I've said above). What else got me:

Tina is someone Carmy knows, that Carmy loves (go back to their scene in 1x08 Braciole talking about Mikey. Go back to Carmy's soft "hey Tina you go ahead, you take the night off okay? I got you.");

Tina is an older woman of colour who has made the commitment to skill up so that she can work at The Bear after working at The Beef. Carmy has seen the work she has put in but in this moment, he pays none of it any mind. Imagine being T. Imagine how that would feel. Imagine how it would feel knowing all we know after watching Tina's journey in 3x06 Napkins. The thing is, Carmy doesn't need to know all of T's backstory to know his behaviour is unacceptable. The fact that he knows some of it and proceeds to act in this way is just more evidence of his white privilege showing its ass.

Carmy does not have the self reflexivity here to look at his young, white, male self yelling at this older WOC and see how fucked this is: how he's become another white guy in a litany of white men barking at workers of colour, not seeing Tina for the whole human she is but reducing her to a means of production. The racial dynamics on this show are so evident but don't get talked about nearly enough. I know the writers have crafted those dynamics on purpose because as beautiful a character as Carmy is, he's also a product of his environment as a white chef trained in a highly racially segregated field. This has repercussions for his relationships in season 3, particularly with the BIPOC characters in his life. @november-rising speaks about Carmy's behaviour in relation to Black women's experiences of love and professional recognition devastatingly here. Read their post and the reblogs.

While this shit made me so mad this season, it was also in character - as I've said here - for a white guy trained in fine dining to revert to established patterns of behaviour. Though, I'm gonna need the writers of the show to show US that they did this on purpose and have Carmy ATONE for this shit in season 4. Otherwise, what kind of redemption arc will this man have? This shit is hurtful to the BIPOC characters and BIPOC viewers of this show in no small part because white men the world over have a LONG history of using BIPOC people as a means of production and as a means of production alone. If you're unsure about this, please go look up the Transatlantic slave trade. Please go look up the history of colonial indentured labour. Please go look up The British East India Company. Please look up the forced labour regime in the modern prison industrial complex. Please go read a fucking book. And no I'm not saying Carmy is responsible for the slave trade (LMAO please hold fire if this is where your mind is going). I'm saying BIPOC folks carry with us a long ass history, an intergenerational history of this shit. But guess who else does too? White folks. So don't act like they dont.

This shit is also hurtful because we know how respectful Carmy can be. We’ve seen him in seasons 1 & 2. We know he knows what being a practical ally looks like (even if he may not have the language to name what he was doing) when he made sure to bring the staff of The Beef with him to The Bear and invested in them accordingly. We know he loves and respects them, none more so than Sydney. But there were so many times where he did not act like it in season 3. And when folks have got histories - not just personal but cultural too - as long and as loaded as we ALL do, actions account for a lot. What you do is the shorthand for who you are in the world, whether you like it or not.

Ok back to the scene.

Who comes in and simultaneously saves Carmy's ass and ANOTHER of his relationships? Who protects Tina and keeps the kitchen from exploding AGAIN?

Who supervises her sous chef like a fucking pro?

Sydney. Sydney. Sydney.

And who knows that he's in the presence of greatness but doesn't know how to articulate it cos he's not integrated, not by a fucking long shot. Who needs to attend some anti-racism training along with Al-Anon and therapy (so he can get the benefit of understanding his role in this system and get a better understanding of his own mind)?

Yeah you Carmen, you.

Better get on that shit before you lose the woman who is the beat to your whole heart another means of production to a chef who's going to pay her better, give Syd insurance from the jump and total creative control. Just saying.

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #the bear meta #the bear season 3

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canonizzyhours · 4 months

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I'm a professional screenwriter. I know nobody reading this has any reason to believe that, and I work pretty hard to keep my fandom activity separate from my professional identity, so I'm not going to offer any proof that would doxx me here, believe me or don't. But it's true and I don't just mean I'm trying to get hired as a screenwriter, I mean I am pretty well established in the industry and I've worked on some stuff big enough you've probably heard of it. I've also been active in OFMD fandom for about two years now, since nearly the beginning.

The canyon really freaks me out because seeing it up close makes me worried I've drastically underestimated audiences' empathy gap around characters of color and tendency to sympathize with and excuse the actions of white characters. I've always tried to be conscious about that sort of thing in my work but now that I'm seeing the whole process up close it's so much worse than I always thought.

I think a lot about what I would have done during season 1 of OFMD, if I were in the writers' room and I'd wanted to make sure it would be clear to the audience that Izzy was Ed's abuser and wasn't acting out of secretly sympathetic motives and we're supposed to be genuinely horrified by his actions. I'm in writers' rooms workshopping issues like this all the time. I know the kinds of suggestions I'd make.

Like, if we were worried that the audience would think Izzy's hostility toward Stede was about class instead of homophobia, I might have suggested we make sure Izzy's dialogue never has any reference to Stede's class at all, and that we might do a subplot in one episode where Izzy is equally hostile toward Lucius, since Lucius clearly isn't rich but is extremely gay. But that already happened, and it didn't help.

If I wanted to make sure the audience understood that Izzy is bossing the crew around and screaming at everyone to work harder because he's a petty little bully on a power trip and not because the work actually needs to get done, I might have suggested a scene where Izzy deliberately makes a mess on purpose just so he can order the crew to clean it up. But that already happened, and it didn't help.

If I wanted to make it clear that Izzy has always been awful toward everyone around him -- especially his colleagues of color -- since long before the show started, I might have suggested we repeatedly emphasize throughout the season that while Fang is willing to work with him, he doesn't like or respect Izzy and this is because Izzy has always treated Fang very badly. Have him pull on Fang's beard for no reason and have Fang explicitly say he hates that but knows it wouldn't help to complain. Have Fang tell strangers jokes about times Izzy humiliated himself in public. Have a scene where everybody unanimously VOTES TO MURDER IZZY and someone explicitly stops to ask Fang if he's cool with this and Fang explicitly says yes this is absolutely fine with me and then he actively participates in the murder plan while smiling. But all of that happened and I still see the canyon insisting that Izzy was a much nicer person before the events of s2 when he wasn't under so much stress and has always been liked and respected by the PoC around him, including specifically Fang!

If I were worried that the audience might take seriously the idea that Izzy is motivated by "loyalty to your captain" -- well, honestly I don't think it ever would have occurred to me to worry about that, since he says that in a scene where he's in the middle betraying his captain and I'd probably assume people are capable of picking that up and understanding that when someone says they're abusing you for your own good you should not believe them. But if someone else insisted we address the concern, suggestions I'd make would include: make sure some of the first interactions we see between Ed and Izzy involve Izzy complaining about how he doesn't want to do the job Ed just gave him, then half-assing the mission and lying to Ed's face about it. Show Izzy deliberately undermining Ed to the crew by telling them he's half-insane, then insist to Ed that he's the only one keeping the crew loyal when they're worried about his judgment. But they did that stuff and we still have people thinking Izzy's central motivation throughout season 1 is selfless devotion to Ed.

The show did every single thing I would have suggested, and none of it worked. So what does it say about all the stuff I've already worked on, whenever I've written a scene where a white guy was being a dick to characters of color? Have I just been embarrassingly naive this whole time? Have I undermined my own work by not getting this?

You can't control audience reactions, I know that, that's part of what's great about art, you have to let go and accept that people will interpret things in ways you never intended, I get it. But if it's THIS impossible to choose words that will create the kind of feelings you meant to, what's the point? Is it even possible to write about the kind of abusive relationship Ed and Izzy have, where the white guy thinks he's entitled to control a brown man's life "for his own good" and that the brown guy is obligated to be grateful and reciprocate his "love" and not have a huge group of people creating elaborate justifications for the white guy? What else could they have done? What else can I do, when I'm writing about characters of color? I'm seriously asking. If anybody reading this has advice I want to hear it. What could I do?

#408.

#ofmd #izzy hands #edward teach #fang #lucius spriggs #fandom critical #canonizzyhours

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writingduhh · 2 months

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hii so i was wondering if you could do hansumfella x chef!reader and tyler’s doing a cooking stream and she helps him do it doesn’t turn out like ass 😇🙏🏼

You got it!! Hope this is okkk! I’m still new to writing for him so bear with me

Hansumfella || Cooking Stream

Tyler had been hyping up his cooking stream for weeks. He wanted to show off his culinary skills—or at least try to acquire some. You, his partner and a professional chef, had reluctantly agreed to help him when he had offered.

The stream started with Tyler setting up the camera, greeting his audience with his usual charm.

"Hey everyone, welcome to today's special cooking stream! I have my beautiful partner, Y/N, here to make sure I don't burn down the kitchen."

“YEESSS Y/N!”

“Finally some good food 😭”

“I missed y/n sm”

“Y/N SAVE US.”

You waved to the camera, smiling warmly. "Hi everyone! I'm here to guide Tyler and hopefully, we’ll create something delicious together. Or well, at least edible.” You jest, earning a big reaction from chat.

“BURN”

“$10 he still ruins it.”

“I can actually relax now because he won’t die.”

“Edible 💀”

The plan was to make a simple dish: spaghetti carbonara. Tyler had chosen it because it sounded fancy, but you knew it was straightforward enough for a beginner with some guidance.

"Alright, first step is to boil the pasta. Fill that pot with water and add a generous amount of salt."

Tyler followed instructions, making faces at the camera as he poured the salt. "Is this generous enough?" he asked, holding up the container.

"More," you replied with a chuckle. "You want the water to taste like the ocean." He nodded and proceeded to pour more into the pan. Once he saw the excess salt on his hands he had an idea.

“Hey y/n, y/n, look. Want something salty?” He smirks, his lips now covered in salt.

You rolled your eyes playfully, fighting a smile. "Focus, Romeo. We've got a meal to make."

“Nope. You have to taste some or I won’t help anymore.” He mumbles, lips still puckered.

“But this is your stream… Oh alright.” You playfully scoff, accepting his kiss much to the amusement of the chat.

As the water heated up, you moved on to preparing the pancetta. You showed Tyler how to dice it properly, and he mimicked your actions, though his pieces were noticeably uneven.

"Perfect," you said encouragingly. "Now, let's get that cooking in the pan. Low and slow, we want it crispy but not burnt."

The chat couldn’t help but chime in

“PERFECT?!”

“It looks like he ripped them apart by hand”

“Helll nah 💀”

“Y/n is so patient…. Couldn’t be me”

Tyler narrated every step dramatically for the audience, keeping them entertained with his usual antics. "Look at me, slicing and dicing like a pro. How am I doing, chef?" He turned to you with an exaggeratedly hopeful look.

"Not bad, but don’t quit your day job," you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

"Harsh, but fair," Tyler laughed. "I guess I’ll have to rely on my charm to keep you around."

You smirked, leaning closer. "Maybe if you cook this meal right, you'll earn a reward later." You we’re honestly quite shocked by your own words, but it was too late to take them back.

Tyler’s eyes widened, and he turned back to the camera with a grin. "You hear that, chat? High stakes tonight!"

Things started to get more chaotic when Tyler accidentally knocked over the pepper grinder, spilling peppercorns all over the counter. "Uh, that was intentional. That’s what we call 'seasoning the kitchen' in the industry…” he joked, bending down to pick them up.

You laughed, shaking your head. "Less seasoning the kitchen, more seasoning the food."

While whisking the eggs and cheese together, Tyler got a bit too enthusiastic, splattering some of the mixture onto his shirt. "Ah shit. Looks like I’m adding some extra flavor.”

You handed him a towel, still chuckling. "Try not to add yourself to the recipe."

"Noted," Tyler said, dabbing at his shirt. To his dismay he only made the stain worse.

“Ugh. Should I just take my shirt off?”

“I mean, that’s up to you.”

“Nah, I won’t. That’s only for you to see.” He winks, your face uncontrollably turning red as a sea of comments emerge.

"Alright, now comes the tricky part," you said, your tone a bit more serious. "When the pasta is done, we're going to mix it with the egg and cheese mixture off the heat, so the eggs cook gently and make a creamy sauce."

"No pressure, right?" Tyler joked, though a hint of nerves showed in his voice.

"You’ve got this," you assured him, placing a hand on his arm. "And I’m right here to help."

When it came time to drain the pasta, Tyler nearly lost the whole pot in the sink, fumbling with the colander. "Crisis averted!" he declared triumphantly, holding up the drained pasta.

You shook your head, laughing. "Careful! You almost dropped it."

Tyler made exaggerated whisking motions, earning laughs from both you and the chat. "Is this how you do it, or am I just showing off my guns?"

"Less showing off, more whisking. We want it smooth and creamy, not chunky."

"Got it, boss," Tyler said with a mock salute.

You managed the final steps together, Tyler following your lead. When they plated the carbonara, it actually looked—and smelled—delicious. Tyler took a dramatic bite on camera, his eyes widening in exaggerated delight.

"This is amazing! You’re a miracle worker, Y/N," he said, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek as his arm slung over your shoulder

You blushed, smiling at the camera. "Couldn’t have done it without my amazing assistant."

Tyler turned back to the audience with a grin. "Alright, chat, if you liked this stream, let me know, and maybe Y/N will come back for another round. What do you say?"

The chat exploded with enthusiastic responses, and Tyler wrapped up the stream with a promise to cook more often—with your help, of course. As the camera turned off, he pulled you into a warm embrace.

"Thanks for saving my bacon—literally," he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Anytime," you replied, snuggling closer. "Now, about that reward…"

#hansumfella tyler #hansumfella fanfic #hansumfella x reader #hansumfella #handsome

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sixpennydame · 1 year

Text

Make. Believe. ❖ Act 2

Actor!Levi x Fem!Reader

Levi has always kept his professional and private life separate…until you came along.

Warnings/Content: NSFW, Minors do not interact, vaginal sex, creampie, angst, mentions of AoT final season episodes

A/N: You know it wouldn't be me if I didn't add a little angst in there. ;-). This story will have a final, third part.

Act 1 | Act 3

“Levi! Levi! You’re needed in hair and makeup in 5 minutes.” His assistant knocked on the locked door of his trailer.

“Yeah…yeah..I’ll be right there. We’re just working on a script analysis.”

Levi currently has you hoisted up against the small kitchen counter, his pants down around his ankles as he’s pounding into you. You’re both sweaty and disheveled, and definitely not doing script analysis of any kind.

“Don’t go, not yet..” you purr into his ear before nibbling on his earlobe.

“God, I wish I didn’t have to.” He grabs the sides of your waist and starts thrusting even harder, his breathing becoming short and erratic. His climax comes intensely, even with a quickie like this. It’s just how his body reacts with you, he can’t explain it.

He lays his head on your shoulder. “You vixen, see what you do to me?” He looks down at his watch. “Shit, I’m gonna be late. Aaliyah is gonna kill me.”

He pulls on his pants, runs his hands through his hair, and gives you a quick kiss. “I’ll see you on set later.”

A sigh escapes his mouth as he leaves his trailer. What the hell is going on with him?

Levi had always prided himself on being a professional. He took his job seriously and others respected him for it.

He was sad that Attack on Titan was coming to a close; he’d met some of his dearest friends through the show and it allowed him to make a true living from acting. On the other hand, it had catapulted him into a spotlight he never truly wanted. The paparazzi, the tabloids, the constant prying into his personal life - it drove him mad sometimes.

The press was always trying to pair him with his female co-stars. If he was seen having dinner or even a coffee with any of them, suddenly they were a couple and the rumors would fly. Sure, he’d had some flings here and there, but nothing serious, and certainly nothing he wanted the public to know about.

Between filming Attack on Titan and his various other film projects throughout the year, Levi barely had time for romance or a relationship anyway.

And then he met you.

His first impression of you was that you were cute. But there was no shortage of pretty faces in this industry, and he wondered if you were just another one of those young actresses chosen more for their looks than skill.You fit the physicality and persona of the character of Anna well: you had a timeless, classic look about you that fit perfectly with the 1920’s time period and bright, beautiful eyes. In fact, it was your eyes that he first noticed, because he could see every emotion you were feeling through them. As time went on he’d get to know you better, and would learn how to read your emotions through your eyes. You were like an open book.

Any concern about your skill was quickly dismissed the first time he rehearsed with you. You were serious and hard-working, and you had done your homework on your character. Initially he’d offered to spend time with you because he wanted you to feel comfortable with him, but as the days passed he found that he just ‘clicked’ with you.

He’s not sure when he began to desire more. Maybe it was that first intimate scene when you threw him off guard by taking his fingers in your mouth. More than likely, it was in the quiet moments you two shared together - reading lines to each other, the way you would bite your bottom lip when you were concentrating. Or when you’d rehearse blocking, feeling your warm body against his, weaving your fingers together as your characters held hands.

When he felt himself get hard while shooting the sex scene, Levi knew he was in deep. It was the first time that he’d just allowed himself to lose control, for a brief moment. But seeing you there, your beautiful body displayed before him, your eyes wild and yearning, he couldn’t help himself. Even rubbing against you like that felt like a dream; and then you moaned his name in his ear…

God, he’d loved that. He’s not sure how he was even able to stay in character. Maybe he hadn’t. It was all starting to get mixed up.

——

Levi leaves his trailer to find Aaliyah, his assistant, waiting for him with her arms crossed and a to-go cup of tea in hand.

“Seriously, Levi?” she huffs, handing him his tea. “A locked door again?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. We just…needed privacy for the blocking.”

“I thought it was script analysis?” Her eyebrow raises.

They stop walking and stand in front of the makeup trailer. “Right..script analysis AND blocking. Thanks for the tea - is this English Breakfast?” He sips the drink, attempting to change the subject.

“Levi, it’s been four weeks of locked-door-script-analysis-blocking-whatever…I know what’s going on between you too.”

Aaliyah moves closer. “And it’s fine. You’re both adults, do whatever you want. But don’t get too distracted.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “And people are starting to talk. I know you hate that.”

It’s true, the last four weeks he had been distracted. He just couldn’t get enough of you; or rather, you couldn’t get enough of each other. He loved kissing you, holding you, being between your legs. But he also just loved being with you: your loud laugh, your ability to make everything a dumb song, your kind and caring nature. Everything about you was just magic to him.

And he should have known people would start talking: the chemistry was undeniable between you two. The following week included shooting scenes of the two characters being hopelessly in love. There were montage shots of the both of you lying naked in a field, him brushing over your hip bones with flowers; next, it was swimming in the creek, your wet summer clothes clinging to your body as he teased you to jump from the rock; another yet was the two of you reading by firelight in his cabin, your legs propped on his lap as you both laughed at the story. Watching the two of you act together was like watching something intimate and special; even crew members that didn’t work that day would come and observe.

At the end of the day, one of you would end up in the other’s room, opting to be with each other rather than go out with any other cast and crew members. People probably were talking, but for the first time in a long time, Levi wasn’t thinking about what others thought - he was just doing what felt good and right in the moment. For a seasoned actor such as Levi, it was reckless and selfish…

…and very likely driving his assistant Aaliyah crazy.

“If this gets out, the rumors may overshadow the publicity events we have set up for Attack on Titan next week. Just..be cautious,” she warns with a concerned look on her face.

——

The following week, the film’s final, pivotal scenes were scheduled to be shot. Since these concentrated mainly on Anna and her husband, Levi had some free time that his publicist decided to fill with some promotions for Attack on Titan’s final season. Filming wrapped for the last episode months ago, but he and a few others were also called in for some last minute voice over work. Interviews, talk shows, and social media events were the least favorite part of the job for him, but he happily obliged to be able to see some of his closest friends again.

As he boarded the plane he thought about you, like he often did these days. Maybe he could bring you to some of the AoT premiers and introduce you to Erwin, Hange, and the others. It surprised him: he was planning a future with you after filming. He’d never done that with anyone before and it honestly scared him a little.

When Levi arrives at the studio where AoT is filmed and edited, he instantly feels like he’s at home. So many memories shared with such amazing actors. Only a few minutes pass before he sees a familiar face.

“Oh shit.”

“Levi fucking Ackerman.” Zeke steps out of the sound booth. “Look at you, still have a tea in your hand and a scowl on your face. I think you’re becoming more like your character every time I see you.”

“Well I drank it so much on set it just became a habit. But hating you might be the other thing I grew accustomed to.”

They both stare at each other intensely then break out into laughter. Levi reaches out to shake his hand. “Damn, I’ve missed sparring with you. How’ve you been?”

“Good, man. Can’t complain. You?”

“Not bad, not bad. Good to be back in the studio with you all. I’ve missed this.”

“But you missed me most of all, right?” Zeke puts an arm around Levi.

“I never get a chance to miss you, Zeke. They always put us in interviews together.” Levi laughs. “Did you see we’re doing the Vanity Fair one next month?”

Zeke nods as he walks down the hallway with Levi. “Yep. And then we have the WIRED one in a few weeks where we read the google searches about us. I wonder how many of mine will be monkey related.”

“I had to do one of those Tik Tok Challenges with the kids yesterday. God, I shouldn’t call them kids anymore, they’re all in their 20’s now. Anyway, it made me feel incredibly old.”

“Speaking of being old…” Zeke's eyes shine with mischief, “what’s a grandpa like you doing with that new, young co-star? Please tell me she’s single.”

“She wouldn’t be interested in you. She’s definitely not your type.” Levi found himself getting defensive. “And I’m not that old.”

And Zeke saw it immediately. “Ah, fuck. You’re into her.”

“Oh come on…” Levi tries to blow it off with a wave of his hand.

“No no - I’ve worked with you long enough to know that look. But good for you, man.” Zeke pats him on the back. “Press is gonna have a field day with it, though. I can speak from experience. And then there’s the constant juggling of schedules, trying to find time to see each other. You’re in your prime and she’s just starting out - who knows when you’ll ever have time for one another, especially with the schedule we’re about to have. It can strain a relationship.”

Levi’s schedule was packed the rest of the day with recording and media events, but Zeke’s words had planted a seed of doubt in his heart, and it had him troubled. He was right, dating another actor is difficult, especially if they’re both steadily working. Was getting in a relationship the best thing right now, even if it felt so right? Were you both rushing into something neither of you were prepared for?

____

Levi returned to set later that week, his mind a jumbled mess of thoughts and worries. It was late, but he’d texted you to say he was on his way so you were more than likely waiting up for him.

When he arrives to your room, you practically jump into his arms. “I missed you.”

“It was only a week,” He chuckles, then squeezes you a little tighter. “I missed you too.”

You grab his hand and lead him out of the foyer. There were candles lit and a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table.

“What’s all this?” he asks.

“I have big news.” Your face is beaming and you grab both his hands. “Remember that series I auditioned for before we started filming?” She pauses, building up the tension. “Well…I got it. I got the part!”

This was big. It was a huge HBO series that was already being talked about before casting had even started. Actors from all over were competing for roles, so the fact you got a part just solidified for Levi what he already knew:

Your star was rising.

“That’s amazing! I’m so, so proud of you. You deserve it.” He hugs you tightly.

You pour the wine and give Levi a glass. “I just can’t even believe it. First this role, and now the series? It’s happening all so fast.” You clink glasses with him and take a sip. “I’ll have like two weeks at home and then I fly out to London for costume fittings.”

Levi can feel the excitement radiating off you. “When does filming start?”

“In two months. It’s being filmed in Iceland, so I’ll be spending the rest of the year there, from the looks of it.”

His heart sank. He knows how the industry works, and he wasn’t naive enough to think that they could be together forever. He just wasn’t ready for this all to end yet.

“But I have some breaks in between, I think.” You’ve already got your phone out and are looking through your calendar and appointments. “You’ll probably be doing a lot of publicity for the final part of AoT, so maybe we can try to coordinate our breaks to be together?”

“Yeah, I’ll leave for Japan after we wrap here for the start of the publicity tour, then Europe and the U.S. once the final episode comes out. It’s gonna be difficult.” There’s a worried look in your eyes so he cups your cheek. “We can talk about it later. Right now, we have some celebrating to do!” He takes a drink of the wine and gives you a reassuring smile.

That night, he makes love to you softly and lovingly, kissing down your chest, your hips, your thighs. He wants to take in every part of you, treasure every moan and sigh. While you sleep in his arms, he runs his fingers through your hair. He wishes they could stay in this room forever, that the filming for this movie would never end. But the real world - and their careers - are waiting, and it’s not slowing down, for either of you.

It’s selfish of him to want you for himself. He knows that this film will bring a lot of attention for you and that will bring more and more jobs. To ask you to be with him, to make time for him, it isn’t fair to you.

Plus, he’s quite a bit older than you are. He can already hear the tabloids having a field day with that one. They would probably blame your rising celebrity on being with him. You don’t need that kind of negative attention.

He feels a heaviness in the pit of his stomach, fearing what is inevitable.

____

The final scene of the film is shot deep in the mountains, where Levi’s character has moved. In the script, he’s left the estate in order to escape his feelings for Anna, but in the end, she leaves her husband and seeks her lover, choosing to be with him.

It’s a beautiful moment. The sun is just rising over the mountains as you walk towards the cabin. Levi turns around and sees you, but neither of you say anything. The wind whips your hair across your face as you approach him, and he pushes it back, cupping your cheek and bringing you in for a kiss. All the crew watches in silence.

“And cut! That was perfect, you two.” The Director gets up to face the crew. “And that’s a wrap, everyone!”

There’s applause, then the crew starts taking apart equipment and loading it into trucks. You look at Levi and smile. “I guess that’s it then.”

Crew members start coming by to congratulate you both and to spread information about the wrap party later that night. Levi wants to get you alone, to talk with you privately, but you’ve already been whisked off by your assistant.

You ride together back to town in the same car, but since you’re not alone, Levi decides to text you:

Can we talk when we get back to the hotel?

Sure. <3, was your reply.

____

Levi’s palms are sweaty and his heart races as he waits for you in his room. When you knock, he opens the door to see your beautiful, smiling face. He can feel his heart breaking already.

“Sit down. We need to talk.”

“Ok,” you sit down next to him and he takes your hand, “what’s up?”

He knows he has to just say it, even though it’s hard. There’s no way to ease into it. “Now that filming has wrapped, I’m thinking we should cool things off.”

She pulls her hand away. “What do you mean, cool things off?”

“We had fun together, but once this is over we’ll be in two totally different parts of the world. It’ll be that way for a while.” He looks down. “You don’t need to worry about seeing me or being in a relationship.”

That makes her scowl at him. “Don’t put this on me, Levi. Because that is not what I want. I want to be with you,” she pauses, searching his face, “I thought you wanted that too.”

“I-“ he thinks carefully about what he should say next. “It’s not realistic.”

He looks into your eyes - those beautiful eyes he’s learned to read so well - and knows he’s hurt you deeply.

He cups your cheek. “You are such a talented actress. Working with you, getting to know you, has been the greatest experience the last few months. But you are about to do big things. You need to focus on your career, and I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“So this was just a fling for you? Something to pass the time?”

“Of course not.” Levi’s stomach is in knots. “I haven’t felt this way about someone since…God, I don’t know if I ever have. But I don't want to start a relationship I can’t give one hundred percent to. You deserve to be taken care of and treasured. I,” he struggles to say the words, “can’t give you that right now”

He sees a few tears running down your cheeks and he wipes them away with his thumb. Then he brings your forehead to his. If this is the right choice, why does it hurt so badly? He thinks to himself.

Levi expects you to yell or push him away, but you don’t. “What we had - it was good, wasn’t it?” you ask, sweetly and sadly.

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, pushing down all the things he wants to say. “It was. Really good.”

He can still feel it - the pull you have on him. He tries to will himself to move, but he can’t, he doesn’t want to. You plant a soft kiss on his lips, then another. He opens his mouth and feels your soft tongue mingle with his, as the kisses grow more passionate.

Your leg moves across him and you now straddle his lap while Levi’s hands grab your ass, pulling you closer to him. You wrap your arms around his neck as you both continue to kiss and Levi’s hands move under your shirt to cup your breasts.

You begin to grind on top of him and Levi adjusts himself on the sofa so that his hardening cock can rub you exactly where you want it. God, he can’t get enough of your body.

There’s a sudden stop in your movements and then you’re hiking up your skirt and pulling off your underwear. In answer to your actions, Levi undoes his pants and pulls out his cock right as you sit back on him. In one fluid motion he slides into you; you’re already so wet but tight, so he wants to take it slow, but you won’t allow it. You raise up your hips so that only his tip is inside you and then you sit back down, taking him in fully.

You undulate on top of him and he can feel you tightening around his cock as you move. Maybe this is your way of punishing him or just a way to use him, but he doesn’t care. If he can be with you, just one more time, then he’ll let you do whatever you want.

He grabs your hips as you move up and down, your pace turning fast and relentless. When he leans in to kiss your neck, you push him away, forcing his back against the sofa. Your hands on his shoulders, there’s not much Levi can do other than let you have your way.

Neither of you say anything, not even through moans, but your sad eyes stay fixed on him. You’re so warm and so wet, Levi can feel one of those intense climaxes coming again for him.

He cums inside you, and a deep guttural moan escapes his lips. Your movements switch to a deeper grinding motion as you pursue your own end.

You lay your head in the crook of his neck as he puts his arms around you. Minutes pass and neither of you say a word or move a muscle.

He’s a fool to give this up.

“Goodbye, Levi.”

You get up, quickly slip your underwear back on and leave without another word.

——

Levi reluctantly goes to the wrap party later that night, only planning to show his face then get out of there as soon as possible. Maybe if he only stays for a brief moment, he won’t have to see you.

But then you show up with a few other cast members. He can tell you’re already drunk because you're talking loudly and hugging everyone. Either you haven’t noticed he’s there or you refuse to acknowledge him, and both pain him. He has to get out of here, but before he can make his exit he’s grabbed by the Director.

“Everyone, let’s give a round of applause for our two leads…hey where is our Anna? Get over here!”

You walk out of the crowd and stand next to Levi. As the Director pushes you two together, you smile and take turns thanking the crew and supporting cast. Your smile is radiant as you speak, but Levi notices one difference:

Your eyes, once so easily readable, were now closed off to him.

You work your way around the room and Levi decides he shouldn’t leave the party yet, especially since he thought a guy from the supporting cast was flirting with you. Jealousy begins to build up in his heart as he watches you from afar; you laugh, placing a hand on the man’s arm then pulling it away. Levi’s own hand grips his whiskey tightly before downing it in one shot.

When you’re finally by yourself and ordering another drink at the bar, he can’t resist walking over to you.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he says with vitriol and a hint of inebriation in his voice.

You don’t look at him. “Yeah, that’s what you do at parties.”

“And you’re flirting with everyone here…is that what you do at parties too?” The words start falling out and he does nothing to stop them. “Looking for the next person you’ll fuck tonight?”

You turn your head at that last remark, as your eyes flash and shoot him a pained look. “You don’t get to judge who I talk to tonight,” you move closer to him, your voice lowered to a whisper as you speak, “or who I fuck.”

All he can do is watch as you turn your back to him and join your group at the table.

——

The next morning, Levi is awakened by a knock on his door.

“Levi! We need to leave in 30 minutes to catch the flight to Japan. I hope you’re packed in there,” Aaliyah says in an authoritative tone.

Levi rolls out of bed and grabs the water on his bed stand. He shouldn’t have drank so much last night, but it was the only way he could deal with seeing you. He’d refused to leave that party until he knew you went back to your room safely - and alone.

He opens the door to see Aaliyah waiting for him, tea in hand, as usual.

“Ugh, you look like shit. Please put these on.” She hands him her Rayban sunglasses.

As they walk down the hallway, Levi stops at your door and almost knocks. Maybe he can take back what he said last night; maybe they can make this work.

“She already left. A few hours ago.” Aaliyah puts a hand on his slumped shoulder. “Come on, we have a flight to catch.”

Levi sighs, then something shifts inside him. This is over. And he has work to do.

He puts on the sunglasses and prepares to face the growing crowd of fans that have heard he’s leaving the town today. “Right. Let’s go over my Japan schedule on the way to the airport.”

Join my taglist!

@thevelria @lunaheroine18 @meltingforthatackerman @adanfore @blondebebop @levisfavoriteacup @dont-f-with-moogles @itty-bitty-baby-face @ricecrispiebirb @whorenamedbee @rec-a-fic @leviismybby @littlerequiem @satorizz @lost-in-the-daylight @nube55 @kingkonoha @mrsackxrman @youre-ackermine @luvjiro @wanderlustqueen-writes @mrsackermannx @honestlywtfisgoingon @bejewelledd @cometlevi @sea-after-a-storm @notgoodforlife @belovedackerman @y44sherlock @xyumemi @armani78 @humanitys-strongest-bamf @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw @woozzz @imlevisoneandonlywife

#levi ackerman smut #levi x fem!reader #levi x reader #levi x you #actor!levi #aot actor au #actor au!levi #aot fanfiction #n.sfw #sixpennydame series #sixpennydame make.believe.#make. believe. part 2

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lumiereswig · 5 months

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I'm still seeing a lot of angry takes in the tags about how excessive Watcher's current costs are and how all fans really want, apparently, is "just shane and ryan sitting in a basement" back again. While I do think Watcher is probably spending over budget and that's a real issue, a lot of the takes I'm seeing show a fundamental misunderstanding of how video production works and where costs actually lie. So a few quick things that I just keep seeing that are bothering me:

It was never just Shane and Ryan in a basement. BFU did a great job selling that conceit and making sure you never saw anyone beyond them and maybe TJ, but they absolutely had other crew members with them on ghost hunts and they didn't do all the work on BFU themselves. This Q&A from Season 2 lists 36 people on staff for Buzzfeed Unsolved. It's fair to make arguments that Watcher may or may not need 25 people, but those arguments should not be coming from a place of "before it was just Shane and Ryan and nobody else."

If you don't know how many people are needed to make a professional video from a TV/film standpoint, you will not have a reasonable grasp of why Watcher wants to keep 25 people on staff. Sure, some YouTubers get by with a ring light and a contracted editor. The Watcher team have stated repeatedly that they do not want to work as just YouTubers and see themselves more as a production studio—so why do people keep referencing the YouTube model to understand their business? This is like asking the local shake shop why it doesn't function like the kids' lemonade stand down the block. The item category is similar but they're not trying for the same products or process.

The "gold dusted food" is not the big budget sink you think it is. On most TV shows I've worked on it's normal to partner with businesses that are shown onscreen and work out a deal where the price of the product (in this case the gold food) is reduced or eliminated in exchange for the free publicity. Watcher very likely made a deal with every restaurant it worked with to make the Korea trip affordable for the company. The real budget spends are on things you're probably not seeing but that still matter: camera and lighting equipment is expensive, insurance for that equipment is expensive, business overhead and paying your staff are expensive. So again—it's fine to critique Watcher for the streaming plan and the perceived budgetary issues, but go into this knowing the costs might not be coming from the things you see onscreen.

My source is that I work in TV and film and actually have a clue on how the industry functions. Again, 36 people worked on Unsolved (and those were the people mention in Season 2—who knows how big the team blew up past that in later seasons). Entertainment work is real work, and demands decent equipment, competent staff, and the same types of business and budget problems you'd find in any other business (overhead, staffing, etc.). Feel free to critique Watcher's business model, but first try to understand where that model is coming from and what goals it's attempting to serve.

#watcher #watcher entertainment #rant! sorry! couldn't see another take from someone who clearly thinks video work is just fun and games because “it's entertainment right”#funny how people expect normal business costs and problems for any other career but if it's involved with production they think everything #just magically happens and is made entirely by the onscreen talent. nutso #anyway i think watcher is probably trying its best; maybe got too overexcited; but cares about quality of life for its employees and #wants no one working to the bone. which is admirable! the streaming service was a bad idea but they're not the literal devil like some thin #they're 3 self described idiots doing this for the first time. they backpedaled. i don't see this as the death of the company & i'm gonna #keep supporting them :)

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currymanganese · 4 months

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Richie's journey is not over

I've done my fair share of hating on Richie, but @caiusmarciuscoriolanus 's and @post-woke 's meta on him has gotten to me. As a companion piece to this post about Carmy's future in the culinary world here, here's why I think Richie may be the one to actually leave the industry someday, or at least that he may find a fulfilling secondary vocation by the end of the series.

1. Along with Marcus, but to a greater extent, Richie is Carmy's narrative foil, if Carmy stays in the restaurant world, as Carmy's foil, Richie may want to leave someday:

Before the start of the series and in season one, he was the dutiful "son/brother"-figure that stayed in Chicago and stuck it out with Mikey (since Mikey pushed Carmy away) while Carmy globe-trotted and became a master at his craft. He resents Carmy for not coming to Mikey's funeral and for being MIA after his death, and perhaps also for being absent from pitching into the family business even prior to Mikey's death and the business' decline. He also resented the changes Carmy, and by extension, Sydney, made to the restaurant during season one, and by the beginning of season two expresses insecurities about his place in the restaurant, and by extension, his place in Carmy and the Berzattos' life. Hence, in season two Richie goes out of his way to have Carmy's reassurance that he would not be "dropped" and he also apologized to Natalie for some unspecified long-standing slight or slights, and enjoyed a much improved relationship with the surviving Berzatto siblings until his argument with Carmy in "The Bear".

During this war of words, after Richie called Carmy, Donna, Carmy retaliated by claiming that he should've cut Richie off, that Richie wouldn't be able to make a living or support his child without him, and accused him of being a leech with an obsession with the Berzatto family. Regardless of whether Carmy truly believes these things about Richie or not, and regardless of whether they are true or not, the venom behind this outburst may have left Richie questioning his security at The Bear, and the sincerity of Carmy's earlier promise to not abandon him, which has silently been one of Richie's greatest fears since season one, with his admission to Carmy in Braciole that,

"You're all I have left."

Also, keep in mind, season two already began with Richie questioning his purpose and place at The Bear, while Carmy ended the season questioning his vocation and his place at the restaurant,

"Maybe I'm just not cut out for this."

Similarly, their love interests / the women from their pasts are associated with one another, Carmy's (now ex) girlfriend , Claire, and Richie's ex-wife, Tiffany:

"Tiff used to babysit Claire!"

Since both Richie and Carmy reached a turning point professionally and experienced upheavals in their relationship(s) in season two (with each other and with their love interests a la Claire breaking up with Carmy, and Tiff informing Richie that she's moving on and getting married), we'll have to wait until the dust settles in season 3 or beyond to see whether the words Carmy spoke in anger to Richie may push him away, even if only temporarily, to the point that Richie may be moved to "abandon Carmy / The Berzattos / the restaurant before they abandon me", or even to see if he has truly found the answer to his question of what his purpose and vocation is in life, and whether that lies in customer service and working the expo or overseeing the front of house at The Bear, or elsewhere.

It's also interesting to me that the book Richie is shown reading in Season 2, 'Unreasonable Hospitality: The Remarkable Power of Giving People More Than They Expect', by Will Guidara, apparently stresses the value of imparting a sense of excellence and care for one's customers and peers / working relationships no matter the industry, and highlights that the lessons the author learned in the restaurant/hospitality industry can also be applicable to other fields.

Which leads me to my next point;

2. I believe that Richie serves as an author avatar for Christopher Storer himself on some level, and Storer ultimately left the food service industry to become a writer/ director and work in the film industry, hence it's another reason that it would not come as a surprise to me if Richie ends up leaving The Bear, even if it's only temporarily:

C Storer has expressed before in podcast interviews that Richie's character is based on his older male cousins growing up, with whom he enjoyed spending time with in his teens as an escape from his own dysfunctional home life as a child of divorced parents that lived with a mother struggling with addiction. This explains the "Cousin" moniker and surrogate brother role Richie occupies in Carmy's life clearly enough. However, I also think that Richie and Mikey to some degree, (as Storer also struggled with substance abuse in the past) may be partially based on Storer's own life before he found his vocation and settled into a relationship with his long term partner, Gillian Jacobs, who, interestingly, stars as Richie's ex-wife Tiffany in the show.

This is just speculation on my part, but there is something in Richie's dynamic with The Berzattos that may be a reflection of, or at least partially inspired by C Storer and his younger sister, Courtney's, real life surrogate family, the Zuccheros; which is the family that owns Mr. Beef, the Italian sandwich shop that show and The Original Beef of Chicagoland is based on.

According to Joanna Calo in this podcast, see around the 48 minute mark, Chris and Courtney Storer worked at Mr. Beef when they were younger, before Chris left the food industry to become a writer/director and moved to LA. However, Chris Storer has maintained a friendship with the current owner of Mr. Beef, Christopher Zucchero, since kindergarten, and the pilot of The Bear was filmed on location in Mr. Beef, the rest of season one was filmed in a set that was a faithful recreation of Mr. Beef's premises, and Chris Zucchero also had a cameo appearance as ChiChi, Carmy's meat connect that haggled with him in the season one pilot.

As if all this wasn't enough of powerful testament to the bond that the Storers have with the Zuccheros, Chris Zucchero has stated in interviews that Chris Storer used to direct him and their friends to do recreations of movie scenes when they played together as children, and that there was never a doubt in his mind that Storer would've become a film director someday, a level of faith which mirrors Carmy's faith in Richie's people skills and his aptitude for a new role front of house. Chris Storer also promised Chris Zucchero to make a show about Mr. Beef years ago, and The Bear is a fulfillment of that promise.

The former proprietor of Mr. Beef, Chris Zucchero's father, Joseph Zucchero, also seems to have had a fatherly relationship with the Storers (Chris Storer has disclosed that he and his siblings did not have a close relationship with their own father after their parents' divorce), and particularly with Courtney Storer. Chris Zucchero has even joked in interviews that his father loved Courtney more than his own children, and that Zucchero Sr. served as a surrogate father to many in his community.

In my opinion, even if Richie shares no other connection to Chris Storer's life and personality, beyond Richie being an amalgamation of the cousins Chris Storer grew up with; the tight-knit bond of devotion and affection between Richie and Mikey and The Berzattos certainly appears to be somewhat reminiscent of Christopher Storer's own loyalty to his longtime friend, Chris Zucchero's family.

As such, this may be completely off-base, but hear me out;

3. What if Richie's character journey eventually mirrors Christopher Storer's personal career trajectory and takes him on the path of becoming a writer, perhaps even to the point of publishing a heartfelt article about, or story inspired by: his life, his job, Mikey, The Berzattos, The Original Beef and The Bear?

Since we are unfamiliar with much of Richie's backstory and skillset beyond his time in the restaurant, I'm basing this possible career shift on one aspect of Richie's personal interests we are privy to; Richie appears to be surprisingly well-read, and it is generally assumed that excellent authors tend to be avid readers, just as renowned filmmakers tend to be cinephiles themselves.

In the pilot episode - when the creators took time to create character establishing moments for Carmy, and most of the regular cast, despite Richie's initial abrasive interactions with Carmy, Richie is shown to also be affable and well liked, or at least respected, by the staff and prompts them to have an informal icebreaker over Syd's family meal by asking them to express what they are thankful for.

This moment establishes Tina's (at the time hidden) sentimental heart of gold when she answers, "I'm thankful for all y'all mfs! 😜", and Marcus and Ebra's sense of humour and easy rapport with Richie /their irreverence and lack of fear of him when Marcus makes a joke at Richie's expense and Ebra chimes in to mock his body odour. However, when Richie's turn to express what he's thankful for, out of all the possible people or things the writers could've used to telegraph what is important to Richie, and who he is as a person, in this moment Richie says he's thankful for the classic sci-fi author, Philip K. Dick; who famously wrote the dystopian novel 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?'' which ultimately served as the inspiration for many sci-fi works, including the Blade Runner films. Even if he intended for his answer to be light-hearted or flippant, it may be a case of "the truth being hidden in jest" that he expressed gratitude, not for his daughter, not for any other relationship or personal possession, but for Mr. Philip K. Dick.

In season one Richie makes another offhand/indirect reference to this sci fi author and his story, by addressing the crew as, "replicants" (a term for lifelike artificial humans from Blade Runner, i.e. robots) when he shows up late to the staff meeting wherein Carmy is about to initiate the brigade system by delegating Syd to lead the crew. Since these are two sci-fi story references that Richie makes within the first 3 episodes of the show, after season one would be forgiven for just thinking that Richie may be a fan of classic sci-fi books or films and nothing else, however, season 2 shifted this understanding of Richie's characterization for me when, again, he references yet another renowned writer/novel in the season 2 pilot.

Thanks to fans on The Bear's subreddit - it appears that the writing he referenced this time was Haruki Murakami's 'Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Year's of Pilgrimage' as he paraphrases the story, including the main character being deserted by friends because of a lack of a 'life /interest' besides "trains". Richie uses the book to effectively articulate his own feelings of aimlessness, and fear of abandonment to Carmy. This conversation with Carmy where Richie uses the book as a tool to communicate his own anxiety/ need for reassurance to Carmy also ultimately served as a catalyst for Richie being sent on the opportunity to stage at the 3 Michelin star restaurant in season 2 episode seven.

It is during this episode that Richie undergoes some much needed character development, and is shown studiously reading Unreasonable Hospitality in a montage as he undergoes his metamorphosis into the earnest, professional, and essential FOH/BOH team member with renewed confidence that we see him as in episodes 8-10; apologising to Nat, helping her to vet the new FOH potential hires, even taking over the expo on the soft opening night and helping Sydney to avert disaster as she takes over functioning in Carmy's stead in the season finale. When addressing the new FOH staff prior to the soft open he again quotes a novel by a renowned author with existentialist themes, 'Siddhartha' by Herman Hesse as he urges the new staff to, "listen better".

Whether Richie eventually leaves the industry or The Bear or not remains to be seen, but I'm looking forward to seeing where his character development will take him, and I'm looking forward to Season 3 and beyond.

It is now clear to me, underneath all Richie's machismo bluster and bravado lies a surprising level of perceptiveness, a philosophic/existential curiosity and sensitivity that, in addition to his love for reading and gift for gab, may potentially lend itself to him developing a compelling written voice should he ever have the desire to write stories of his own.

Perhaps he may be steered to do so if he seeks out counselling for himself, whether via Al-anon or otherwise; as journalling / writing and tapping into a creative pursuit is often recommended as a coping mechanism for processing trauma/grief?

I also think that, much in the same way that Carmy confessed to seeing his cooking as an art and a means of communication in his Al-anon monologue in Braciole in Season 1; it is telling that Richie repeatedly uses what he has read as a means to express himself and communicate with others in some of the moments that he is most happy, uninhibited, sincere, and/or vulnerable.

P.S. @thoughtfulchaos773 Thanks for the nudge - I dug this out of my drafts because of you - stay wonderful 😊❤️

If you've read this, thanks for reading and feel free to chime in!

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear meta #richie jerimovich #ebon moss bachrach #sydcarmy #<tagging for any sydcarmys that want to weigh in on this #this has been languishing in my drafts since december 2023 - posting because of thoughtfulchaos 😊✨#if anyone has posted on this before - sorry #long post

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agendabymooner · 1 year

Text

heaven ! fernando a. x ofc (mom!professional wrestler!canadian!ofc)

"i don't know how heaven could be better than this."

summary: everyone's talking about the hearth sisters, lester and their partners. but what about the original F1 it couple of the 2000s? OR beatrice anastasia 'trish' alonso is the only woman who can balance out fernando alonso's insanity with her calmness, and she happens to be the grid's crush of the season.

content warning: fluff, mentions of mclaren fernando, dad!fernando, family-centric (ish), possible use of explicit language, badly translated spanish, tim hortons references, 2023 canadian gp, f1 drivers are down bad, petty fernando at the very end, using 'trish stratus' (the actual ring name of the wrestler) as the ring name of oc

note: was writing third part of my max verstappen thing, worked on cmyc for a minute, thought about nando and that photo with the models, made these posts, had a breakdown. bon appetit xx

masterlist

2018 ROYAL RUMBLE - TRISH STRATUS TALKS ABOUT COMING BACK TO THE RING AS A WOMEN'S ROYAL RUMBLE ENTRANT

[1st image: i've definitely missed being in the ring. for the past few years i've been working back and forth in spain and canada- where my yoga studio is. i've been watching my husband, fernando, race throughout the years and we've been taking the kids along whenever we could.]

[2nd: i've told him (fernando) at some point that i've missed being out there and wrestling. months before, hunter (triple h) called me and wondered if i'd like to be a part of... this. i had never been so happy to hear that they want me to be a part of this very important event that will impact women's history at the professional wrestling industry. now here i am, participating in the first women's royal rumble.]

[3rd: it's been an eye opener for me, to be honest. i've met many women that are new here- some of them apparently grew up watching me alongside stephanie mcmahon and lita and the other ladies. i had never been this happy nefore because we never had the same platform as men - and back then, it wasn't as diverse in the women's division. so for me to be a part of this, so far, has been an absolute privilege. i will never ever waste any time spent here.]

[4th: my husband was more excited than i was *laughs*. throughout his break, he did everything a supportive spouse would have done. he took the kids to watch me train, we often did our workouts and yoga together, he was actually the one who suggested i wore these ring gears. he's highly excited to see me in the ring tonight - he even wore an old trish stratus merchandise that he bought years ago.]

[5th: he's supposed to be in uk for his sim racing practice, but he phoned me few days ago telling me that he was already flying in with our kids - one of which is a six month old - from spain. he said that "he didn't want to miss out on his wife making history again." so... here i am! making history with the most talented women in wwe, as my fernando wanted.]

2016 AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX - POST-RACE INTERVIEW WITH FERNANDO ALONSO

[1st image: i know that my mom and my wife are watching the tv, so i got out quite quickly.]

[2nd: trisha has been calling me every hour to see if i'm okay. i keep telling her that i'm okay but she doesn't believe me for one bit- i was like "what do you want me to do???" *laughs* but i am flying back to canada as soon as i can because i miss her and our son.]

[3rd: it's not the first time that has happened to me but now i know i have to make it out of such situation because i have a family. our son, frederico, is only 2. i still want to see him and his many siblings grow up, you know? this is the first time i've been scared (enough) because i promised to take him swimming when we go back to spain. so, yes. i would like to get out of australia as quickly as possible so i can rest with my wife and our son.]

tagged fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll, astonmartinf1

liked by tillywolff, estebanocon, carlossainzjr

user1 OMG !!! frederico was so little back then 😭

user2 what grade even is frederico in?

thetrishalonso fifth grade! he's turning 10 soon 🥰

astonmartinf1 when freddy and rey dressed for the occasion 💚 liked by thetrishalonso

thetrishalonso of course, green = lucky 🍀

user3 word on the street is that the drivers were drooling over you 😭 can you please confirm? landonorris pierregasly lance_stroll charles_leclerc

oscarpiastri "the source is i made it the fuck up" -user3

yukitsunoda0511 not true 👎

user3 oscarpiastri yukitsunoda0511 i literally didn't ask either of you 💀💀

user4 f1 drivers are obvious and down bad 🙅‍♀️

georgerussell63 thanks for visiting the mercedes garage! it's been a pleasure 😊

user5 oh no they're piling up...

carlossainzjr frederico y reyna estan bien grandes ahora! liked by thetrishalonso

thetrishalonso estoy tan preocupada de que lleguen a ser más altos que yo y su papá.

landonorris thank you for the selfie! i really liked spending time with you and the mini alonsos 😇

lance_stroll thank you so much for the iced capp this weekend! it definitely helped! liked by thetrishalonso

thetrishalonso of course, sweetheart 😘 anything for the aston martin crew!

mickschumacher the everything bagel was very good, thank you so much! teach us how to do the stratusfaction next time!

nyckdevries thank you for introducing tim hortons to us 🙃

estebanocon thank you so much for the timbits 😊 lance failed to be a canadian to us and never got us any the last canadian gp

schecoperez ¡encantado de verte, beatrice!

user6 she got the whole grid on a leash 😭 so girlboss of her

alo_oficial estoy tan feliz de que tú y los niños estuvieran aquí. te quiero mi reina 😍😍 liked by thetrishalonso

thetrishalonso love you too, mi hombre guapo 🥰

tagged thetrishalonso

liked charles_leclerc, pierregasly, landonorris

user1 LMAO YALL NEED TO APOLOGIZE TO FERNANDO 🤣

user2 fernando's bout to enter his dts villain era once more 😭

pierregasly very pretty! 😍

user3 not you having the audacity 🤠

landonorris so fine 🤪

user4 why are y'all asking for your death wish 😭😭

user5 fernando's on his way to wipe half of the grid, thanos style 🤌🥰 as he should

thetrishalonso you're going to have to work hard first then we'll talk babies 3,4 and 5 😘😜 liked by fernandoalo_oficial

fernandoalo_oficial challenge accepted, mi amor

user6 ugh parents 😫 if you need a dog hmu

translations !!! (what i wrote down in the translating app 💀)

frederico y reyna estan bien grandes ahora! = frederico and reyna are so big now!

estoy tan preocupada de que lleguen a ser más altos que yo y su papá = i'm so worried that they'll grow taller than me and their papa

¡encantado de verte, beatrice! = nice seeing you, beatrice!

estoy tan feliz de que tú y chicos estuvieran aquí. te quiero mi reina = i'm so happy you and the kids were here. i love you my queen

mi hombre guapo = my handsome man

solo mi esposa, frederico y reyna, y sus muchos más hermanos por venir = just my wife, frederico and reyna, and their many more siblings to come

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nataliawrites · 2 years

Text

Sweeter Than Revenge // Toto Wolff

Toto Wolff x Verstappen!Reader

Toto Wolff was a perfectionist. He demanded nothing but the best. He refused to settle for second or third. He knew what he wanted and he knew how to get what he wanted.

That’s where you come in. Some would call you a jack of all trades. Despite your relatively young age, you had graduated at the top of your Oxford class with a Doctorate in Engineering Science — specializing in automotive and mechanical engineering — and a Masters in Strategy and Innovation. Your thesis on exploiting friction and wind resistance instead of battling against it caught the eye of numerous car manufacturers, all wanting to snatch up the mind behind the innovate approach that could revolutionize the industry.

But when Formula 1 teams joined the fray for your employment, your mind was made up the second you saw the email from the Mercedes-AMG Petronas team principal himself. The exorbitant salary, company car, and executive position Toto was offering you were benefits but they paled in comparison to the opportunity to do the one thing you had been waiting for since you permanently left home at 18 years old — prove the people that you had once called family wrong.

Growing up as the eldest child of Jos Verstappen and half-sister to Max Verstappen was anything but sunshine and rainbows. Constantly in the shadow of your younger brother. Always ignored in favor of your father’s golden son. Never receiving approval or the affection you desired after the loss of your mother. Always an afterthought to racing.

When you moved to an entirely different country, merely a teenager yourself, the only communication you received from your family was a text message from Jos reminding you “not to embarrass the family name” a few months after you started university. So you powered forward, completely alone in a foreign country and forced to work two jobs on top of school, but finding solace in your studies.

Now, as you hit send on your response to Toto Wolff, all of your struggles were going to pay off.

Not long after, you were invited to formally meet the team and sign all the necessary paperwork in the beginning of the offseason. You made the drive to Brackley and smoothed your power suit before entering the team’s technology center. A composed receptionist took your name before guiding you down the halls lined with moments and memorabilia from team history and leaving you in front of a door with a steel “Toto Wolff” nameplate on it.

You took a moment to collect yourself and rapped your knuckles against the solid wooden door, turning the handle when a deep accented voice from within the office told you to enter. The Austrian, who painted an imposing picture behind his desk, rose to greet you with a firm handshake. You quickly realized that he was tall and fit and, despite how hard you tried to keep your mind professional, extremely handsome.

“Dr. Verstappen, it’s great to finally meet you,” Toto motioned for you to sit down across the desk from him.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Wolff. I am so grateful for this opportunity.”

“The pleasure is ours. We are very excited to have you onboard this coming season. And, please, call me Toto.”

“Then you must call me Y/N. And while we’re on the topic of names, I’m sure you’ve noticed mine.”

Toto leaned back in his leather chair, “a funny coincidence to be sure. I hope that doesn’t mean you cheer for Red Bull.”

You hid a wince at his joking tone, “about that … it’s not exactly a coincidence. Max Verstappen is my brother. Half-brother if you want to get technical.”

You continue as you see him about to speak, “let me assure you that this will have no negative impact on my work with you. If anything, it will make me work harder towards the team’s success. I don’t exactly go around making this public knowledge, but my childhood was not the best and I haven’t spoken to my brother or my father since I first moved out at 18. They never supported me or showed that they cared about me. I’m doing this for myself. I’m going to help Mercedes win to prove them wrong.”

Your heart pounded out of your chest as Toto impassively stared into your soul. “I believe you.” A breath you didn’t even realize you were holding rushed out in relief. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Jos Verstappen and what you’ve told me does not exactly come as a surprise.”

“Thank you, Toto. I promise you won’t regret it. We’ll get Mercedes back on top.”

“I am counting on it. Welcome to the team.”

You spent the rest of the off-season working more often than not, applying the research your Doctorate was built on to the car and optimizing it as much as possible. You spent your days working closely with the engineering team and both Lewis Hamilton and George Russell, gathering as much data as possible before you flew out to pre-season testing. Your evenings were usually taken up by Toto, the both of you workaholics who stayed far past the time that everyone else had left, typically discussing strategy and your mutual loathing of Red Bull over dinner that was ordered into the office.

The attraction that you felt upon first meeting your boss grew more and more as you got to know him better. While his handsomeness certainly didn’t hurt, his intelligence and passion truly did it for you. His age didn’t bother you — boys your age certainly left something to be desired — but you refused to be known as the woman who slept her way to the top (despite how unfair and inaccurate that would be) in a heavily male dominated field. So you used all your willpower to stay professional and prayed that Toto didn’t notice when you would gaze at his lips or his forearms or his chest in that famous button up shirt for a bit longer than strictly appropriate.

There was no way that Toto Wolff could possibly reciprocate your feelings so your resolved to keep them tightly bottled up.

He had a different idea.

You were in Toto’s office to mark your last dinner before flying to Bahrain for pre-season testing, lightly talking over a bottle of wine, when he abruptly set down his glass and looked resolutely down at you. “Tell me if I’ve misread the situation,” he pushed your plates to the side, uncaring, as he reached out to pull you across the desk and towards him.

You seized up in shock but melted as he crashed his lips to yours.

You gathered what little common sense you had remaining to detach yourself from him, “Toto, we can’t.”

His eyes went guarded, “Do you not feel the same way?”

“No but-“

“Then why?”

“Because you’re my boss! Because even the thought of this is unprofessional! Because it can ruin both of us!”

“But you want this.” He said it as a statement.

“Of course I do,” you deflate. “But we can’t-“

“And I want this too. I want you. You are strikingly intelligent and incredibly beautiful. We are both consenting adults and the team does not have a fraternization policy. There is no reason we must suffer in restraint.”

He takes both of your hands, engulfing then with his large ones before continuing, “you have been taking care of yourself for so long. Now, let me take care of you.”

You were extremely thankful the next morning that you accepted Toto’s offer to join him on his private jet instead of flying commercial charter with the rest of the team. At least this way he had time to drop you off at your apartment so you could pick up your luggage on the way to the airport without having to rush.

The other perks were pretty nice too. If you had told your younger self that you would be joining the Mile High Club with Toto Wolff on a private jet heading to Bahrain for the start of the Formula 1 season, you would have laughed in your own face (and then tried to work out the physics of how you time traveled to see your younger self in the first place).

Once in Bahrain, you jumped into the beautiful chaos that is the F1 season head first. Mercedes started off on a much higher note than last year and the mood around the garage remained light as the team kept the momentum going. It quickly became common to see 1-2 Mercedes finishes or at the very least both Mercedes drivers on the podium as the optimized car and your unorthodox strategies gave them the extra edge.

You and Toto tried to steal as many moments together as you could away from the hurricane of work that sometimes swallowed you up. Soon, neither of you particularly trying to keep your progressing relationship a secret, the rest of the team became aware that you were together. Despite your initial fears of backlash, you were met with support and the worst you got from the team was gentle teasing about managing to tame the infamous Toto Wolff.

As the season unfurled, neither your father nor brother had noticed you working for their rival. While photos of you with Toto, your drivers, and generally around the team did circulate, neither of them made the connection between the woman in Mercedes gear and the daughter and sister they cut off years ago. You ignored the traitorous pang in your heart every time Max or Jos’ eyes glossed over you, not realizing who they were looking at.

Or at least they didn’t until the FIA Prize Giving ceremony.

Toto was attending to receive the Constructors’ Championship trophy while your drivers collected their respective Drivers’ Championship and second-place trophies and you had come along as his date. While making the rounds on Toto’s arm at the gala after the ceremony, Max happened to overhear Toto introducing you to an acquaintance and your brother’s head snapped up at the sound of your name.

Max stared at the woman with Toto. It couldn’t be … but she had the same face shape and nose shape and hair color he remembered. His feet moved towards you before he could help himself, “Y/N?”

You heard the familiar voice interject from behind you and steeled yourself before turning around, “Max.”

“Is it really you?”

“Last time I checked.”

Toto had managed to excuse himself from his conversation and joined the awkward reunion between the estranged Verstappen siblings.

“Verstappen,” he nodded a curt greeting.

Your brother paused, looking between you and Toto, “wait-wait. You and him? You’re together?”

“For a while now,” you gained some satisfaction from the mix of emotions, none of them pleasant, that crossed Max’s face. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice earlier. I mean, Toto and I did only meet because I work for Mercedes. I’ve been around the paddock every race.”

You didn’t notice the approach of your father until you looked at Max’s wide eyes frozen on someone behind you.

“How dare you! To go against your own family? To actively work against your brother?”

“Hello, father. How are you? I’ve been great! It’s only been a little under a decade since I’ve heard from you.”

“Why you little who-”

Toto stepped in front of you before your father could finish what was sure to be a very complementary sentence, “Verstappen, I would stop it right there if I was you.”

“I always knew Y/N was an embarrassment but even I didn’t expect for her to become a gold digger going after men her father’s age.”

Toto came to your rescue once again, “she’s far from a gold digger. Y/N is Mercedes’ Executive Engineer and Strategist. She’s a large reason why we beat your son all season long.”

“What she is,” Jos spit out, “is a shame to the Verstappen name.”

Toto resolutely held you close, “then it’s a good thing she won’t be a Verstappen for much longer.”

Taking the opportunity, you raised your entwined hands to show off the diamond ring that graced your ring finger since Toto took you on vacation to the Seychelles and surprised you with a beautiful proposal a week ago.

“Max, Jos … we’ll be sure not to invite you to the wedding.”

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flower-boi16 · 3 months

Note

I think what's actually alarming about Helluva Boss and Vivziepop is that the shower suffers from heavy creator-fan enmeshment, and the writers/Vivziepop don't see themselves as the problem for it. It's like they see themselves as the victims, too, while encouraging their fandom's toxic mindset and behaviors.

The writers/Vivziepop are not only too entangled with their fans, but they're THINKING like fan artists/fanfic writers instead of actually making a show. There's a difference between writers of a show and fanfic writing. When you take up the mantel to create a show you have to carry yourself in a way and write your show with a point otherwise you end up with shows like Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel, Miraculous Lady Bug, SVFOE, SPOP, and other shows that fall into that category. Some of them focus more on the shipping than the point of their show to begin with.

What makes a good show is having that distinction or maintaining that professionalism. Creators of shows should NEVER let themselves sink into the cesspool of their Fandoms because they should be focused on their story/message instead of all this shipping/woobing bullshit.

TLDR: Helluva Boss never had potential with VivziePop holding the reigns to begin with. It's too disorganized and unfocused, and with the Fan Enmeshment, it was never going to grow or expand from its fanfic-y feeling. If the creator of the show never grew up, we should never expect the show to grow, too.

Though it is a shame since it could have been charming, had someone more professional taken the show.

Viv definitely was never cut out to handle a big project like this. I’ve said this many times before, but ya, Viv writes like a fanfic writer; everything with how messy the structuring of how her shows is and how poorly they are planned makes me think this.

It reminds me of when I tried to make my first fanfic and just went in without a plan with how to structure it which led to me just abandoning it early on. Viv writes like that.

She didn't listen to criticism of her Zoophobia comic and she still isn’t listing here. She shifted the focus of HB away from the premise to shipping nonsense and now we have this weird mess of a show that doesn’t even know what it wants to be anymore.

Season 2 seems to prioritize relationship drama over the actual premise which caused the show’s downfall. Hazbin feels a bit less fan-ficy but it’s still very messy.

Viv just crams too much shit into too little time which results in the pacing being awful. She paces her shows like a fan fic writer. It feels like she only came In with a small understanding of how show running works and jumped right into the industry because she was excited to show off her gizzalion OCs she had since high school.

Everything about HH/HB feels amateur. I really think that before you get into storytelling you need to actually study how to create good stories, like there are YouTube videos out there you could watch for free that give a run down of what is good or bad writing.

You don’t need to spend 20+ in school to be a good writer but you need to have a basic understanding of how to even write your ideas before you start making stories…which Viv clearly does not.

HB Season 2 in general doesn’t feel like a natural continuation of the first season. It feels like a fan-fic written by a fan after season 1 ended posted on wattpad that the show runners decided to animate and voice into a full season.

Viv should have learned how to run a show before jumping into something as ambitious as this, but she didn’t, and look at what we got.

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop criticism #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #hazbin hotel criticism

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mynicosensesaretingling · 11 months

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Lost in the moment (part 1)

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Summary: Throughout her career as a motorsport journalist, (Y/N) has established a special relationship with Nico. But what happens when unfortunate circumstances keep her from being there for him during the most important moment of his career? (part 1 of 2)

Warnings: Other than some angst there isn't any, female reader

Note: Noticing the lack of Nico fanfiction, I've decided to turn my dreams into an actual story. No worries, there will be a second part!

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/mynicosensesaretingling/734355288476565504/lost-in-the-moment-part2

Hope you enjoy it <3

Life as a journalist was not exactly a quiet life, especially for (Y/N), who worked as a reporter live on location for a motorsport journal called Countdown Magazine. Having been a dream job for the young woman since childhood, however, the stress that came with working in the motorsport industry seemed only half as bad to her.

But this year, the atmosphere had changed as the intense rivalry between Nico Rosberg and Lewis Hamilton, known as the “Silver War”, had captivated the world of Formula 1. As a dedicated and well-reputed reporter, (Y/N) had secured herself, what you could call a front-row seat, which allowed her to immerse herself in the high-stakes drama that unfolded throughout the season and enabled her to follow every twist and turn with unwavering dedication.

However, even though the feud between the Mercedes drivers provided great headlines and stories, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel tense whenever Lewis and Nico had a go at each other.

Having been covering the sport for multiple years now had created a closer bond between her and several of the drivers and none more so than Nico Rosberg. The German Mercedes driver had always struck (Y/N) as a fascinating character.

Over the years, their paths had crossed countless times during press conferences, pit-lane interviews and post-race debriefs. She had covered his journey from the earlier days of his Formula 1 career, watching him develop from a promising talent into a championship contender. His approachability and genuine interest in connecting with those around him were what had set Nico apart from the other drivers. Beyond the professional facade, the driver was a thoughtful guy, cracking jokes, sharing gossip, discussing the intricacies of the sport, the pressures of competition and even personal anecdotes from his life.

Before she knew it, (Y/N) had found herself staying behind after work, searching out any chance to connect with the German. It didn’t take long before he invited her to join him at whatever he was planning on doing next, be it a walk around the track, getting something to eat or simply hanging around the paddock. Each time she accepted his offer the unique bond between them grew stronger, forging a friendship that transcended the typical reporter-athlete dynamic.

"Sometimes I really wonder why you spend so much time with me." the young reporter once mused, resting her chin on her hand as she leaned against the counter. Nico, who was standing next to her at the whirring coffee machine, shrugged his shoulders calmly, "I have to make sure I'm always presented in the best light. After all, we don't want any scandalous headlines or such, do we?." his cheeky laughter was quickly interrupted when (Y/N)'s foot found his shin. "Ouch." the blond man exclaimed overdramatically, pointing at her with his silver spoon in an accusing manner, but his narrowed eyes were sparkling playfully. "I swear one day I'm going to lose my ability to drive because of you. And then we'll both be out of a job." (Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at his antics. "There are plenty of other Formula 1 drivers I could report on." "Mhm." Nico was nodding while picking up his cup from the coffee machine. "But apparently these drivers must be boring as hell, otherwise you wouldn't be spending so much time with me." He winked at her whilst stirring his coffee, getting an eye-roll from (Y/N) in response. "Oh come on, I know you love me." Nico chuckled. "Oh shut up," the young woman laughed, waving her hand in a dismissive manner, purposefully ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat.

One of (Y/N)’s favourite memories, which she had made in her friendship with Nico, was when after a long, rainy qualifying day and countless press conferences, the driver had waited for her in the pitlane, an umbrella in his right hand as he wordlessly motioned for her to join him with his free one. “It’s raining.” she had expressed, pulling her jacket tighter around her body in hesitation, eyes darting to the dark clouds above. “And I have an umbrella.” Nico had simply countered matter-of-factly, shaking the umbrella for emphasis, scrunching his nose as his gesture led cold droplets to land on his face. (Y/N) suppressed a laugh, finding the sight utterly adorable. “I can’t just leave you standing there in the rain, can I?” her voice was filled with amusement, as she mustered the man, before quickly making her way over to Nico. “I mean,” he chuckled, as she ducked under his umbrella “You definitely could, but I’d find it incredibly rude.” (Y/N) huffed a laugh, linking her arm with his. “Well, how kind of me to join you then.” She hummed, eyes fixed onto the moon’s reflection in one of the puddles below. “ What are we doing anyways ?” she raised her brow, looking up at him with curiosity. Nico turned his head, a sparkle in his eyes. “We’ve never walked a track at night before, so I figured we’d make it a first. And now that I am thinking about it, I don’t think we’ve ever walked in the rain before either.” his gaze turned mischievous as he shook the umbrella once again, sprinkling water into both of their faces. A hearty chuckle left his lips as he watched (Y/N) scrunch her nose, just like he had done earlier. “Why did you even bother getting an umbrella?” (Y/N) huffed lightheartedly, as she wiped her face with her sleeve. “Cause I know you wouldn’t have joined me without one.” he grinned down at her before pulling her along with him. That night, as Nico and her had spent several hours walking the moonlit track, sharing an umbrella and conversing about everything and nothing, is when (Y/N) had realized that her feelings for the Mercedes driver went far beyond friendship.

In the current tense situation, moments like these were not lost on the pair, but they were becoming increasingly infrequent. With the championship-deciding race approaching, (Y/N) could feel the pressure on Nico becoming stronger by the minute. Being on the brink of realizing his lifelong dream of becoming a Formula 1 World Champion and stepping into the footsteps of his father had led to several sleepless nights thinking about the sacrifices and the relentless pursuit of excellence that had brought him to this pivotal moment. And on top of that, Nico’s biggest rival was his own teammate and best friend, Lewis Hamilton.

Especially now that the relationship with his childhood friend was slowly but surely coming to an end, Nico found himself drawn to (Y/N)’s presence, even more so than usual. Amongst this utter mess, which he found himself in, she was his lifeline and he clung to it like a desperate sailor lost at sea.

Particularly in the days leading up to the race, Nico was confiding in the woman about his innermost fears and ambitions, trusting her as someone who genuinely understood the intricacies of the sport and its impact on his life. She, in turn, had found herself awaiting his late-night calls, admiring his determination as she listened to him rambling about whatever was occupying his mind, her heart filling with a sense of pride whenever she’d hear a faint chuckle from Nico as she managed to bring some lightheartedness and humour to their conversations.

"You'll be okay," she would say to him in a gentle voice, "you've always managed so far." On the other end of the line, the driver would sigh, "But it's never been like this before." His voice was weary and full of thoughtful despair. "And in the future, it will never be like this again." she would say with a shurg, her empathetic smile practically audible through the phone. "So try to enjoy as many of these moments as you can." There was a pause before Nico gave a breathless chuckle, "Oh man, what would I do without you?"

On the day of the race, as Nico prepared for taking on the track, he couldn't help but think of (Y/N) and how she had supported him over the last few weeks, reassuring him and quite literally keeping him sane as the situation within his team steadily deteriorated.

His blue eyes scanned the area outside of the Mercedes garage. Unable to spot his friend in any of the spots she’d usually be in, Nico approached one of the stewards. “Hey, sorry,” he tried to sound nonchalant “Have you seen the Countdown crew?” his eyes nervously flitted around the paddock, before landing back on the steward. “Countdown Magazine? No, I don’t think I have seen them anywhere on the track today.” the older man answered, a rough hand scratching away at his beard. “Thank you.” Nico shortly nodded, before abruptly turning on his heels and making his way back into the garage with tense shoulders. (Y/N)’s absence from the paddock weighed heavily on his mind. She had promised him to be there today and she’d usually come in amongst the first wave of reporters. Why wasn’t she there yet? Nico combed his fingers through his hair , lost in thought. Shaking his head, he felt his team’s eyes on his form. She’d surely be at the paddock in no time, he thought, deciding that for now, it would do him better to focus on the race and his strategies, in order to secure the championship.

What Nico didn't know, however, was that just mere moments before the gates to the paddock were opened, the boss of Countdown Magazine had abruptly fired (Y/N) at short notice.

With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the only thing the young journalist had been able to understand through the speaker of her cell phone was that the magazine needed a “breath of fresh air” and therefore had decided to get rid of their motorsport department in the composition in which it had existed until then…or something like that. (Y/N) wasn't entirely sure, as she was overcome with panic as her thoughts flew straight to Nico.

Just the night before, she had promised him on the phone that she would never miss the most important race of his career and now she was sitting in her hotel room, unemployed, with no access to the paddock and no way to get a ticket to the race because the tickets had already sold out weeks ago.

Had a champion of misfortune been crowned that night, she was sure that no one would have been able to deprive her of that victory. Shaky fingers dialled Nico's number, which she by now knew better than she did her own, the cheap wood of the hotel bed creaking as (Y/N)'s leg bobbed up and down in unease. With each ring of the call, her breath caught in her throat. The ex-reporter knew the driver too well by now to have expected him to use his cell phone so close to the race, but what other option did she have? She pressed the phone to her ear for a few more moments, each second more painful than the last, wide eyes staring blankly at the F1 broadcast on her TV screen. It was only when the drivers left their garages to get into formation that she dropped the cell phone from her ear and threw it onto the mattress behind her with a loud "Fuck!", followed by a strangled sob whilst desperate fingers pulled at her hair.

As the race unfolded, the tension in the air was palpable. Nico and Lewis were locked in a fierce battle for the championship and every corner, every lap, seemed to carry the weight of each driver’s dreams. When Nico finally crossed the finish line , securing his victory, he felt a mix of euphoria and disbelief. After this particularly demanding season, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief, having fulfilled his life-long dream of winning a World Driver’s Championship title.

The moment Nico stepped onto the podium to accept the championship trophy, he couldn’t help himself but to scan the crowd of reporters, still hoping to catch a glimpse of (Y/N). She had to be there, after all that’s what she had promised him. Yet, his friend still remained conspicuously absent.

Nico held the coveted trophy high, the cheers of the crowd a deafening roar, as he smiled down at the sea of people. But even with a championship in hand and hundreds of people celebrating his achievement, there was a strange feeling of emptiness within his heart. As the champagne sprayed and the crowd celebrated, Nico's emotions were a turbulent mix of exhilaration and confusion. He couldn't help but wonder why (Y/N) hadn't been there smiling up at him, especially when she had been a constant presence throughout not only the season, but the majority of his career. The absence of his friend was like a splinter in his heart, casting a faint shadow over what should have been the most triumphant moment of his career.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) watched the race unfold from her hotel room, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. The news of her abrupt departure from her reporting career had come as a shock, and she had fought bitterly against it. Her job had been her passion, and Formula 1 was her life. To be denied the opportunity to report on the championship-deciding race, and more importantly to support Nico in his most crucial moment, was a heartbreak she struggled to bear.

As she witnessed Nico celebrating his victory, the realization of her absence was a painful weight on both her shoulders and her mind. She had been forced to watch her friend reach the pinnacle of his career from a distance, unable to share this moment of glory with the man who had unknowingly stolen her heart. The tears she shed were a mixture of pride for her friend and a deep sense of sorrow for her own situation.

Back at the race track, Nico's initial reaction, unaware of the circumstances behind his friend’s absence, was one of betrayal. Finding himself being swarmed by countless reporters fighting for even the smallest of chances to get a word from the freshly crowned champion, he couldn’t help the bitterness he began to feel towards (Y/N). If all of these random journalist could have turned up, then why couldn’t his dearest friend do the same for him. The longer Nico thought about it, the more he questioned his relationship with (Y/N), something which he had valued so highly up until that very moment.

She hadn’t just used him to boost her journalism career, had she? As much as he wanted to shake the thought, the champion couldn’t stop the idea of having been used solely for thrilling stories and eye-catching headlines to consume him, clouding his mind as the pain of having been abandoned by the woman, whom he had opened himself up to, right when he needed her most, sank in.

His heart was clouded by hurt, and the insufferable ache of believing he had been manipulated by someone he had grown to trust and even developed some sort of feelings for was something he didn't know whether he could cope with.

How could a person whom he valued so highly and would give anything for, be so selfish and leave him standing there like that, clutching his fulfilled lifelong dream in his hand and yet still feeling a hole in his heart. Had his feelings really blinded him to such an extent that he hadn't realized (Y/N)'s true nature, or had his heart perhaps never wished to recognize it in the first place ?

“Mr.Rosberg!” the shout of his name pulled the driver out of his thoughts. Blinking, his eyes travelled up the arm currently shoving a microphone into his face, before settling on the face of the reporter, whose red lips were pulled into an impatient smile. “I am sorry, I didn’t quite catch your question.” he mindlessly gestured around with his hand, hoping to come across as if he really hadn't caught the question in the bustling scenery.

He raised his brows, a half-heartedly apologetic smile on his lips as he kept his attentive eyes on the reporter while waiting for her to repeat what she had just asked. The reporter laughed in a put-on fashion and Nico had to wrestle with himself to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"So," the woman thrust the microphone even further into his face, "I'd be really interested to know whether there was anyone who helped you get through this difficult season, or whether it was all down to you?" Almost immediately the driver put on the mask of a cocky smile. "No, all of that was entirely down to me and I dare say I managed pretty darn well." Nico’s hair bobbed as he nodded towards his trophy. His smile grew painful as he was intent on ignoring the extent of the lie he had just told and the pang of pain, that the conscious erasure of his relationship with (Y/N) caused deep within his core.

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #nico rosberg #f1 fandom #f1 drivers #f1 fanfic #nico rosberg x reader #f1 reader insert #f1 x you #nico rosberg x you #nico rosberg imagine #f1 drivers x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 grid

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ctrlsatoru · 11 months

Text

DIABLO - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to sexual assault. toji having no sense of decorum. reader is engaged so, cheating? but not really and not yet. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k a/n: i was listening to diablo by lexie liu and the rest was herstory. started as porn without plot but things escalated. will proofread this later. summary: Toji Fushiguro looks like a problem, and you know better than to let curiosity get the best of you, until boredom strikes.

There was a time when you speed-walked through this very same building with the drive that only a determined intern could contain. Six days a week, from busy mornings to late nights, you embraced every task they tossed your way, seamlessly transitioning between the demands of different editors.

In the midst of it, one newly appointed creative director saw your efforts and took you under her wing. What began as a professional mentorship soon evolved into an enduring friendship that extended well beyond your time at the magazine.

Utahime Iori, a guiding presence in your life, became one of your favorite people in the world—a friend with whom you shared an unspoken understanding, effortlessly reading each other's thoughts with a single exchange of glances across the room.

Fast-forward five years, and the abrupt, intrusive ring of your phone tucked under the pillow shook you awake. It was Iori on the line, her voice laden with urgency and distress. She was stuck in Kyoto, needing you to do her a solid one. Her father’s condition had worsened overnight, and she wouldn’t be able to make it back to Tokyo for a critical photoshoot.

And so, here you stand, back at the bustling headquarters of the technology and culture magazine where you started your career. Despite your throbbing headache and the relentless fatigue that clings to your tired eyelids, you refuse to let your friend down.

Today's mission: capturing profile photos for an enigmatic tech mogul, a figure so elusive that no magazine has ever managed to secure an interview or collaboration. Probably some Zuckerberg from shein with an amped-up eccentric, incel overlord edge.

Iori had shared the name and a brief overview of the assignment during her desperate call, but the details had slipped through your grasp in the haze of your concern for her.

If you remember correctly, the concept is something corny along the lines of Diablo.

“Ok,” you breathe after the third scalding gulp of coffee that someone thrust in your hand the second you arrived.

Utahime's assistant, a young girl with striking blue hair and asymmetrical bangs named Miwa, looks up from her phone at you with bright eyes, relieved that you’re finally showing signs of life.

“Uh, who the fuck is this guy again?”

You’re momentarily distracted by how cold this place is. A shiver cuts a straight line up your spine. July in Tokyo is no justification for keeping the set at industrial fridge temperature, you think. For some reason, Miwa’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of the water. You know Utahime can make any seasoned truck driver sound graceful when she’s under enough pressure, so it can’t be your choice of words.

You fail to notice your surroundings coming to a stop, or the shadow towering over you.

“Toji. Toji Fushiguro.”

Oh.

That's one way to sober you up.

You’re definitely awake after hearing the deep yet smooth rumble behind you. Everyone within earshot gets ready for what’ll happen next as that oh shit realization settles on your shoulders.

But you’re no longer the eager intern who hid in the bathroom to cry after a rookie mistake. Nothing in your face gives away your heart threatening to crawl out of your ribcage. You turn around bravely and face a soft, dark blue surface.

No choice left but to look up… and up again, until he’s framed inside the thin silver structure of your glasses.

Your first impression of him is simple: no one this tall should stand at this close of a distance. There should be two, or three meters between you to make up for the lack of an acceptable height.

Toji Fushiguro -the name does stick this time- tilts his head to the side and gives you what might be the most shameless once-over. His eyes feel like a dark green horizontal light scanning you from head to toe. It ends with a quizzical expression on his face. The irk is triggered within the second.

“Who are you?”

That same question pops into your mind.

The hair team probably spent twice the time it took you to get here on LA traffic to arrange his inky black hair in the perfect unbothered way. There’s a healthy glow on the sharp edges of his face that can only be the result of seamless natural makeup, enhancing his ruggedly handsome looks.

You’re thinking that by too big, Iori meant that he’s massive. Literally. Wide shoulders block the tungsten spotlight behind him, casting a shadow on you and drawing a luminous halo around his silhouette.

Nothing’s angelic about him. You can tell just by looking. It’s a family gift. You may not have your brother’s electric baby blues, but you have the sight, as he calls it, and the alarms in your head are off.

Miwa shifts her gaze between you like she’s about to shit herself when Choso, the head photographer and a good friend of yours, cuts through the tense atmosphere with admirable ease. He rests a warning hand on your shoulder and takes it upon himself to introduce you.

"She'll be our director today, stepping in for Utahime."

Toji Fushiguro turns to Choso, his eyes never leaving you, observing.

“Why? What happened to Utahime?”

"She had an unexpected family emergency and asked her to fill in. She's worked with us before, and she's excellent at what she does. You're in capable hands today."

What a star, Choso. A beacon of diplomacy. The world would be a much more peaceful place and the arms industry would collapse if he got into politics, you’re sure.

Still under his scrutiny, your expression remained composed. You knew his steely smile would fade soon, and—

“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” Toji concludes breezily, extending his hand toward you.

You reciprocate. Unlike him, you don’t even look down to see how his palm engulfs yours. You just know it will. He on the other hand lifts both eyebrows at your firm handshake.

“I look forward to working with you, Gojo.”

Two hours in, it occurs to you that it might be the case that everyone on set is under some kind of horny spell.

Him nearly walking through the backdrop five minutes in and laughing it off with a cocky comment and a devilish grin sets the entire set on edge from the get-go.

Apparently there’s something about an overwhelmingly tall, ripped, attractive grown man pouting like an iPad kid when his tiny but scary female assistant comes in between breaks to confiscate his phone. There’s a brutish charm about him that makes people act like Victorian gentlemen glimpsing an ankle for the first time in their lives.

The wardrobe assistants are in a heated discussion about how many hands it would take to wholly grasp his bulging biceps.

You, however, remain the skeptic, observing from the fringes. Though if you took any part in the conversation, you’d point out how fucking thick his neck is. Does he lift weights with that thing? What does he need all that for?

When the makeup artist approaches him for touch-ups, he widens the distance between his feet until his face reaches a comfortable height for her to work away. The behind-the-scenes team gobbles it up like ravenous piranhas, and you expect to see this doing numbers on the magazine’s YouTube channel.

Done with feeling out of the loop and not satisfied with what you catch from the set gossip, you take a bathroom break and allow curiosity to get the best of you. You lock the stall door, sit on the lid, and google him.

His name auto-completes after just three letters. You stare at the Toj on the search bar before digging in.

Techbro, self-made, controversial, messy family background. He was the mastermind behind the acclaimed video game, Diablo, which exploded in popularity during the early 2000s. For years, he's faced criticism in several countries for glorifying violence, gang activity and accusations of satanism. You have to chuckle at that. Nonetheless, Diablo hit it off big and he went on to found a videogame and software company under the same name. He's been steadily encroaching on giants like Tencent after repeatedly refusing buyout offers.

Buzzfeed has a trove of ridiculous articles filled with GIFs of him looking scary and hot at the same time, of him looking like the bodyguard of everyone’s dreams, of him taking no shit from the press. Of him looking like a character out of his videogame. You get the idea.

But something else in the personal life section draws your attention.

He’s a Zenin. And not a distant one. He’s Naobito Zenin’s very own nephew.

According to a twitter thread, he severed ties with his fucked up dynasty of a family when he was younger and paved his own way under his late wife’s last name. The reasons for the fallout are unknown to the public, but theories are abundant in the replies. You bookmark that for later.

You can't help but wonder if your brother knows him.

With all this newfound context, you’re almost disappointed that he showed no offense to your frankly rude introduction. After all, you’re a Gojo, the impulse to antagonize a Zenin runs through your veins. And if it’s not an inherited impulse, Satoru personally taught you how to handle them. One of your favorite early teen memories of your brother is watching him reduce Naoya Zenin to tears.

The handshake felt layered, like a declaration of war tucked behind a steely smile. There’s a glint in his eyes when he catches you looking that contradicts the unbothered, enigmatic persona people are simping for religiously online. It’s there and it’s gone, but you’re fast enough. It tells you that he’s playing nice as a temporary measure. If you have to guess, he’s planning to make his team bring up your misstep up to the magazine higher-ups.

You're torn between concern for Utahime and a deep-seated desire to see him try.

The day unfolds smoothly with minimal intervention on your part. You stay behind the monitor and let the crew do their job. Your role mainly involves offering insights when requested by the wardrobe team and flagging promising shots with Choso.

Seeing him go through different stages of boredom and despite his not-so-wide variety of facial expressions, you note the camera doesn’t hate him. It's a unanimous consensus that, in another life, he could have pursued a career in modeling, or perhaps even acting. When someone inquires about your opinion on the matter, you become the focal point of a few discreet side-eyed glances. Your response is a non-committal hum.

Your attention is currently fixated on the last sequence of preview shots displayed on the screen, there’s a very specific detail that you just can’t let pass.

“Can we take a quick break? I wanna try something.”

Choso, taken aback by your sudden initiative, responds, “Yeah, of course, take your time.”

Toji’s face drops from the draw of his eyebrows as you approach him.

“Hi,” he says with that off-putting lift of the corners of his mouth that is supposed to be a smile. He’s probably thinking that your stalling is only prolonging what he wants to be over with.

“Hi,” you catch his inquisitive glance at the objects in your hand. “Is it okay with you if I wipe off your scar?”

His eyes snap down at yours as he thinks it over, squinting for a bit. You’re certain he’s about to tell you to fuck off when he nods briskly, opening his palms as if beckoning you closer.

“Go ahead.”

It's a polite, seemingly harmless green light, yet it feels like you're a bird about to peck at grains of rice beneath a box suspended by a stick.

“Can you—”

He reads your hesitation and does the same thing you’ve seen several times today. He opens the distance between his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. You, for some reason, wait until he looks up at the ceiling like people on the makeup chair usually do out of instict, but he stares at you instead.

Taking a Q-tip soaked in micellar water, you start working away the thin but high coverage layer of foundation, careful not to overdo the edges. A few swipes in and the natural rosy hue of scarred tissue appears, a few shades darker than the color of his lips. It’s a slender, vertical ridge that cuts across his lips, about an inch long. A feature too distinct to waste.

You pull back and he takes the brief chance to run his tongue across the scar, pulling a face at the taste he finds.

Unfazed, you wipe away any excess micellar water and—well, his saliva, you assume—with the dry side of the cotton swab. Once you’re done with that you pat away with a disposable puff dipped in translucent power, just to get rid of any unnecessary shine.

“All good? You satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Cause you don’t look satisfied.”

You’re happy with the outcome of your tweaking, yes. The overall shooting? Well, you’re not in love with it, but you don’t have to be. This whole thing has Utahime’s and the magazine’s aesthetic written all over it, harsh contrasts, blunt shadow.

“This is Utahime’s concept, I’m going with the brief,” You answer, taking a step back to get an overall look and consider any further touch-ups, stopping him when he starts to go up again. “No. Stay right there.”

“What concept would you go for?” he asks, complying pointedly.

“Like I said, I’m going with the brief I was given.”

“But if you were the original director?”

You wouldn't even be assigned to the task. You left the magazine shortly after you finished your internship and never looked back, even though you liked it here and were being given a much nicer offer than you were expecting. The reason for it being that you found out that your brother had been wining and dining members of the home editorial, showing interest in negotiating for the magazine.

It was a no-brainer for you to part ways and find another way. These days, you work with brands and entertainment agencies that allow for more creative freedom, usually sought out for your particular aesthetic.

“I wouldn’t be so heavy on making the tech oligarch look human.”

You reply more out of impulse than calculation, the same way you touch a cat’s tail knowing there will be consequences.

“You suggesting I don’t look human?” He flashes a cold grin at you, kind of like a warning. it’s gone as soon as you blink at him.

The novelty has worn off. Most of the crew are busy doing their own thing, discussing lunch and stretching to alleviate the fatigue of a long day. A few lingering glances remain trained on you— Miwa, Choso, his soldier of an assistant. Toji doesn’t wait for your answer.

“So, what do I look like, then?”

Like a shark, you think. Don’t ever grin at me again, creep.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”You tug lightly at the neckline of his shirt, just a pinch of the fabric, barely touching him at all. "Maybe that should be included in the profile."

He hums. “I do get bored easily.”

You conclude the brief interaction and walk away, acknowledging Choso with a nod, all the while ignoring the way Toji’s amused eyes linger on you.

Like you’re just postponing the inevitable. Whatever that might be.

He finds you later that day, after you’ve wrapped up.

He enters the room with the unspoken confidence of someone who believes he owns not just the studio, but the entire building. Like he's just acquired the magazine and now feels entitled to disrupt your peace with a shitty opening sentence.

“Your work.”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and deserted, and only the lights remain on.

“It’s… interesting. The butterflies, are they alive?”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and empty, and only the lights remain on.

“Sorry?” You’re unable to hide your annoyance at the unexpected interruption.

“I googled you. Your work. It’s eye-catching, quite… I guess eccentric’s a good way to describe it. Very edgy.”

You’ve heard your fair share of similar comments in the past, but he pouts and frowns with the last two words and irritation pulls at you. You let your hands drop to your lap.

He leans nonchalantly against the door frame, arms crossed, undeterred by your silence and your less-than-friendly attitude.

“I was wondering, are the butterflies real or is it CGI?”

You can’t for the life of you decide if he’s being serious, or decipher his intentions. “Neither. They’re props.”

“They look very realistic.”

“They do,” you agree. “That’s the intention.”

“And the flowers?”

“Those are real. For the most part.”

“I see. So how would you have me?”

“Excuse me?”

He visibly fights back a smile, and you wonder if this one would’ve reached his eyes, but seeing how you’re going back and forth like you can’t let the other get the last word, you doubt it. You doubt that he’s capable of such a human thing. Smiling warmly. Honestly.

“You said not so heavy on the looking human earlier, so what concept would you go for if we worked together?”

Because he won't leave you alone to discuss dinner plans with Satoru and Suguru, you stand up from your seat and turn around to rest against the floating station. Facing him like this feels a lot safer than speaking to him through the mirror while giving him your back.

He’s dressed in his own clothes, a basic light gray t-shirt several tighter than the soft material the stylist put on him and a pair of dark jeans. His phone is, as usual, attached to his hand, constantly lighting up with notifications.

“I don’t know. It usually takes me a week to get a feel of the concept.”

“I saw the tank pictures,” he replies a bit too quickly as if he didn't care for your answer. You’re certain that you don’t like this man. You don’t like how bluntly he describes your work, or that you immediately know what he’s talking about.

Knowing how things went on that particular set and from the way he looked absolutely done in the most basic environment without having to do much work, that would be a disaster.

“I wouldn’t put you in a tank,” You snort dismissively, and he tilts his head curiously.

“So?”

A string of visual prompts runs through your mind. You’d submerge half of his face in black tinted water, or have his head resting on a white surface, make blood spill from his eyes. Perhaps you'd drown him in smoke or apply early 2000s mechanical prosthetics to his face and neck. You’d make his skin flush like rubies as if it were burning to the touch. In every single one of them, his scar is left untouched.

“Nothing you’d be comfortable with.”

“You see, I think we could meet in the middle.” he reasons, very eloquently, like he knows just what to say to negotiate with you. You imagine that this is the same voice he uses with his board members to bend them his way. “Can’t say I’d be down for the body-pilling thing or the full-body suits, but I’m sure we could come up with something that leaves us both satisfied.”

“Are you trying to hire me right now?” You’re genuinely confused. And hungry, and tired, and nursing a lingering hungover.

“No,” he chuckles, like the notion is absurd “but you looked bored on set today, and I think I could live up to your vision, is that the word?”

“Right, uh huh.” you nod, very condescendingly, remembering that you’re no longer filling up for anyone or hold any professional responsibility. This is just some man wasting your time. “So what is this? You got a praising kink or something?”

He’s unbothered by your dig. “Not that I know of. Can I be honest?”

You lift your shoulder in a half-hearted gesture. It's not as though he cares about seeking permission anyway.

He lets his eyes drop to the floor and looks back up at you with a bashful little grin.

“I’ve just always wanted to fuck a married woman.”

You’re not as surprised as you are relieved that he’s cut to the chase. He’s not the first man to detest you and want you at the same time. Men often blur the lines between disdain and sex. It’s only fun when they don’t get too comfortable or want to only deliver and fold when it’s their turn to take.

The situation settles on you. The room seems smaller now, and the distant sounds of people outside have all but faded away. He's blocking your only exit, put you in this tight spot intentionally.

There’s a possibility that he’s some exception to the norm, that he can take as much as you suspect he can give, but you’re not going to find out.

“Too honest?” He's devoid of any shame or attempts to sound apologetic. Instead, he's assessing you closely, monitoring you for any reaction.

You know men like him. He has to be used to people eagerly dropping to their knees with just a tilt of his chin. Most of the people you worked with today would do so without hesitation. But Toji Fushiguro, with his insincere smile and unflinching demeanor, harbors far more selfish and hostile motives than bending you over the same chair you were sitting in and making you watch in the spotless mirrors.

“Should’ve kept my intentions to myself?”

A corner of your lips lifts, and he zeroes in on it.

“Didn’t scare ya, did I? You’re a big girl, you're not gonna run.”

He’s daring you now. Fully predatory, like he’ll do something at the slightest indication. Shark. You picture him stalking his way into this secluded space that only the crew knows about after finishing recording videos for the magazine’s social media accounts, his shadow looming across the narrow corridor.

Fear and power. That’s his deal. He either wants to witness a furious flush down your neck, your throat bob in trepidation and your hand look for your phone–

“And do what?” You cross your arms, refusing to cower. “MeToo you? Expose Japan’s mysterious self-made billionaire hellboy? Reddit would riot.”

–Or he wants you to bite back.

“I mean, considering the way you were eyefucking me I think I could probably pull the reverse MeToo card on you.”

Your chin drops, your eyebrows go up, and your head leans back at the accusation. Were you? Eyefucking him? Maybe.

But so was the whole room.

And nothing’s stopping you from bullshitting. “Someone’s optimistic.”

“Is that it?” he smiles, tantalizing. “Do you always just take on the job of the make-up kids out of the goodness of your heart?”

You're not going to indulge him with an answer to that. It's not uncommon for you to take on various roles and responsibilities during your projects. There was a time at the beginning of your career when you engaged in every aspect of your work, from styling and set design to prop work, editing, and even makeup.

“Right. You go ahead. Tell Instagram that I sexually assaulted you with a cotton swab.”

“It’d be just another Monday for Gojo’s PR mercenaries, right?” he pushes you further, casually dropping the G-word as a last resort.

“Everyone likes to look at pretty things, don’t be cocky, old man.” He starts blinking real fast like he’s never been called old to his own face. “Earlier, you asked me what you look like.”

The scrunch of his nose indicates that he wants to say something before the subject changes, but ends up only squinting at you.

“I did ask you that.”

“You look like a problem,” you let your words hang in the air for a moment. “And not the kind I have fun dealing with, no offense.”

Finally, he grins again, tongue coming out to just graze the edge of his canines. Something inside your belly moves as you follow the movement.

��And I’m not married yet, so– you might want to take your intentions somewhere else.”

He nods thoughtfully, then he buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans and lifts his shoulders, taking in a deep breath. The motion reveals a thin line of hard skin under his shirt and just the edge of his underwear.

Water under the bridge.

“Well, no harm in putting it on the table, right?”

Your phone buzzes. Your car is waiting for you outside. You move like he’s not standing by the doorway and blocking your only way out.

“Have a pleasant day, Fushiguro. It was nice to meet you.”

It’s Friday when you see him again at your friend’s birthday party.

He’s lurking his way through the party, nursing a drink with his eyes attached to the screen on his hand until the birthday boy himself hunts him down. Haibara, producer and pitchfork sweetheart whose debut album cover art you worked on earlier in the year.

It’s a funny sight, it would be almost endearing if it weren't for the fact that it's him. The sunshine main character dragging the hunched, brooding giant along with him. Toji looks like he’s trying his best to keep up, half-amused, half-annoyed, nodding as Haibara rambles away. You wonder how the two even fit inside the same room, Haibara being so charming and Toji, a walking threat.

Then you remember Haibara mentioning that he's been working on the soundtrack for a video game.

Your friends’ conversation mingles with the music and flows around you. Someone’s getting married to his ex-husband’s father. Yuki’s about to open her third concept store somewhere in Europe. You can’t be bothered to focus too much on catching up, but you do meet Shoko’s eyes across the room when Mei Mei says something particularly questionable.

You see a hint of longing in her eyes, a shared sense of missing Iori, just as you do. On a brighter note, her father's health is finally starting to improve.

A hand wraps around yours, and another settles on your shoulder. The cold press of a ring on your skin brings you back to the present. You look at your fiancé and get the dreaded feeling that you’re an impostor pretending to know what to do with a man so devastatingly beautiful.

Hiroki leans over your shoulder. “Car’s here.”

His hand feels hot and clammy on yours as he leads you out of your friend's sight, turning back occasionally to make sure he hasn't lost you in the crowd. He won't stop until you're both outside, standing by the side of the street.

“Call me when you land?”

Of course, he will. Nothing has changed. He’s starting a new project in some small town in the middle of nowhere in Europe in 24 hours. You won’t ask him to stay. Six months will pass, and nothing will change, you’ve both done this before.

But you stall. He always calls a car with this in mind. You kiss by the sidewalk, he squeezes you in his arms until your bones fight back. You’ve done this before. It’ll happen again, considering how his acting career is taking off overseas. You’ll do it time and time again until–

“You taste like pennies,” he tells you, and you can't help but laugh softly into his mouth. Your finger traces the barely there curve of his thick, straight eyebrows.

“Make sure to take an aspirin.”

He nods, always sweet and obedient when you’re nagging. You tuck a strand of hair away from his eyes so that people don't fall too hard for him on his flight. His hair has grown longer in recent months, part of his preparation for a role.

Back inside, Yuki makes room for you by moving her legs off the couch. She asks if everything is okay, and you pull her legs onto your lap, rolling your eyes. She knows you too well.

“Don’t gaslight me. Something was off.”

“Do I look like something’s off?”

“No, but you’re a fucking oyster. Hiroki’s not that good with his face for an actor. He kept looking at you like he was afraid you’d disappear.”

Choso chimes in, draping his arm around her shoulders. "They're getting married. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think he might like her, and he might enjoy looking at her."

Looking out of the window, your gaze naturally drifts toward a figure seated by Haibara’s covered dock. Earlier, it was adorned with twinkling lights, but now, even in the dark, you can discern a solitary silhouette in the middle of the glittery ocean.

Mei Mei taps her cigarette, fixing her eyes on you from the other side of the couch.

“Does it have something to do with Toji Fushiguro asking about you, by any chance?”

Your stomach drops. Your group of friends reacts quickly.

“Huh?”

“What does Toji want with you?” Yuki asks, face snapping at you. “Is he trying to get to Gojo through you?”

“We worked on a shooting with him a few days ago.” Choso calmly explains before she can come up with any conspiracy. “She was covering for Iori. Made quite the impression on him, I think.”

“Oh, Satoru’s gonna fucking hate that.” Shoko laughs, unexpectedly loud in her inebriated state. “Please, please fuck him. He’ll be so pissed if you fuck him. It’ll be hilarious.”

“No respect or regard for Hiroki.” Choso shakes his head, and it looks like he’s laughing from the way his shoulders move up and down. “Poor bastard.”

“Yeah, well.” Shoko shrugs, not bothering to hide her dislike for your fiancé.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “He’s just pissy because I was not— exactly professional. I think the asshole might try to get me blacklisted.”

Choso makes a noise of disagreement. Yuki frowns in concern. “Shit. What did you do?”

“She showed up hungover, asked who the fuck he was when he was standing behind her, and traumatized Miwa.”

“Not Miwa. She's an angel.”

“Whatever you did, he’s asking around…” Mei Mei adds with a sick barely there smile, finger on her chin. You don’t like how well she knows you. She makes you feel like she knows exactly what went down that day.

You wonder how well she knows Toji, and how much he told her.

What exactly he asked.

“...and let’s just say that he’s not the curious type, so make your assumptions, everyone.”

You tap Yuki’s thigh without thinking twice and push yourself off the couch. A string of accusations about scaring you off follow, and Mei Mei teases you about not meaning to do that.

“Fuck off, I just need some fresh air.”

“But you’re gonna consider it, right? For me? Come on, it’ll cheer Iori up.”

“I’m not gonna fuck some random man just because you think it’d be funny, Shoko.”

And you’re pretty sure Iori would be the first to tell you to stay away from him. Shoko sags against the back of the couch like a puppy you stepped on.

You step out of the house, past the pool, the limestone steps, and stop only to take off your sandals. The sand is cold and yielding, no traces of the warmth of the slow Atami day left, soft grains clinging to the soles of your bare feet.

Haibara’s dock stretches out into the ocean, endless until you reach the far end and leave behind the sound of laughter and music. It’s him, like you suspected, sitting on the edge, his legs hanging over the sea.

With one elbow resting on his thigh and a phone in hand, his other palm supports his face. You sweep a strand of hair over your shoulder and inhale the salty breeze, opting to linger a while before revealing your presence.

“I think I got it.”

He looks up at you, momentarily caught off guard, allowing you to take a triumphant sip from your glass, the alcohol causing a painful sting inside your cheek. He's still engrossed in the medieval game he was playing from days prior, his commitment minimal, his thumb hovering over the screen.

You leave some distance between you as you take a seat, your glass resting between you. It’s a high drop from here, the water looks as if it could freeze you instantly.

“Hand-held CCTV cameras aimed at your face. Like guns. Point blank.” you finally elaborate, once you’ve found a comfortable position, demonstrating with your hand.

“Sounds fuckin’ uncomfortable.” he remarks, eyeing your demonstrative fingers. You wonder if he’s drunk and how much alcohol it would take to get him there.

You drop your hand, and he follows the movement. “I warned you.”

“So I don’t get flowers? No butterflies?”

“Nah.”

He lifts his gaze from where it had settled on your thighs, and you absentmindedly tap your ring finger against the bare skin out of habit.

“Thought I was pretty.”

You snort in response. Tonight, the moon shines particularly bright, illuminating the dock lounge. It's a serene spot to catch a break from the lively party.

“I changed my mind.”

He sucks on his teeth. “You can’t take a man’s virginity for being called pretty and then take it back.”

“If it helps, you’re still objectively nice to look at.” You say behind your glass. No point in lying, he’s hot. And self-aware. And you’re not blind or ashamed to admit it.

“Objectively nice to look at.” he repeats, like he’s getting a feel of it, or memorizing it for future use. “What about the fiance, then? ‘s he pretty? Enough for flowers and butterflies and shit?”

“I met him working for an editorial. He did get flowers.”

“Ah, I see. So, does he do that often?”

You let another sip wash down your throat, this time tilting your head to the side to avoid the sting.

He returns to his game, and you trace the profile of his nose while the screen highlights the hollows beneath his eyes and the fine lines around his mouth. If you were a bit more intoxicated, you might be tempted to snatch his phone and toss it into the water, anything to halt the conversation about Hiroki. It would force him to look at you instead.

“Leave you alone at parties.” he adds.

You've momentarily forgotten the initial question. “He’s my fiance, not my babysitter. I can take care of myself.”

“Never suggested otherwise, did I?” he sniffs, and a part of you, the sensible one, contemplates returning to your friends and disregarding whatever pulled you out here. Leave him be to enjoy his game and stay away from the one brewing between the two of you.

“What about your entourage? Are they comfortable leaving you out of their sight?”

“I can fend for myself too,” he says, eyes set on his phone. He seems to like to add your name at the end of his sentences.

“Can I play for a bit?” you ask, extending your hand. He hesitates, briefly glancing at you as if to confirm you're not taking the piss, down at his phone, and back at you.

His phone is big enough to feel like a console, and there's a very on-brand crack on the left corner that he warns can cut you. It gets him a side eye that he reacts to with a careless shrug.

You haven’t played any games in years or downloaded any since the younger members of your family grew out of the age where they came as useful, but you recognize this one from ads you’ve seen on Instagram.

It doesn’t take any experience to figure out that you’re supposed to manage some kind of orthogonal kingdom. There’s a castle and a medieval-style village surrounded by a tall wall, with full crops around. You tap around, collect coins here and there, zoom in and zoom out under his close watch. Every time you tap a building without a full green bar, a few options show up, you bite your lip to hold back a smile and hit the red X on the right corner of what looks like a church.

“Hey–”

He’s snatching his phone out of your hands before you can pretend to be sorry.

“Fuck you’d do that for?”

You don’t know why, but his annoyance hits you as the most entertaining thing you’ve seen or heard tonight. A grown-ass man next to you sulking because you deleted his little 2D church on his phone. Shoko might think you fucking him would be hilarious, but this, to you, is real comedy.

“What? You religious or something?” You doubt he is, given his controversies and taunting the satanic-panic crowd. He also happens to look like god left the room the moment he was born.

Toji shakes his head, not as an answer but to reiterate that you’ve pissed him off. A laugh full of mirth bubbles out of you. He’s tapping aggressively, filling up the blank spot with a smaller version of the building, and sucks on his teeth again, disappointed at how pathetic it looks around all his leveled-up properties.

“Did something happen to you as a child, maybe?” You inquire.

“What?” he gruffly responds, offering you an irritated glance. He’s kind of cute like this, frustration looks like a foreign emotion for a man like him.

“Are you diagnosed?”

He does a double-take again.

“Is that offensive to you?” you tease, struggling to contain your amusement at the situation. "Sorry, I know your generation isn't that comfortable discussing mental health."

“See, I might be socially stunted, yeah–” he gruffs after staying quiet for a bit, finally putting his phone inside his back pocket. You lift your eyebrows, eager to see where he’s going with this. “I can agree with that. But you rich kids–”

“Oh, us rich kids?” you gasp softly, not expecting that turn, you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud as he’s not done with his sudden rant. You’re fucking tickled.

He shakes a thick finger in your direction. “–You’re fucking uncomfortable to be around, you know? It makes you think that maybe bullying exists for a reason. They don’t rough the bunch of you nearly enough at those expensive private schools, do they?”

“Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you are a rich kid inside a grown man’s body.” He rolls his green eyes at you until all you see is white, thick eyelashes fluttering.

“Oh, I see. No, I get it. You’re self-made and I’m nepo trash. A spoiled little bitch with a bad attitude who’s never been taught a lesson, is that it?”

Animosity radiates out of him. He flattens his palms on the wood surface behind him and clenches his jaw, shaking his head like he’s not even going to try to reason with you.

“You wanted to hatefuck her but then she ruined your game and made you feel uncomfortable, and now the chase isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nah, you’ve got it wrong there, sweetheart. I don’t put people in such one-dimensional boxes.”

“No?”

He scratches the side of his nose before elaborating.

“Spoiled little bitch, yeah. But you’re a hard worker. And stubborn, too. You’ve been paving your own way, working real hard to traumatize daddy back, haven’t you? You run on pure spite, eh?”

“Fuck off.” you scoff, throwing back what’s left of your drink.

“And– get this,” eyes now glazed with a cruel glint, he leans in closer like he's about to share a secret, and peers down at your chest when you do the same “He’s the crowned king of our country’s conservative media, he’s also old as fuck, so that can only mean that he’s a raging homophobe on top of, you know? Violently misogynistic. You and your brother got your therapist's pockets nice and full, paid off a few nice vacations to hawaii, probably bought a big beach house for her.”

He stops and cocks his head, like realization just landed on him.

“But you, you’re weaponizing the fuck out of him. Christmas at the Gojos's a fucking nightmare for your poor little fiance, but you have your fun, don’t you?”

Just a few minutes ago, you’d been savoring the signs of irritation in his body language, mind running wild with all the ways you could make him tick, but now you want to punch him in the throat. Just bury your fist right there in that v-shaped Adam's apple of his.

“You’re cold-hearted for that, sweets. You know you are.” he accuses half-heartedly, the wicked glint in his eyes hinting that he's trying to strike a chord. “Tell me, does he prepare his social justice speeches beforehand or does he just sit there next to you, quiet and pretty and eats his dessert?”

“Don’t talk about my family, asshole.” You lick the inside of your cheek, but you know the strung tone of your voice will only egg him on.

“Why not? You’re on the news every day. Everyone talks about you.”

Usually, when it comes to your family, you’ve got thick fucking skin. You’re aware of the stain and privilege of your last name. The advantages you’ve had and people claim you don’t deserve. The fact that you’re the living consequence of your father cheating on Satoru’s mother.

Most of the things they say about your father and his monster of a corporation you can agree with, but you keep your head high and your thoughts to yourself and stick to sharing looks with Suguru when it gets particularly nasty between your brother and your father in family gatherings.

“He’s been causing quite the stir, hasn’t he? Your brother. If Alzheimer’s doesn’t do it, he might be the one to finally send your old man to the grave.”

But you don’t fuck around when it comes to Satoru.

You’re propping yourself up on your wrist and lifting your leg when his hand comes to your bare knee, stopping you from attempting to stand up and walk away. His grip is surprisingly gentle, though the tips of his fingers touching the back of your knees do send the message. It’s like he can’t let you forget how much smaller you are in comparison to him.

“Whoa, easy. I’m just playing with you.”

You blink down at him, face set, hoping to deliver the message that you might push him into the water if he fucks around any further.

“I have plenty of family baggage for you to hit me back with, have at it.” he adds, almost kindly.

You remember Naoya Zenin with tears running down his face. If you had to bet on it, you’d say that making Toji Fushiguro cry would single-handedly give you bragging rights over Satoru for the rest of your lives.

He hums when you sit again. “Go on, get as creative as you want.”

“I doubt you even have a family.” you bite “God knows what Zenin lab near Fukushima you escaped from."

“Weak but creative, I’ll give a tick for that. So, what I’m getting here is that you get along with him, then.”

You frown, confused.

“You couldn’t pretend to give a shit when I mentioned the fiancé, but you looked like you would’ve blown my brains if you had a gun on you the second I brought your brother up.”

He sounds suspiciously genuine. You don’t feel like elaborating.

“I know him,” he mentions offhandedly, leaning back. “Flashy cottonhead prick, doesn’t like me very much.”

“Can’t imagine why, enchanting as you are.”

“Probably gonna like me a lot less after this.” he reasons, more to himself.

He turns to you before you can dwell on what he means by that. “So, you’re two peas in a pod then? You and him?”

“I don’t see him that often.” you think out loud, your dinner plans fell through after a sudden change in his schedule. “He’s on some getaway in Osaka, performing some corporate sacrificial ritual.”

“And you’re too cool to involve yourself in such bland, boring affairs.”

You’ve had a bad feeling since your father announced he’ll be stepping down from his position. With the board and investors spiraling and Satoru suspiciously playing your father’s game, you see havoc brewing in the future; your father closing his fist around his leashes, children crying, kittens separated from their mothers and blood spilled on the floor.

And you want none of it.

“I’m an outsider. You don’t need me to explain how it goes, do you?”

He nods at you like he’d tip his drink at you if he had one, deep in thought.

You prop yourself up on your wrist and bring a leg up to rest your feet on the rough wood, inadvertently knocking over your empty glass. You both watch as it tumbles, rolling in a circular path until it meets the edge and drops out of sight, vanishing beneath in the inky water, as if it never existed.

“Water looks nice.” he says.

You hum uncommittedly.

“Wanna take a dip?”

His eyes are already on you when you look up at him. There’s not nearly enough alcohol in you to ignore the distance between you, or the lecherous dip under the friendly, harmless veneer. You wonder what triggered this change so abruptly.

You gaze down at your attire, a deconstructed, stretchy fabric ensemble unsuitable for water activities.

"No, but you can go ahead. I'll watch from here and look the other way if you start to drown."

He dips his head slightly, his frown implying you're a buzzkill. "Come on. You've never gone skinny-dipping?"

“That’s a very lame attempt to get me naked.”

He points at the party with a tilt of his head

“No one’s gonna see you. I will, but I’ll behave, 'cause you’ve had a rough night” The vague fucker carries on again before you can ask what he means by that. “I didn’t think you’d be this shy.”

“And I don’t think Haibara knows he’s friends with an old man that likes to creep on girls a decade younger.” you retort.

He's momentarily silent, and you believe he's finally relented.

Yet, he hooks a finger beneath a thin strap of your top that slipped down your shoulder at some point, deftly guiding it back into place. His nail barely grazes your skin, causing a shiver to course through you. He grins wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours, darkness flickering from beneath his lowered lashes, tantalizing.

“Like you’re some innocent little lamb who doesn’t know better? I don’t buy it.” he mocks you, voice dangerously dropping. “Your cover’s blown, sweets. I see you. You’re a lot darker than you look.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. You’re a little fucked up, ain’t ya? Got some real violent impulses tucked in there.”

That’s rich, coming from him.

"So perhaps you should tread lightly around me."

“I don’t mind.” he says succinctly like you didn’t just witness the black completely eclipsing the green of his eyes. “Tell you what, you’re more than welcome not to hold back around me. Consider me your safe space. Let it all out, you sure look like you need it.”

“How kind of you.” you croon, he blinks, slow and warm for you, lashes coming to rest on the sinking blue-tinted skin of his under eyes.

“You wanna go back and do drugs, Toji?”

The sea roars, a particularly violent wave crashing under you. He looks over his shoulder like he’s thinking of it.

“With your friends?” His tone is derogatory at the last word, unaffected, but you have a theory that if you were to put your hand on his chest, the rhythm of his heart would tell a different tale.

Cute. He’s cute. You want to chew him up.

He hit the spot about you not being the lamb, but another thing entirely. The thought makes you want to laugh in his face, but instead, you smile and pop a dimple, swinging your feet and imagining yourself dropping a handful of rice in front of him.

“No. Just you and me.”

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