#this is so long but idk where to dump this shit

[verdiesque]

Man fuck my international friends fr

[currentlyonstandbi]

[imwritesometimes]

I am once again completely losing any interest or motivation to actually write anything 🙃🙃🙃

[noonaishere]

When you know there’s like one minor problem with your fic but you just can’t stand to look at it anymore because it took too long to work on and it was a mess and required so much work to get it to where it is now and you just--

[suguruplsr]

FILTHY DUMP!

,, mean! satoru x fem! brat reader , heavy degradation + words (whore , slut , bimbo , bitch) + reader calls him a bitch boy, spanking , heavy finger sucking + ear licking , unprotected , dumbification , not proofread + idk what else <3

divider @/yunjiniez

“nuh uh, gimmie y’r hands.” satoru scoffs, pinching one of your ass cheeks and making a pained whimper escape you. you were full of his cock, laid pitifully on your duvet and simply taking whatever he gives you. your fingers clench the fabric underneath you, hesitating to follow his command. you know you’ll be forced to bend to his will once he has his way.

but you ponder for far to long, a sound ripped from you as he takes your hands, holding your wrists behind you with one hand while his other plays with cream coating the are of where you two meet, “tsk, a whore like you doesn’t deserve anything.” satoru mumbles, keeping his gaze on the way your pussy sucks him in with the few short thrusts he gives your needy cunt. you bit your lip from the movement, needing to feel him give you the orgasm you want. but oddly finding his new “personality” hot, wanting nothing more but to push him just a bit further.

“y-yea? but you always spoil me toru. bet yer’ just gonna cum in me like the bitch boy you are.” you sing, relaxing your body, despite the growing ache in your arms, and trying to play into your little act. your confidence is dwindled down to smithereens when a harsh slap is given to your ass, making you scream and turn your head.

“nah, fuckin— wanna act tough, right?” satoru practically growls, anger evident as he lets go of your hands, not giving you a choice but to stuff your head in the sheets as he pushes it down, his chest pressing your body flush to the bed. “say it again. i dare you.” he purrs in your ear, ignoring your tiny mewls from the pure feeling of his tip bumping as far as it can in you. your mind surely doesn’t help you, too focused on his musky smell, a sweet but dull fragrance of his body wash overpowering your senses. god, you can even feel his pebbled nipples brushing against your skin, hot all over from the skin to skin contact.

“bitch boy. t-that’s what you are — ohhhh, toru!” your response is cut off with slender fingers squeezing your cheeks, a breathy sigh from satoru as he gives you a rough roll of his hips before targeting your cervix with a sharp hit. he holds your face so tight you’re forced to swallow down your moans, spit slowly coating his fingers until they’re slipping between your messy lips.

immediately, your tongue swirls over the long digits, choking as they reach the back of your throat, giving you no reprieve. “ah, can’t talk now huh? actin’ like a slut n’ slobbering’ all over my fingers. tsk.” his degrading sends chills down to your pussy, a disobedient hum leaving you and transmitting vibration through his hand as you feel your mouth starting to deny the muscles shoved between your upper lips.

on the other hand, satoru adores the drool he can feel sliding down his wrist, leaning down to the side his arm wasn’t wrapped around, licking your ear as you can do nothing but close your eyes in discomfort. “nasty thing. can feel ya around me y’know. getting off to this like some dumb bimbo.” satoru chuckles, his tongue flicking around the cavern of your ear as he scissors his fingers in your mouth, playing with it as if it was the delicate area between your thighs. you try to shake your head, desperately wanting to claim how utterly disgusting the stronger man was, but all you get is a thumb on your chin holding you in place. a look of disappointment crossing his face. “stay still. gonna fuck the shit out of ya. but y’r not cumming baby~ just a good lesson f’ya!” he giggles, pulling his dripping fingers out of your mouth and pulling away. his dick twitches inside you as he gets a good glimpse of your flushed and lewd state, before his hand wraps around the back of your neck while he pulls away.

“wait! sorry, i’m sorry, m’sorry..” you spew out apologies, to the point where your eyes begin to water, puffy lips quivering as you try to to move your head.

“too late for that. you wanted to act out, gonna make you my bitch. oh don’t run away now, haven’t even got to the good part..” satoru whines, pushing your head into the mattress without a care, his free hand rubbing the arch of your back as he begins to fuck you like he hates you. your muffled cries are like sweet melodies to satoru, whimpers that could have him cum without touching. sounds that his brain keeps stuck in his head because they’re his favorite song.

his thrusts pick up the pace, fast and harsh as your ringing ears pick up the sonds of his imbalanced breathing, and the slaps of his hefty balls hitting against your ass with a dangerous force that could leave marks. so enraptured with the simple feeling of pleasure, neither of you notice the way you did end up creaming around his cock. again, and again, and again. your minds falling weak to how good you both feel. all until you’re getting a filthy and revolting load of cum shoved into your undeserving cut, unapologetic spanks to your ass, and words that make you feel like a dirty dump for your one and only <3

[dizzybizz]

hai here is a sketch dump with too many fandoms :) sorry about the ungodly amount of men here i have been going through it and by it i mean gay

ok wait i ran out of tags??? it wont let me tag them all😭😭😭 im gonna have to be sparing with them uhh i guess i will have to ramble under the cut then cus i like rambling in my tags but i cant with this one 😭

(ok im back from the ramble: it is way too long.... proceed forward if you want to see some guy just absolutely talk nonsense for entirely too long)

no cus i swear i have tried tagging more stuff than this before and never hit the limit but whatever

hello i really use this like a fkn blog huh

i just wanted to provide some thoughts on the harper and rosé one first bc its important to me 😌 cus i was thinking abt harper and how in my head and heart of hearts she would be the kid who thought you get pregnant from kissing and i dont think she ever really grew out of that belief. <- this ended up spawning the idea of harper being a sex-repulsed ace and i will die on this hill actually. fight me or die, you die either way actually nvm

this is just a buncha blorbos i dont know what to tell you really. sketch pages like these always end up so weird for me bc for some reason my brain always wants the characters in them to interact in some way. whether that be talking or just reacting to what the other is doing... its something i cant stop with, its so stupid and silly and i hate it and i love it. where else would i see kabru slowly losing his mind with how loud phoenix wright is in court????

I THOUGHT I HAD GOTTEN OFF THE RAILS WITH THAT BUT THEN THE NEXT PAGE HAPPENED. and all i could do was laugh and ask "what the fuck am i drawing??? HOW DID WE GET HERE? WHY IS THISTLE HERE WITH LEOPIKA HELP" LIKE that page started with the big leopika and then i was like "man i miss thistle lemme draw him real quick" but the curse struck and now hes being homophobic so </3

i rlly like how the nic(k) page turned out ... i just have a lot of nicks i like drawing idk.. the lil guy is an oc,,, one day his ref sheet will be finished and itll be awesome but not for now, sorry baby, no can do. im weirdly happy with how the hands turned out for all of them tho?? so thats a W

yotasuke, murai, nick (youll never know which one im referring to. .. jkjk its hoult i love the pose there ehehhe), nic and the entire last page r my favs. i like em all but those rlly get me yknow- the olly too ofc but ive already posted him, dont mind him being here, hes part of the set. AND OVER ALL IVE BEEN HAVING SO FUN WITH SHADING BLACK AND JUST LEAVING SPOTS BLANK ITS SO ?`????

WHY IS THIS SO LONG PLS DONT READ ALL THIS THIS IS STRAIGHT UP EMBARRASSING AGHSDFGSDHJSGD im all like "yeah i dont like talking about myself or whatever" but as soon as i get to my process or blorbos or smth the floodgates fucking break open, not even burst man.

also dont mind how i havent even acknowledged pingas twink pokemon counterpart. hes just here for shits and giggles i dont know the guy like at all, i watched a handful of eps of horizons and that was it RIP

[tojisun]

sunnyyy!! omg omg okay so idk what you put in your toxic dbf series but im sure its crack cause i know its freaking hurtful but i love it!! ur mind is >>>>>

alsoooo, i have this idea that i plan on writing for miguel but idk where to start SO IM GIVINF IT TO YOUUU!!

so lets call her bunny in this one. say bunny is enough of his shit, won’t let him do her dirty anymore because she refuses to be stupid. she’s no longer cassie howard and moves on to another man. a man who knows what he wants and who isn’t afraid to let her know that he wants her. he’ll cherish her, he adores the fuck out of her, he shows her off and he makes a promise to put a ring on her finger,

but simon doesn’t like that. not even one bit. and it ticks him off because why is he like this? why is he so worked up that she finds someone who finally treats her better than she can? yet, he can’t let it go. he lets her know. she has to know.

and so, at two am he comes knocking at her door. flowers in his hand, nicely dressed for the first time to let her know that he’s doing it for her and only her. not erin.

and it takes a lot in her to not slam the door in his face because she’s happy right now,

“you look at him the way i wanted to be looked by you, sweetheart” he admits, swallowing the lump in his throat. “and i envy that.”

she stares at him with a deadpan look. not really feeling a single thing anymore, leading him to continue.

“i have no right to say that, i know but—“ he pauses to take a deep breath. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me”

she doesn’t want him to

ANA?? ANA MY LOVE???? THIS MAKES ME VIOLENTLY ILL

thinking about this in the dbf!simon series??? oh but im absolutely sobbing // same timeline as this !!

thinking about how you cry and wail and mourn for the years wasted on simon. thinking about the way you crumple on your bed, curling underneath your sheets, your cries now having been reduced to silent tears—this doesn’t mean you feel any better. instead, you feel even more distraught, upset in a way that feels bigger than yourself.

thinking about the promise you make to yourself. how, when the morning breaks, you will move on. that no matter how painful it may be—and it will be—you will strive to let go of simon. truly and completely this time around.

and that’s what you do. you fall asleep in exhaustion, heart heavy and mind buzzed. in the morning, you blink your eyes open and lay in bed for a few more minutes, suspended above your heartbreak, before it all comes crashing down on you. tears trickle from the corners of your eyes but you stay resolute, strong grip corralling your grief into the corner of your heart, before you get your day going.

you start by throwing everything that reminds you of simon: polaroid pictures and framed photos, shirts and clothes and socks and lingeries, towels and bedsheets, trinkets and accessories from across the globe—little souvenirs he’s brought to appease you.

(in the long haul, many of them were actually donated, while some were sold. but today, as you submerged yourself in your heartache, you dumped everything in a black garbage bag. out of sight, out of mind.)

blocking simon’s number actually turned out to be last. you deleted the pictures you have with simon in your phone prior, and then blocked and deleted his number altogether.

you breathed in deeply once you’re finished and collapsed to your bed again, trying to ignore the bareness of the walls and the emptiness of your room (let alone your heart).

the tears come again—they will come more often than not—and you let them. you open the locked corner of your heart and let the grief out. you mourn for what was lost; for what could’ve been. but most importantly, you mourn for the ways you’ve let yourself be trapped in such an unhappy moment.

moving on comes slowly; it comes so torturously that you thought it would never happen. but it does, and it does so during one quiet afternoon.

on that day, you realize that not once did you think of simon. not once did the memories trickle in to rip you away from the jovial present. and as you stand there in your kitchen, the sounds of the microwave beeps piercing through mutedly, you feel remade.

you feel whole, once again.

-

simon noticed, of course. he noticed the way your messages stopped coming in, or the way you no longer use your dad as an excuse to meet simon, or the way you just fell off the radar.

simon tried to reach out to you once and realized that you’ve got his number blocked.

it’s whatever, he thinks. because simon has never known you well, has never tried to learn more about you, so he thinks that this—your silent treatment and your detachment—is all a ploy. something like you playing hard-to-get.

so simon doesn’t think much about it until days turn to weeks, and weeks turn to months, and months are slowly building up to turn to a year.

simon doesn’t hear from you and, despite all his posturing, he realizes that he’s missed you. so he decides to drive by to pick you up for dinner and maybe apologize for whatever it is now that he’s done.

he gets to your dorm and rings your room. the intercom scratches awake, the person from the other side, your dorm mate he’s sure, asks who it was, and simon tells them his name. then, he tells them that he’s here for you.

there is silence for a while, almost loaded in a way that simon knows it’s not the intercom breaking up, and he gets his answer when he’s given a curt reply of, “she doesn’t want to see you. bye.” there is the distinct screech and then the line drops before simon could even ask why.

and simon feels lost. untethered.

-

john is a good man. that’s the first thing you realized. it terrified you, at first, how much you looked forward to meeting him. how much of being with him—simon’s friend—makes you happy.

you waited for the other shoe to drop, shoulders perpetually hunched as though that can shield you from the inevitable of john leaving you. of john using you.

but john is so warm. john is so gentle and kind and patient and loving.

john holds your hand and you know he isn’t looking for more. he drops you off at home, tells you to rest well and to say hi to your dorm mates, before taking off on his bike.

john kisses your cheeks and you know he isn’t looking for something more passionate. more heated. and you crave for his touch, yes, but there is something so special in the way john shows his affection—all crinkled smile and quiet chuckles; all whispered words and promises fulfilled; all soft and tender and secure.

it was a love so different, so beautiful, so really it wasn’t surprising at all when your relationship grows, thriving alongside your healing.

(he promised, you know? he promised, as he played with your hand, that he’ll one day put a ring on your finger. your lips wobbled and you told him to stop making loaded promises such as that, but john just turned to you with a soft smile and said, “i look forward to the day we share the same vow, bunny. if you would have me.”

you hiccupped sob and threw your arms over his shoulders, nodding because, “i would. john, i would!”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and sharing warmth with you. you burrowed your head on the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in, letting his presence wash over you.

john, you thought. johnjohnjohn.)

-

simon drives to you the day after he confronted john. he drives to you with all of his messy heart spilling from the ridges of his ribs, beating only one name—yours.

he’s never felt this way before. not with all the pretty people he’s gone out with, or his first love, or even erin. erin who simon once imagined a future with. erin who simon once loved. not even that could triumph over the expanding turmoil that simon’s basking in.

he calls on the intercom of your dorm again, begs your roommate that may you please hear him out, and then he sees you.

god, you’re just as beautiful as he remembers.

“love–”

“what’re you doing here?”

your words are soft, quiet, but simon isn’t fooled. he sees the anger in your eyes, the hurt having festered into resentment. he wonders how apologies could trickle from his lips—where to even begin?

“please,” you say when simon’s silence stretches on. “just tell me whatever you want and then leave.”

“this. this is what i’m here for. the anger in your eyes– it’s just–…” he breathes in sharply. “i saw you and john, you know? and the way you look at him, it’s how i want to be looked at by you, love.” he swallows the lump in his throat. “i didn’t know what i had until i lost you and i’m so envious of him, i am, so please.”

you stare at him with wide eyes even when your face is smooth of any emotion. simon wonders what you must be thinking but he bulldozes through, hoping that you can give him one last chance.

he promises this time, truly, he’ll be better.

“i have no right to say this, i know, but–” he pauses to take a deep breath, his fists balled tightly. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me.”

a heartbeat passes, and then, “simon, you are a selfish, selfish man.”

your words are barely louder than a whisper but they scratch at simon’s heart. he looks at you, gaze turning desperate when he sees nothing but bubbling fury and disappointment in your own.

“how dare you,” you say. “you tell me that you saw me and john, and then what? instead of letting me go, instead of letting me move on, you come in here and demand that i return to you?”

“love, i–”

“don’t call me that!”

your anger tips over, now spilling out. he watches the way your eyes glisten, tears dripping to stain your cheeks.

“i’m not your anything, si! not anymore!” you take in a ragged rasp of air, choking on your sob. it tugs at simon’s heartstrings and he moves to comfort you but you pull away, sneering at him in your anger. you wipe at your eyes, scrubbing furiously.

“everything about what you’ve said just now, everything, was all about your wants. all about you. just like how it’s always been,” you murmur, the fight leaving you.

you looked small, hunching into yourself, and simon is hit with this feeling; something that lodges itself in his throat.

“lov–… i’m sorry,” he says because he is.

gods he is.

“just go,” you tell him, meeting his eyes for one last time because he knows that this is the end of it all.

you turn away from him then, closing the building door behind you. he watches from behind he glass doors as you disappear into the hallways and stepped into the elevators and, just like that, simon’s lost his chance of making things right.

ANA MY GOD THIS MADE ME FERAL!! i hope u would like this one bb :(( hope i gave ur vision justice

[hugshughes]

Casual J. McCarthy

JJ McCarthy x fem!reader

synopsis - Although your relationship with JJ has always been categorized as no strings attached, the way he makes you feel is anything but casual.

wc - 4.6k

contains - she's angsty :( takes place in a universe where JJ and Katya broke up during like spring 2023!!! friends with benefits but more!!! "casual" relationship that acts like more, cursing, kissing, making out, reader's not great family life is mentioned once or twice, sex references (no elicit smut!), caught feelings, arguing, misunderstanding, shouting, eating, crying, hurt with comfort??? i think that's it!!! lmk!

an - wowwwwww this oneeeee. this took me so long to write like SO FUCKING LONG. started it, got sick, got better, wrote some more, got sick again, got better, THEN FINALLY FINISHED! ummmm idk... OH! i was surprised with tickets to Olivia Rodrigo and flew out to her Charlotte show A WEEK AFTER I COME BACK FROM THERE FOR SPRING BREAK to go with my favorite person ever! and Chappell Roan is her opener currently and SHE PLAYED CASUAL AND I CRIED.

-

my friends call me a loser, 'cause i'm still hanging around.

You often got shit from your friends over your relationship with JJ McCarthy. If you could even truly call it a relationship. The two of you had gotten "together" around the beginning of the school year. He'd followed you on Instagram after meeting at a party. How romantic?

He and his long term girlfriend, Katya had broken up about 6 months prior and the boy was not ready for another true commitment of any kind. You'd also gotten dumped by your boyfriend of over two years over the summer, so honestly neither were you.

You two were strictly casual. Just two not quite friends but also definitely not dating kids who made out and fucked, but also cuddled and kissed each other with no sinful intentions. He took you on dates but God forbid you call him your boyfriend.

i've heard so many rumors, that i'm just a girl that you bang on your couch.

You knew people talked about you two. Girls at parties and in random classes in hushed conversations while they glared into the back of your skulls.

"No, she's not like his girlfriend. She's like his no strings attached side piece or something."

Your eye twitched when you heard it whispered all too loudly behind you in a marketing class. You sighed and shrunk into your chair, reminding yourself that you were gonna private your Instagram.

JJ treated you like his girlfriend, point-blank. It wasn't even like a switch from in private to in public. He always did. But nevertheless he always said that it was all informal. There had been many nights where you stayed up questioning it all. Was you falling sleep on his chest while he played with your hair and kissed your head just another Saturday night for him?

i thought you thought of me better. someone you couldn't lose.

JJ made you feel special, like you were special to him. Special was something you didn't feel often, not after how your ex treated you. You were lucky to even get the bare minimum from him, yet you stayed because he made you believe that was what you deserved.

You and JJ both truly cared about each other. Even though you two were not together, you guys did everything two people that were together did. You went on dates, went together everywhere, cuddled, kissed, had long conversations. It was hard to not imagine how it would feel for him to really be your boyfriend.

You remember the night JJ unknowingly broke your heart. You were at a party, and you'd left to get drinks for the two of you. You were walking back over when you heard one of JJ's friends ask a stupid question.

"Where's your little girlfriend, Jay?"

"Oh, we're not together."

you said "we're not together". so now when we kiss, i have anger issues.

He laughed awkwardly as he said it, rubbing the back of his neck. You turned around and explored the rest of the party for a little while before going back over to JJ. When you returned and stuck a can in his hand, he pulled your arm towards him and kissed you deeply. It was a good kiss, all kisses with JJ were, but it left you hurting.

you said, "baby, no attachment",

It was always the same with JJ. There would be a long while where you and him were in a blissful and amazing haze of acting like a couple without having to be one. Then someone would ruin everything by asking if you were together, causing you two to realize you acted too much like a couple.

You and JJ trusted each other entirely. You'd seen every inch of each other. Helped each other through the bad days, all of it. You'd held him in your arms while he cried over the pressure he felt because of football. You cheered him on at every game. You spent countless nights in each other's beds. He listened while you talked for hours about problems with your family.

but we're... knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out.

You'd done stuff with JJ you'd never have the heart to repeat to anyone. You got closer to each other than you'd ever been with anyone else, and still there was a strict separation between you.

Your head often drifted to one of the many nights you spent in intimacy with JJ. Flashes of you in the backseat of his truck, in his bed, his shower, all of the above. You never let the words JJ said to you while he groaned above you in bed get to your head. You wanted to believe them, but knew you were better off to not. He made you the happiest you'd ever been while also making you completely miserable sometimes.

is it casual now?

Over the winter JJ had even brought you to dinner with his family. You'd met his parents, and his sisters, and they immediately fell in love with you. They assumed you were his girlfriend, though he never actually said that. They were so glad to see their boy so incredibly happy after being in the dumps over Katya all summer.

You remember at that same dinner freezing in your seat when his mom had what she felt was a bright idea.

"Oh, JJ, she should come to the beach this summer!"

You had to awkwardly laugh it off, throwing a joking 'Maybe!' out as his sisters boasted about how that was a great idea. JJ smiled uncouthly, laughing and carelessly nodding his head. You knew that topic would never be brought up, JJ would definitely not be asking you to spend the summer with him.

two weeks and your mom invites me, to her house in Long Beach. is it casual now?

You liked to pretend he was your boyfriend, it wasn't that hard most of the time. You were exclusive with each other, that was made clear at the beginning of your "relationship". JJ said something about how he wasn't the type to see more than one girl, and that you were that girl for him.

You were the one with him when he won the National Championship. He'd invited you to sit with his family. Like, what the fuck? How were you supposed to not be in love with him?

You knew JJ only wanted something casual. You tried not to think about how he was probably just with you to get over his ex. He told you about her, sometimes. He said how he thought he was gonna marry her, but she didn't want that. You couldn't imagine why. JJ was everything you'd ever need in a man. He was stable, and loyal, and made you laugh so hard you cried. He cared for you, no matter the status of your relationship.

i know what you tell your friends. it's casual, if it's casual now. but baby, get me off again. if it's casual, it's casual now.

What you had going on with JJ was great, and you were in no position to ruin it with your stupid feelings. You didn't really care what you were, as long as it was with JJ.

Now you were getting ready to go over to JJ's apartment for the night. He invited you over a couple hours ago, telling you he wanted to watch some movies and hang out with you. Of course you said yes, how could you not? He'd just finished up with the NFL Combine a couple days ago. And spring break had just ended so you hadn't seen him since before then, you were excited.

You adjusted your hair for the fourteenth time before you were satisfied. You would only be going from your place to the car to JJ's apartment. You still wanted him to think you looked good, good enough to be more than just his fling.

You grabbed your small overnight bag filled with the barebones of your necessities and left your apartment, swiftly locking the door behind you.

You listened to low music while you drove lowly through the college town. It was only a seven minute drive, so you got there right away. You parked your car and sat for a second as you were overcome with a random wave of dejection. You took a deep breath, your brain reminding your heart not to get too excited. You shook off the feeling, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat and exiting your car, locking it behind you.

You knocked lightly on the door you'd walked through all too many times. Barely ten seconds passed before the door opened, a bubbly dirty blonde with the cutest smile you'd ever seen standing opposite you. JJ immediately grabbed you by the hips, pulling you to hug him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your head into his shoulder. You let yourself believe all the stupid fantasies for just a second.

dumb love, i love being stupid.

"Missed you, gorgeous."

dream of us in a year.

You shut your eyes, squeezing him. He giggled, turning his head to kiss your neck. You felt his smile against your flushed skin.

"I missed you."

He held you tighter, pulling away to kiss your forehead and grab your hand. He shut the door behind you and pulled you further into his apartment. He led you to his bedroom before dropping your hand, turning to go back to the front of the apartment. You dropped your bag next to his bathroom door before taking your shoes off and tucking them just underneath his bed so they were out of the way.

maybe we'd have an apartment. and you'd show me off to your friends at the pier.

"How're you doin' pretty?"

JJ's voice echoed from the kitchen, you could literally hear his smile.

"'M doin' okay! Nothing new, y'know."

JJ heard something different in your voice. Something other than happiness, which obviously concerned him. You sat back on his bed, sighing.

"What's wrong? Sure you're good?"

"Yeah, it's fine! Some shit happened over spring break so I've just been a little out of it is all. Don't worry!"

The blonde came through the doorway again, this time holding a plastic bag with a logo you knew all too well. You gave him a smile that didn't aid his now worried mind.

"What happened? You could've called me."

"Oh come on, Jay. You were literally at the NFL Combine. I was not about to distract you with my stupid problems."

It's not like I'm your girlfriend. JJ shook his head as he sat the bag next to you, turning to open his closet door and rummage through his clothes.

"You can always call me. I wanna hear about all of your problems. You're my best friend, y'know."

i know, "baby, no attachment." but we're...

You winced, fuck. The man you were certain you were in love with just 100% friend zoned you. Just his best friend that he kissed, laid skin to skin with, told his family about.

knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out.

"I know! But still, you're Mr. National Champion and I'm not gonna bother you with dumb things."

"You're never bothering me. You don't bother me."

He came out of his closet, now shirtless and in new sweatpants. His eyes found yours and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to agree with him.

"Okay, okay, whatever. Come eat."

He climbed over you onto "his" side of his bed. You ate while asking him about the combine, as if you hadn't watched the videos of JJ's performance. You definitely appreciated how he looked in his tight red shirt.

"It was fun, nerve wracking as hell though. Kinda like made me realize that like I actually am going to the NFL. It's a lot closer than it feels."

He could say that again. You knew your time with JJ was coming to its end. Whenever he got drafted to an NFL team he wasn't gonna keep wanting a random girl from his old college. Not one that wasn't actually his girlfriend or anything. He'd find another one very quickly, you knew it.

"That's so scary. I couldn't imagine that. Having so many people depend on you for their happiness is too much. But you're good at it."

He threw you a smile, moving closer to you.

"I just love it. It's so fun for me. Obviously not like losing but having so much support is actually really nice sometimes."

You nodded, trying to fathom how it was possible for the boy to be so positive always. You both were done eating so JJ took all of your trash and threw everything into the garbage. When he came back he pulled you closer to him, your head on his shoulder and your back to his chest.

"But enough about football. How was spring break? D'you have fun?"

"Um, yeah! For the most part it was really fun. Florida was fun but when I went home for the last three days it was honestly the worst. My mom was so mean for no reason the whole time, I don't know."

He ran his hands over the tops of your thighs before wrapping his arms around your hips. He kissed the side of your head sweetly, not moving as he spoke into your hair.

"'M sorry baby. Y'don't deserve that."

"Eh it's whatever. I'm used to her not being my biggest fan at this point."

JJ felt so bad. He couldn't relate to you on this level. He'd never know what it feels like to not have good parents.

"Well if it helps any, my mom's your biggest fan, to be completely honest. She keeps texting me to make sure you know you're invited to the beach this summer."

two weeks and your mom invites me, to her house in Long Beach.

It comforted and hurt you all the same. There's no way you could accept that invitation, no matter how sweet it was. You couldn't survive a week with his family while still only being casual. No way in hell.

"That's really sweet, Jay."

You shifted in his arms, turning so your cheek laid against his bare chest. You smiled and lightly kissed his pec.

is it casual now?

"So, what are we watching, Jay?"

"Whatever you want."

It was just another small thing that made you fall harder for him. You didn't know how much longer you could pretend like you didn't want him more than physically.

"How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days?"

"Are you plotting or somethin'?"

You can't lose something that isn't yours. Your smile faltered but you let out a forced giggle, telling JJ to just play the movie. You watched the majority of the movie in silence, answering JJ's questions whenever he had them. At some point the movie got boring, you'd seen it a million times before. You started running your nails over JJ's pec, unknowingly distracting him. He traced his hand up your back and to your hand on his chest, interlocking his with yours.

i know what you tell your friends. it's casual, if it's casual now.

You leaned away from him just a bit to look him in the eyes. You stared at each other for just a few seconds, just until JJ took his hand out of yours, grabbing ahold of your jaw. The thoughts filling your mind seemed to quiet down as JJ kissed you. The kiss quickly grew hot as JJ's hands traveled back down your body. Your tongue hit the seam of his lips, a downright immoral sound leaving his mouth.

You shifted onto your knees over JJ, the connection between you persistent. Your hands ran through his hair, tugging slightly at the dirty blonde locks.

but baby, get me off again. if it's casual, oh, oh, oh.

Your chest pressed against his as he pulled you closer, leaving no space between you. Every move of JJ's mouth and hands cushioned your spiraling thoughts, muting them. Your could focus your thinking on nothing but the physicality of the situation. Until JJ shifted his hands to the curve of your ass and gentley moved so your back was flush with his comforter, the quarterback kneeling over you. It was the position change as much as what he groaned out when your lips parted for just a moment that had you stopping in your tracks.

"Fuck, my girl."

His girl. His girl? How could you be his girl? You didn't mean to hesitate in your kiss with JJ but you did, pausing for just a second. Though it was long enough for JJ to notice and immediately grow concerned. He pulled back from you, his eyes full of worry. Did you not want this?

"Hey, what's wrong? We don't have to do anything, you know that. Right? Sorry I got carried away, baby."

He comforted you immediately, like a man who loved you would. Not like a no strings attached fuck friend would. It soothed you but also made you ache even more. Why did he have to act like he cared? It wasn't fair.

"No, Jay. Sorry, it's fine. I just,"

You trailed off, wanting to hide from his concerned blue eyes. You kind of wished he'd get pissed off that you were hesitant, asking 'The fuck is wrong with you?' instead of being the most gentle and loving person you'd ever known.

"Hey, it's more than okay. Alright? Is something else wrong?"

Yes. Something else was wrong. You're in love with JJ but he's unattainable. You wondered if he knew, if he knew and was still treating you the same just to keep you loyal. Your silence proved JJ right, something was seriously wrong.

"Talk to me, okay? I wanna make you feel better."

You finally looked into his eyes. He was now next to you, laying on his side, confused and concerned.

This is where it ends, you told yourself. There really wasn't a way around telling him, and all you could do was imagine his reaction. You sat up, crossing your legs and looking down at your hands. How the fuck were you supposed to start this? Do you just break it off with no explanation, or let him do it after you tell him you're in love?

"Well I just, I don't know if I can do this anymore, JJ. And I'm sorry, I really-"

"What? That's really not what I thought this was about."

He was shocked, his chest tightened as he leaned away from you, moving off the bed to stand. He crossed his arms over his chest for some comfort.

it's hard being casual, when my favorite bra lives in your dresser.

"JJ, I'm sorry, really. I just, we're supposed to be strictly casual and it's honestly kinda hard when we're so close to each other. Like a quarter of my clothes are in your closet! It's just kind of a lot."

You too stood from his bed, now standing on opposite sides. You didn't want to hurt JJ, but it would only hurt you worse and worse in the end if you kept letting yourself indulge in him.

"Baby, what changed? I thought everything was fine the way it was."

it's hard being casual, when i'm on the phone talking down your sister.

"Jayj, it's just kind of a lot of pressure. Like, we FaceTime your sister when we hang out! Your mom invited me to your summer vacation! Like how is that casual?"

JJ stood there, astounded. He was shocked you felt this way. He thought everything was better than okay. He would've never guessed it all felt too relationship-y for you.

"So, what? Are you like breaking up with me, or?"

"That's exactly my point, JJ! What do you mean by breaking up? There's nothing solid in between us! Our quote unquote label is 'friends that fuck but also sometimes just lay skin to skin and talk for hours on end'. That's fucking confusing JJ! I don't get you!"

and i try to be the chill girl, that holds her tongue and gives you space. i try to be the chill girl but, honestly, i'm not.

Your volume rose as felt tears pricking behind your waterline. You brought your hands to your eyes, rubbing aggressively with the heel of your palms. JJ was so hurt. He didn't think of you as just something casual, not since the very beginning had he thought you two were just random and informal. He knew you two weren't a couple, but he didn't think of you as anything near just his fuck buddy. Watching you, obviously distraught, almost crying in his bedroom over him being too much of a boyfriend had JJ rethinking himself.

"Am I too much? I thought we were more than that to you. I thought I was more than that."

"You are! You are and it's ruining my fucking life!"

knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out. two weeks and your mom invites me, to her long beach house. i know what you tell your friends. baby, get me off again.

You shouted, tears starting to fall down your face. You tried to wipe them away as you hiccuped, cutting JJ off before he could respond.

"You tell me all you want is something casual so that's what I give you! I was there when you needed it, I left you alone otherwise. But then you just didn't let me go! You make me feel important! And like I'm special to you, then I hear you tell your friends we're nothing serious! I met your family, I went to your championship game and sat with them! Do you know how fucked that is? To tell a girl that is obviously invested in you that she means something to you then doing that! I just- I really wanted you to like me, for real. And you act like you do! But I know you don't really care about what we are. I can't pretend to not like you more than that, JJ. It's not fair anymore."

i fucked you in the bathroom, when we went to dinner.

Holy shit. You'd just practically told JJ you were in love with him. He was even more confused now, was this a joke?

your parents at the table, you wonder why i'm bitter?

"What are you talking about? This hasn't been casual to me since fucking October! I do this shit because I like you! Like, I really like you! You know, before I got broken up with in February last year, I thought I was ready to fuckin' marry her. And then seven months later you come into my life, and you're supposed to be this girl that I'm not really committed to, and that distracts me from how hurt I am. But, I'm more in love with you than I ever was with her! And I thought I would spend my entire fuckin' life with her! Do you know how scary that is? That someone I've known for barely seven months is making me feel more than the girl I dated for years! I'm terrified, it fucking sucks!"

bragging to your friends, i get off when you hit it. i hate to tell the truth, but i'm sorry dude you didn't.

Your mouth fell open, pupils constricting under the haze of tears. JJ just told you he was more in love with you than the girl he thought was gonna be his wife. His tears were flowing by the end of his emotional outburst. He buried his head in his hands, turning away from you.

You couldn't believe what you'd heard. The boy you were convinced didn't want you enough to really have you had just poured his entire heart out over how much he loved you. You were in love just as hard.

You moved slowly around his bed, watching for signs of him shifting again. You gently grabbed his wrists, urging his hands from his face. You jumped to throw your arms around his neck, wrapping him in a hug. His arms wrapped around you so tightly, he cried into your shoulder.

i hate that i let this drag on so long. now, i hate myself.

"I'm sorry."

"'M so sorry."

You both let out your apologies at the same time, causing JJ to let out a wet giggle into the crook of your neck.

"I just love you so much."

Your heart squeezed as JJ spoke into your shoulder, teary and sweet. You loved him just as much. You couldn't believe what was happening.

"I've been in love with you since you took me to the lake."

You whispered it slowly, muffled by his shoulder. On that chilly day in November JJ had driven you guys an hour or so to the coast of the nearest Great Lake, Lake Erie. You ate of the sandy shore and watched the water. It was one of the first times you two were together where it really felt like you were boyfriend and girlfriend.

You'd realized he was the sweet and caring one you'd been waiting for for so long. And it ruined you.

JJ squeezed you tighter. A little sob mixed with a giggle shaking through him. He sniffed, kissing your neck gently.

"I didn't wanna believe I was in love with you, as obvious as it was. I was scared of really being in love after what had happened before. You were just so amazing, and kind, and you listened to me. I've been trying to push it away 'cause I didn't think it was how you felt. Which I can't believe you didn't just tell me, by the way."

You giggled now, pulling away from his shoulder to look at him, jaw dropping.

"Alright, Mr. I don't really need anything serious right now I'm still hurt over my ex. Yeah, sorry I never told you I was in love."

JJ just kissed you, and it felt so incredibly right. Kissing the boy you loved, in his bedroom, where half of your clothes lived. The boy who's whole family, including him, loved you and thought you were perfect for him. You smiled against his lips, you just couldn't help it.

"Can't believe you went from friend zoning me to telling me you loved me in two hours."

JJ pulled away from you abruptly, confusion filling his face.

"When did I friend zone you? I didn't do that!"

"'You can always call me. I wanna hear about all of your problems. You're my best friend, y'know.' It wasn't very soothing to a girl who was actively debating telling you she was in love with you."

"Well you are my best friend! But also the girl I want so, two for one."

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully as you pulled him by his neck to kiss you. You both couldn't help it as you smirked and giggled into your kiss, hands and minds wandering.

JJ pulled back from you for just a second, causing you to groan.

"Can I be your boyfriend?"

Your annoyance was quickly replaced, your eyes widening. You just smiled and nodded pulling him back in.

"Duh."

Your boyfriend squeezed your ass at your playful response, kissing you deeper. Your head was spinning, JJ was finally yours, for real. You were his girlfriend and he was your boyfriend. And one day, you'd walk down the aisle with him waiting at the altar, not that either of you knew that now. So much for keeping your relationship casual?

i hate that i let this drag on so long. you can go to hell.

[garoujo]

what do u think sei would do if hr made u cry in an argument??

warnings: minor angst -> fluff, arguments, i couldn’t form an answer i just had to like dump out the scene that was in my head after reading this but idk if i like this :< sob!

nagi could be mean. he didn’t mean to be, he thought any sort of confrontation was a pain but he’s had a particularly long day and he can faintly hear the way you’ve been talking—nagging at him since he got home about how you need help.

don’t get him wrong, he hears what you’re saying and he wants nothing more than to help you — he knows he’s been lazy, letting you clean up after him like he’s some overgrown kid, you deserve more than that. but tonight, his long limbs feel heavier than usual and the mocking little game over screen on the same fucking level he’s been playing all day is on a loop on his phone.

why couldn’t we just cuddle nagi thinks before he sighs and rests his head back against the couch, it’s cold and unbothered and he can see the way it makes your body stiffen when his next irritated eye movement brings his gaze to you.

“i’m bored of this conversation, ‘ts such a pain. i wanna sleep.” that’s not what he wanted to say, he knows that but shit— he’s fucking exhausted and all he wants to do is wrap himself in you. but now you’re giving him a look from where you’re stood across from him and he feels something burn in his throat when he watches your first tear of the night streak down your cheeks.

“nagi, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you spit and nagi’s never moved with such an urgency than he does when he watches you turn on your heels. it’s quick, like an instinct of sorts when he pushes himself forward on the couch, gentle hands wrapping around your wrist to stop you from leaving as he mutters out a quiet little “don’t go.” easing you back until you’re letting yourself fall onto the seat next to him.

“you’re such a dick.” you mutter through swollen lips, sniffling with your sentence as he inches himself closer. but you still let push your hands from your face, the oversized sleeves of his sweater pulled over his hands as he dabs clumsily at your cheeks.

“even when you’re crying you’re still my pretty thing.” nagi drawls under his breath and fuck— it’s so true, mumbling out little apologies as his hands chase the tears that trail down your features. he really is a dick.

“‘m sorry, didn’t mean it. cmeer.” but you still let him move you so easily when he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he lets you rest your face in the crook of his neck — smearing your tears along his skin before he’s turning his head to meet you.

“you wanna talk, angel? ‘m listening, ‘ts not a pain. promise.” it’s smooth, soft the tone his voice takes before he’s kissing you once on the temple as an i’m sorry, arms squeezing around your figure before one of his hands trace along the length of your spine. then he presses you closer before he’s kissing you again, twice as an i love you.

“or we can jus’ cuddle. you comfy?”

© 2023 GAROUJO. do not copy any of my layouts / writing + translate / repost onto any other sites.

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Can you do Jeff, Ben, Liu, Masky, EJ, and Toby with a child experimented reader? Like they have scars and there wrists are swollen from being restrained, and everything? 

𝕀'𝕞 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕦𝕪𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕦𝕡 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕗𝕗/𝕝𝕙

ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕘𝕠 𝕥𝕠 @𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕤-𝕟-𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖!! 𝔾𝕠 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜!

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘!!

Jeff the Killer

He's a total insensitive asshole at first

"God damn kid, the fuck happened to your wrists? You cut yourself or somethin'?"

When you start sniffling and crying he knows he's fucked up

"Oh shit, wait hey I-I didn't mean it!"

One 3 hour long lecture from Slender and EJ later about how you do not in fact, cut yourself, you were held as an experiment for your entire life, he feels like he's come out a changed man

He is too much of an asshole to apologize, but he will try to make it better by initiating small talk

"You know, I was kind of an experiment too in a way"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean you know, I definetly didn't have it as bad as you but when I was growing up, my parents would force me to do things just to see how i'd react. And you know, how I look now is kind of a result of that"

You definetly don't like him after that, but you feel a little better

Jeff is an acquired taste for most people

No one just likes Jeff when they meet him LMAO

But as he continues to try and relate to you, you can commend him for trying

You still don't like him that much, but he's alright

Ben Drowned

He doesn't even mention it

He notices your scars and stuff, yeah, but he doesn't bring it up

1, he doesn't care enough to ask

2, he doesn't wanna make you upset

But sometimes, it's the guy that's too busy playing video games to actually listen to what you're saying that people trauma dump on

Which he doesn't mind

He's not a gossiper, and he forgets everything so chances are, if you tell Ben something, he's taking it to the grave

Er...second grave???

So as you sit there, telling him all you endured, he just sits there quietly

Maybe occasionally popping in with a "Damn that's crazy"

He probably isn't listening im sorry

Or maybe he is idk

The only way to really tell if he was is if months later, you mention something offhand and he's like

"Oh yeah I remember that. That's when a little bit of your skull was removed, right?"

And you'll just look at him like 'you were actually listening????'

Homicidal Liu

Liu, like Ben, notices but doesn't say anything

He and Jeff had a similar childhood, but even if he didn't, he still wouldn't risk bringing up trauma

But sometimes he gets a little concerned

Like if your wrists look a little more swollen than usual, then he will ask if he can see them

And he'll carefully look them over before getting an ointment that's supposed to help with swelling and rubbing it on them

He also has a lot of scars, so he gets the insecurity that comes with them

If he notices you covering up your arms or neck or wherever, he will offer one of his cardigans or scarves

And he will help adjust it so that it fits on you just right

Once it's on he will tell you how amazing you look

And if you really wanted, he'd let you keep the stuff he gives you

Or he'd go out shopping with you for something that better suits your style

Whichever you want, really

Eyeless Jack

He's probably one of the first people you meet when you get to the manor

And probably the one you see the most often

He is tasked with giving you your daily medicines, checkups, etc

He understands that a hospital room probably will bring up some trauma for you, so if you want to do your checkups in your room or somewhere else in the manor, he'd allow it

Really all he does is put lotion on your bruises, anti-itching ointment on where you were bound, cleaning and bandaging wounds, cleaning your scars, and giving you any medicine you might need

After that, he reminds you to be careful around your bandaged areas, and to try not to itch where he put the ointment, and then you're good to go

If you want, he'll give you a candy of your choice and a sticker

You do have a designated therapist, like all other members of the manor, but if you wanted to open up to him too he'd be ok with that

You opening up about your experiences also helps him give you the right medical treatment

And he assures you, that he and every other medical professional in the manor will never treat you how you were treated then

Of course, he understands that overcoming trauma is a process, and especially with medical professionals in your situation

But he will continue to accommodate whatever you need in the meantime to make you feel more comfortable

Toby

Toby from the beginning makes it clear that you can talk to him anytime you need

He loves helping people feel better, and would love to help you feel better

So if you do decide to open up to him, he will show you his own wounds and scars to make you feel better about them

He also helps you see that taking your medicine is cool and radical

(Take your meds kids, they're there to help you)

He will accompany you to the medical wing when you are finally able to go into hospital rooms

He wants you to feel safe, and if you need a break, he will be there to comfort you

He will also let you come with him when he needs to go to the medical wing, just to show you that everyone needs medical help sometimes, and that it's not scary here

He will let you touch his bandages so that you can see it's completly normal and helps your body get better

He's definetly the best to have around for medical reasons

[restinslices]

.

Can I request a scenario where the lin kuei brothers, after rescuing the reader from an enemy who was torturing the reader, react to the hijacked!reader(idk, if you read/watched the hunger games especially mockingjay, if you didn't then hijacking in hunger games is a form brainwashing involving the venom of tracker-jackers(mutated wasps whose venom can cause hallucinations and can painfully kill a person) to alter the memories of a person in a negative manner), who reacts violently towards them and bring afraid of them, calling them a monster and verbally berating them.

I haven’t seen those movies in years but I watched some videos and looked at the wiki so I hope I got it right! I also added a Drabble for everyone as a “my bad” cause I took so long.

Also it is 5:09pm. The danger time (look at previous post. Weather shit) is until 7pm. I’m hoping we stay fine but bitch it’s raining and I hear thunder and saw lightning. Send help😭

Bitch I’m proof reading and my lights flickered-

Anger is much easier and better to feel than sadness or grief, so he forces himself to feel that instead 

The second he realizes that you've been taken by enemies, he's in a rage 

He's visibly more angry and harsh towards everyone 

He hardly sleeps or lets himself relax because that means he's not looking for you 

Someone could take a break to sit and he's asking why they aren't doing anything to help 

Once you're found he's relieved and wants to see you immediately 

All that stress slips from his shoulders when he sees that you're alive and safe 

That stress is immediately dumped back on his shoulders when instead of pulling him into a hug, you run at him and wrap your hands around his throat 

As you can imagine, he has no problem pushing you off, but he's thrown so off guard because why would he ever expect you to attack him?

You don't come to your senses and his confusion rises when you attack him again by jumping on him and trying to strangle him again 

If you weren't trying to murder him, he'd be impressed with how you hang on despite how many times he's hit you 

Having to knock you out takes a lot out of him mentally. I mean, come on y'all. You were missing for so long and instead of hugging and loving each other when you finally saw each other, you attacked him like a wild animal and he actually had to defend himself 

When he's told what Hijacking is, all that anger comes back 

Some sick fuck took you from him, tortured you in various ways and managed to change your memories to something negative. How could he not be angry? They destroyed you with such precision. It was sick. 

Bi-Han is advised not to see you again. Anyone could guess that he wouldn't listen 

He had hope that maybe you just needed rest, but that didn't seem to work 

You forgot you were strapped down and tried to run at him again. You fussed with your straps in an attempt to get free and yelled in frustration 

Bi-Han doesn't know what to say. In an attempt to comfort you, he says “we'll fix you”

“There's always something wrong with me, isn't there?” You sneered with resentment. 

He kept talking to you and it seemed like no memory was left safe. Every single memory was tainted. The image of him was tainted. Why? Why did this have to happen to someone as kind as you? Why not to him? Or, as dick head-ish it sounded, a random Lin Kuei member?

All his efforts go to finding a way to reverse it. And I can see him being angry at Liu Kang because he can't reverse it. It fuels a resentment he already holds for him

“Grandmaster, I have been instructed to not let you in this room” a Lin Kuei member said in his best stern voice. Bi-Han didn't have time for this. He had just been informed that somehow Liu Kang couldn't save you, which made absolutely no sense to him. Liu Kang, this powerful god that created the universe itself couldn't fix this one person in the universe? Someone who deserved to be saved the most out of everyone?

“Your Grandmaster didn't give you this order, did I?”. The Lin Kuei swallowed hard and tried to stammer something out, but Bi-Han pushed him out the way and went inside the formally blocked room. 

You looked over at him, still with hate in your eyes. Your brows were low, your mouth in a deep frown, your arms and legs strapped to the bed. Your face was less bruised than it was when you first arrived, so he guessed he was thankful for that. 

“You look like shit” you said. 

“I've been worried about you” he answered honestly.

“Bullshit. You lie. You always lie”

“Who told you that?” he stepped closer to you although he knew he shouldn't. “Our enemies made you think this. They lied to you. They tortured you because they knew it'd hurt me. Because I love you”. He wasn't sure he's loved anyone as much as he loves you. But you wouldn't believe him. You kept saying he was lying and you had no idea how much it killed him to see you, but not have you. 

You stared at him blankly while thinking. You smirked at him and motioned for him to come even closer. He didn't though. The various wounds he had kept him from keeping hope of you changing. 

“Do you think your father let out a sigh of relief when he realized he was dying and getting away from you? Your mother as well? Being around you is the worst torture imaginable and I can't wait until I'm set free too”. 

Kuai Liang vows that he'll find and bring you back home no matter what 

He's also uneasy and on edge the entire time 

No stone is left unturned. He's checking every possible area and is suspicious of everyone 

He knows you'll have some sort of trauma, so when you're found, he tries to give you space 

Just enough time for doctors to look you over 

When he visits you the last thing he expects is for you to do is scream and try to get away from him 

He tries to get closer to you and comfort you but you keep screaming and accusing him of trying to hurt you 

He's confused. He would never do such a thing to you. He hardly even play fought with you because he was so worried about him accidentally hurting you 

You keep clinging to the doctors and yelling at him to stay away 

He just doesn't understand how something like this can happen. He keeps trying to comfort you but you're terrified of him

He has to be dragged out because he doesn't wanna leave at all 

When he's told what's happened to you he's confused how this is even possible and he wonders if he can ever get you back 

It's not necessarily just “I want my partner back”. It's also “they didn't deserve to have their light taken away”

You stay terrified of him so he tries to stay away from you 

He checks in when you're sleep and he peeks at you when you're not paying attention 

A two way mirror is a way to watch you as well 

Honestly he'd rather have you angry at him than afraid of him

You look so broken and shaken and it's killing him 

The same way he vowed to find you is the same way he vows to save you 

Meanwhile he has other people talk to you for him. He's trying to see if maybe someone else can make you realize that he's not some monster that you've been brainwashed to believe 

It doesn't seem to work, but he keeps trying. He refuses to give up on you. 

Kuai Liang was warned that this could possibly be a bad idea, but he didn't care. What was he supposed to do? Not try? Just let you sit and rot? No. Maybe he didn't have any magical abilities that could cure you, but he could still try. 

He watched through the 2 way mirror as Tomas approached you. You were a lot nicer to him and more comfortable around him. As bad as it sounded, it made him feel awful that Tomas was your comfort instead of him. 

Tomas tried to ease you into a conversation about Kuai Liang and he watched you tense and sit up. Did you think he was going to rush in and attack you? No. There had to be some parts of you still in there. 

“Kuai Liang isn't a bad person. You've been lied to-”

“He killed your family”. 

Tomas cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Kuai Liang was too young to-”

“They’re all killers!” You snapped. “They'll kill me! He'll kill me! Did he send you in here to weaken me?!” You looked around the room in fear and Kuai Liang stupidly ran in there to comfort you as a reflex.. He realized his mistake when he caught your eye and you fell out of your bed trying to get away. 

“HE'S HERE!” You screeched like a banshee and crawled to the farthest wall. “HE'S HERE! HE'S HERE!”. Tomas gripped Kuai Liang’s shoulders and pushed him away. He knew he shouldn't have been in there, but a part of him still fought back against the younger man. 

“GET AWAY! GET AWAY FAST! HE'S HERE! HE'S HERE! HE'LL HURT ME!” You kept screaming and clawed at your face. 

Tomas closed the door in Kuai Liang’s face with a remorseful look. The man stayed there and listened to you scream and destroy things around you. He didn't move or cover his ears. He deserved to listen. It was his punishment for not finding you in time. 

This is gonna sound bad, but when you go missing, he already assumes you're dead 

Hope for the best but prepare for the worst type shit 

He's no stranger to death and obviously he doesn't WANT you to be dead, but he prepares himself for if that's the case 

Don't think he's not searching tho. He’s always looking for you. He's not even eating 

When they find you he's so relieved 

He has the doctors tell him how you are because as much as he wants to see you, he knows he gotta let them do their job 

He feels so bad because all the reports he's getting are terrible. Each bruise he's told about shatters him 

He brings flowers when he's finally allowed to visit you 

When you attack him he's thrown completely off guard 

He doesn't even really defend himself at first because he's never had to defend himself from you 

At first he thinks you're angry with him because he failed to protect you. When he's told what really happened, he wished it was the first one instead 

He blames himself for not protecting you, so he'd understand that 

You being tortured and your memories being toyed with? It was terrible. He'd say he wished the tables were turned and he was tortured, but he'd never want you to feel how he feels 

He keeps trying to communicate with you but you keep screaming and trying to kill him 

Honestly he'd deal with all of that without any complaints. He just keeps being told it's not a good idea and not good for your recovery 

The insults, the foul language, the physical attacks, none of it hurts as much as the knowledge that there's a possibility he won't get you back 

He has gifts sent to you but never says it's from him 

He has old pictures sent to you too hoping that it'll spark something 

He'll keep trying to save you even if it kills him 

Tomas’ heart thumped hard and rapidly in his chest as he walked to your room, bouquet in hand. He knew flowers wouldn't solve whatever happened to you, but he hoped it'd cheer you up somewhat. He had finally been allowed to visit you after what felt like forever and while he wasn't happy to see how bad you looked, he was happy to see you alive. 

He pushed the door open and your frame came into view. Bandages covered the bruises on your face and body, but thankfully you had showered since you arrived. He hoped feeling clean gave you a sense of relief or peace. He just hoped you felt better. 

You saw Tomas and your brows furrowed- no. That couldn't be. You wouldn't look at him like… nah. 

“Tomas?” You said. 

“It's me”. He turned to set the flowers down and immediately heard people yelling your name. He turned, scared he'd see you having some sort of medical complication. What he didn't expect was to feel you shove him against the wall then onto the ground. 

“MUTT! POISONOUS MUTT!”. He screamed as he felt something pierce his shoulder. It was a scissor. He hadn't even seen you grab it. How were you that fast and why were you doing this?

“Stop!” he shouted. You stared at him with loathing and hatred, which was something he couldn't wrap his head around. He winced when you pulled the scissor out. 

He blocked you from stabbing him in the chest. You looked angered and pushed on your hand to try and stab him. “What's wrong with you?” he whispered, his eyes wide in fright. 

The scissor was ripped from your hand and you were pulled off him by multiple doctors and others who heard the commotion. He got to his feet and watched as you kept trying to break free from their grip. 

“MUTT! POISONOUS MUTT!” You repeated. “HE KILLED HIS FAMILY! HE'LL LEAD US TO OUR DEMISE! POISON! TOXIC!I HAVE TO KILL HIM!” You screeched and kept struggling. He held his bloodied shoulder in disbelief. 

What had happened to you?

Once again, apologies it took so long. My writing break was timed POORLY

[rubra-wav]

Husk x shy/insecure reader? Him helping reader be more confident and to stand up for themself!

Maybe even a lil scene where he calls them out for always agreeing to everything without second thought, calling them naive (and maybe stupid. He is a bit rough). They could react by either crying and confessing they hate conflict and thats why they do that, or they could whisper the confession (no tears, up to you).

Husk x shy/insecure reader : Above Whispers

A/N I wasn't sure if this was supposed to romantic or platonic so I went with platonic, sorry.

I NEED to remake this banner istg

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, Husker is tough loving in his callout (idk how to tag it properly)

- You'd been a resident of the hotel for several months, during this time catching the eye of the resident bartender.

- You quietly did as you were told, never raising your voice even when it was obvious you didn't want to do something or didn't agree with something someone was saying.

- Anything to avoid conflict.

- These things not only irritated the bartender about you but also concerned him.

- He'd pushed several times intentionally testing the waters with you, and you hadn't done a single thing against it, just going along with his will.

- A sinner like you would be taken advantage of sooner rather than later in hell, possibly even by certain other residents.

- On multiple occasions, he had forced more malevolent forces Alastor to stay away from you, but it was clear he'd be working himself until the end of time to keep you from falling into someone's clutches if you didn't actually change yourself.

- Despite Husk's more apathetic side telling him to stay out of it, he confronted you upon it after a long day of group activities, cornering you to speak with you.

- You looked up at Husk in slight discomfort as he stood in front of you in the shittily carpet lined hallway looking very serious. Despite being a rather cute looking demon, all things considered, he was still intimidating.

- "That whole time you were letting that overly obnoxious bleeding heart push you around like a lost puppy." Husk said bluntly.

- You jolted like you'd been zapped at his words, going to try and protest that you just didn't mind, really, but you were cut off short.

- "You aren't foolin' me with the 'oh it's fine' bullshit. Drop it and be honest." Husk took a step forward towards you, watching you starting to shake slightly, eyes going misty.

- You shuffled uncomfortably, looking away with clear discomfort, chest aching at being called out. You just wanted to disappear.

- "..You're right." Your lip quivered as you fought and failed to keep your voice from quivering like the rest of you. "I hate causing issues. It doesn't matter if I'm uncomfortable as long as there's no negative attention on me, I-"

- Husk's hand came to rest on your shoulder, cutting you off from rambling. You looked up to his yellow eyes, clearly a vision of irritation bordered by his bushy eyebrows. "You're naive and fucking stupid." He announced, startling you.

- You sighed heavily, a tear slowly sliding down your cheek. You slowly nodded in agreement after a couple of seconds of heavy silence, prompting the demon's ear to twitch.

- "Dont agree! Fight against me! You need to get over this complete avoidance of confrontation!" Husk pat his hand on your shoulder. "This shit in hell is just going to get you either shackled to someone for all eternity like I am or fucking killed!"

- You were surprised to watch him go from annoyance to seemingly being extremely concerned for your safety so quickly. Husk was concerned about showing as much as well, forcing his face to be a mask of indifference and taking his hand off of you.

- He looked back at you coolly as he turned away to leave. "Do what you want, but don't come crying to me when you end up owned. God knows I have enough suckers whining to me in this dump." He grumbled, walking away with heavy steps.

- You stood in place, thinking about his words and the actions from him that you now registered as him trying to help you out of the situations you had gotten yourself into.

- He was right, and you knew it. It wouldn't be easy to get yourself out of being a yes-man, but.. something inside you had the feeling the overly pessimistic bartender would help you through it.

- Husk on the other hand, was facepalming about it. He just knew he'd be cursing himself for caring about another one.

[fitzs-space]

I want to talk about all the details I put into the Ties comic cause I worked on that thing for like a week and my brain likes to think about many things

Anyway, pspspsps I'm info dumping about my own designs gather round.

Notes for the character designs themselves

-The colours show if they are Red/Yellow/Green are different per character. Tango with bright colours, Skizz's are cool and dark, Impulses are more yellow, and Ethos are more desaturated. -Not all characters in the Life Games will get colour indicators in their eyes, the fact 3/4 of the designs here have it is unimportant shut -Impulse has a heart knot in his tie!! Look at it!! -Impulse cannot tie a tie. Tango does it for him. -Tango having his tie undone is his own choice -The choice of them having/not having pupils is intentional. -Etho only has the one on one side, maybe its cause the red eyes a little fucky in the vision, who knows though -Impulse has i's in the eyes -Skizz just straight up doesn't have em, but I normally don't draw pupils with that iris shape anyway. something something normally only draw that iris style with certain magical characters -I just stopped drawing with Tango with iris' at some point, idk -Skizz is designed as a fallen angel. that's why the halo's are all separated/broken, and why you can see darker feathers growing -maybe Impulse used to help him dye them white cause of some insecurity, maybe not -the lower his lives go, the less dark feathers are seen in his wings. like a cruel joke the watchers get a kick out of

-mullet Skizz MULLET SKIZZ!!!!!

-Etho is a sentimental mf /pos. they will keep and make a lot of patches for memory's and stuff. notable patches are, The NHO patch, a creeper cause of general Spazz, Canada flag cause Canadian /j, I normally add rainbow ones for the button saga of s7 but forgot to this time. -the rings are from all their divorces /J -the colours on the rings correlate to their owners (Bdubs, Cleo, Joel) lives. ie will be red if one of them is red kinda thing.

think that's the most of the design thoughts, now the Details in the comic itself,,,

-Skizz is the kinda mf who would fiddle//stim with random things in his hands. Many times its other peoples hands -dude will just hold peoples hands randomly when talking to them, team Ties just got used to it -That's why Etho took so long to notice the bracelet!

-their ass isn't phased by this kinda stuff anymore /hj -Skizz just enjoys contact man let me be -Throughout most of the comic Skizz has some sort of contact with Etho

-Tango and impulse also end up giving Etho bracelets as well -All the bracelets Etho gets share their colour indicator + the colour form the person who made it!

-you can see the colours slowly shift when Skizz ties on the bracelet, something something the magic of the world does some shit sometimes man.

-Skizz taught Impulse how to make the bracelets, so they have similar styles, Skizz's is more of a simple braid style though. -Tango went for something that took longer to do. it is a little scuffed /pos

-Ethos been getting their ass handed to them the episode before this, had to rightfully reflect that. you know? /j -the Slashes across their chest where form when Gem/Cleo killed them twice in that one episode. -The bite was originally supposed to be cause of Scars dogs. But someone in a reply made a joke about it, and frankly I think it'd be funnier if it was cause of Joel or some shit like they said.

-Had the axe as more of a battle-axe style. It was something Impulse made for Skizz (I forget who actually made it//Didn't want to go back to check) -I like showing characters having specific styles/ways they make armor and tools. -It's fun to show characters with tools and armor that can be distinctly seen as being made by another player

-That being an axe Impulse made adds more weight to the narrative of this moment and I want people to cry -something something for Etho its a moment of taking a weapon that Impulse made to protect Skizz, and using that as the tool that finally kills him -For Skizz this is a moment of his trust and care for his teammates. Being surrounded by people that he cares about and tokens that show their love for each other.

-Suffer, I could have been angstyier, and I will be actualy.

-Skizz is the one putting the axe to his own neck in this moment. Etho is putting as little force into it as they can. -Red king parallels who- -Etho also gets cut by the axe, something about sacrifice and how no life/time can truly be free in these life games -The blood wasn't actually intended to be golden ichor, I was just lazy and didn't want to draw red blood// wanted to have the cool lighting effect -Etho has the same colour in their blood too so, take it as you will

-I've had this comic planed since EPICODE ONE. had full intentions for it to go angsty in the end, and dam if the narrative didn't play right into my grubby little hands.

-I also just love how well I could parallel the moments in this comic. the comparison of the pages where both their faces are visible? the Joy in ethos face turning to complete anguish? the fact Skizz never stopped smiling? the way both moments start with an outstretched hand, and end with Skizz still holding onto Etho in a moment of trust? beautiful

-all the pages in the second part of the comic were framed specifically so I could avoid drawing Skizz ass.

[mysteria157]

Chapter Two

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

**While I personally do not think this chapter is too dark and angsty, I AM NOT YOU, so please be sure to read the CWs before proceeding.**

CW: Profanity, Physical Abuse, ANGST, Emotional Manipulation, Naobito being a piece of shit, Hitman duties (idk what to call it), Blood and Violence, Depressive Thoughts, Obsessive Coping Mechanisms, Comfort, Toji being down bad.

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

Toji hasn't always been cold and calculated. Beneath that harsh exterior is a boy who was made to feel like he never belonged in this world.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting!

This fic is going to have dark elements as I've stated before. We all know that Toji suffered abuse from his family growing up and that's largely a reason why he acts the way he does. So I really wanted to explore that in my fic and specifically in this chapter.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

| Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Chapter Three: Coming Soon...

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

look at you.

still standing

after being

knocked down

and thrown out

-Alex Elle

*** Toji ***

The first time Toji tastes freedom, it’s a decade into his bleak existence, amidst the sweltering summer heat. The thick, humid air clings to his grimy skin and makes him feel more uncomfortable than usual. His room—or he supposes it’s a small house—is nestled among overgrown trees and an unkempt lawn. 

To an outsider, his ‘home’ looks to be a greenhouse shed but with poorly painted walls and small windows. However, within the compound, it represents the dwelling of the man who tainted the revered Zenin bloodline. While they cannot exterminate the one who is responsible for polluting their family, they can make it seem like he never existed, to themselves and the outside world. 

He’s far from the main house, but it’s quiet, and even though the breeze always feels nice between his matted hair, it always carries the undercurrent of trash from the large garbage can that rests against the compound walls next to his abode. It’s all he smells no matter the season. The garbage can is one you would find outside restaurants or large establishments, and when it’s trash day, a large truck parks on the other side of the compound, reaches long metal prongs over the white brick walls, and pulls the can over to dump it. 

On trash day, it would be so easy for Toji to jump those walls, to hop on top of the plastic lid of the garbage can and let it carry him over. But like many things, fear and hopelessness hold him back. His entire family has never offered him a kind word or a smile, but they are nothing compared to his uncle. Naobito is the head of their family, feared by many within and outside of the compound. His position requires him to be good at many things, and if there is one thing Naobito is especially good at, it’s making Toji realize his insignificance. 

“You think you can just leave? Where would you go, boy? No one in this city wants to take in another child. Especially one of low birth.”

“Insignificant.”

“Useless.”

“A stain on something we have worked hard to uphold.”

These words echo in his ears day after day, month after month, year after year, ever since he could comprehend words enough to know their sting. He’s always felt small, always believed the only purpose he has is to breathe and do nothing else.

But today is trash day…

Maybe it’s the hunger that has been gnawing at his stomach for the past two days or the discomfort of dirt clinging to his skin beneath his sweaty yukata. Maybe it’s the sting on his cheek from his uncle’s morning slap, the mocking reminder for the millionth time not to dare do anything besides what he is told. Maybe staring too long at the garbage can and feeling his heart jump when the truck parks on the other side of the walls is a sign; a fleeting feeling within him, his own body telling him to do something before he withers away. 

It all sparks a sudden surge of strength, propelling him to climb on top of the plastic garbage lid as the metal prongs dig into each side of the can and lift him and the trash. Adrenaline helps him dig his fingers into the plastic of the lid as gravity pulls him over the walls of the Zenin compound.

He’s prepared to be tackled and dragged by his hair back inside before anyone can see him. He’s ready to fight back with the remains of his strength if he needs to. But as he slides off the garbage lid and his feet touch the cobblestone ground, only silence greets him. The trash collectors don’t see him and they drive away without turning back and he’s grateful. He’s so grateful, he can hardly breathe.

The compound isn’t in the middle of the city center like he once thought. From the many festivals and jovial sounds he would hear on the other side of the walls, he expected bustling laughter and sounds of merchants advertising their goods. But it turns out, the compound is perched on a hillside. He guesses it makes sense for one of Japan’s wealthiest families to be tucked away for safety and overlooking the world to feel more powerful. 

Even though he can see what looks to be a village a walking distance away, the compound also overlooks the city and a large river that Toji doesn’t know the name of. He’s never been taught anything, never learned how to read, never learned basic arithmetic or history. He knows nothing other than the fact that he lives in Tokyo, to eat the rancid food he is given and not talk back when his uncle visits him to teach him a lesson about whatever is bothering him that day.

Laughter echoes in the distance, the unmistakable laughter of children—maybe some his own age. Some who won’t sneer at him as if he’s a piece of shit stuck to their shoe. 

His legs carry him towards the village, the sounds of the breeze dying down to be replaced with yelling and laughter and normalcy he’s never heard before. Vaguely, his mind screams at him to go back home so he doesn’t suffer later, but he squashes it down. He will do anything to see faces besides the angry ones of his family, to breathe in scents beyond garbage and contempt, and to taste flavors other than the remnants of meals prepared by the Zenin’s esteemed live-in chef.

Ignoring the persistent growl of hunger in his stomach, his mind focuses on absorbing the sounds of the bustling marketplace that he finds himself in. Vendors haggle with customers, offering a variety of goods—fresh produce, meat, and fish—all waiting to be transformed into dishes that Toji wishes he could eat. The uneven cobblestones are ragged beneath his feet, not smooth and pressed down like in front of the compound. These stones protrude from the soil they are rooted into and catch on the thin shoes that barely protect Toji’s feet. But he navigates the crowds seamlessly, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sights around him even though the brush of people against his body makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

An elderly man dozes off beside a vendor stand empty of customers. A woman, younger but with a haggard face, stands guard at the makeshift register, casting a cautious glance in Toji’s direction. He can feel her disapproval and with her gaze, the weight of his disobedience settles upon him—he should be at the compound, under his uncle’s hateful eyes. Hastily, he averts his gaze and quickens his pace, disappearing into the crowd with newfound urgency.

His ears pick it up before his nose smells it—the sound of sizzling and the smell of dough. Toji can’t help but gawk at the long rows of metal scoops, each containing batter with octopus, pickled ginger, and tempura. The sides bubble and cook, frying from the yellow of fresh yolk before the vendor’s deft utensils turn over each ball of dough, revealing perfectly cooked Takoyaki. He’s tasted it before, albeit soggy and half-eaten, but the memory now stirs a desperate craving within him. He could have it now; fresh and untainted by someone else’s bite. But the lining of his pockets holds nothing but lint; he’s poor with not a penny to his name. 

The vendor sets her utensils to the side, pausing in her efforts to catch Toji’s wary attention. When his gaze meets hers, he’s stiff and ready to flee. He’s sure the Zenin family’s influence looms large over the city; she could easily summon someone and report his escape. He’s not ready to go—he won’t. As he edges backward, his thin shoes slip on the uneven cobblestones, nearly causing him to stumble. 

But whatever look is in her eyes softens, replaced by something unfamiliar—a warmth that unsettles him, makes him almost nauseous, quelling his hunger while stoking the flames of fear in his belly. Her gaze sweeps over him—his disheveled hair, grimy yukata, the smear of dirt on his cheek. Instead of scowling or sneering and spitting at his feet, she smiles. Soft and warm without any pretense behind it, a genuine smile that makes Toji relax and the fear dissipate. She plates a dozen takoyaki into a long paper bowl, tops them with Kewpie mayonnaise, bonito flakes, and powdered seaweed, and shoves a pair of chopsticks into one perfectly rolled fried dough ball before she slides the bowl over to him.

“Eat up before it gets cold, honey,” she says kindly and the tone almost makes the breath in his throat catch.

Snatching the bowl, Toji’s actions mirror the desperate way he consumes the food that Naobito tosses at his feet after withholding a meal for days. Along with an education, he was never taught manners. His cousins know which forks to use for every dish, he knows to use his hands and savor anything he can get before it’s taken away. He offers the vendor a brief nod, eyes shy and looking away from her for as long as he can muster before he ducks away from the stall.

The takoyaki melts on his tongue and he can taste every speck of seasoning that she added. Ignoring the wary glances directed his way, he licks Kewpie off his fingers, uncaring of the bonito flakes that cling to his chapped lips. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten—delicious, warm, fills his belly, and when he finally wipes the bonito flakes from his lips some tears collect with it. He doesn’t acknowledge the sadness that climbs up his stomach and nestles in the back of his throat. He can’t—what use would it be to cry over a life that will never change? Over a meal for once prepared for him and not someone else?

He stuffs the remaining takoyaki down his throat to push down the urge to sob, savors the taste for as long as he can, and sucks the seasoning from under his fingernails just as he feels something bump into his feet. When he looks down, he can at least recognize that it’s a soccer ball. The dirt turns the white patterns on it almost black, and it looks well-used.

“You gonna give that back, or just stare at it?” a voice demands.

Toji collects the dirty soccer ball and looks up to find a boy who might—hopefully—be his age. His black hair is short and his eyes hold an expression of boredom and grit that reminds Toji a little of himself. He holds out his hand and gestures for Toji to hand over the ball with so much impatience that Toji glares, tossing the ball back without a word. In truth, he’s struck silent because this is the first time in his life that he’s seen another kid his age who doesn’t look down on him from the encouragement of family.

The kid purses his lips, a bushy eyebrow lifting as he thinks something over in his head before he meets Toji’s gaze. He tosses the ball from one hand to the other, back and forth with a practiced air that Toji wishes he had. He’s skinny but his cheeks are full and his arms aren’t bony which shows he’s well-fed. He doesn’t wear a yukata but his shorts and shirt are freshly washed and free of stains from constant use—just dirt off the ground from playing. 

Envy, it’s the only thing that Toji can feel in this moment. Because this kid gets to eat food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He gets to wear nice clothes, play with friends, and breathe air that’s fresh and smells of takoyaki. It’s not fair. It’s not—

“You wanna play?”

Toji’s eyes widen at the unexpected invitation. Play? With another kid? He’s seen his cousins play with each other in the large expansive fields of the compound but he was never allowed to join. He’s familiar with games he’s made up on his own—counting how many times a bird chirps before noon or how many different animals he can imagine in the clouds—but playing with someone else?

“It’s nothing crazy, you don’t gotta think so hard about it. You comin’ or not?”

Toji hesitates, his fingers bending the sides of the now-empty plastic bowl in his hands. He really should head back to the compound because it’s been over an hour. Someone has to have tried to come to his shed and bully him by now. He has to go back. He has to.

But—

“Okay,” Toji replies instead and follows the kid down the cobblestone street.

***

It’s dusk when he finally reaches the white brick of the compound walls again. The evening breeze is thankfully not as sticky as earlier in the day and glides through his hair to cool the sweat on the back of his neck. His skin is dirty from the people he brushed against in the alleyway, from running in fields with a speed he never knew he had, from kicking a soccer ball and falling into the grass to play with a friend he can now call, Shiu. His fingers are tacky from the Kewpie that he licked off hours ago as well as seasoning from the Yakitori chicken skewers that Shiu conned off a vendor.

He never knew he could have so much fun. He’s never been able to experience it once in his life and having to say goodbye to Shiu, to lie and say he would be back in a few days, makes his stomach curdle with sadness and his eyes sting with tears that he’s too elated right now to let fall.

The compound walls, once towering and frightening, now seem conquerable. With a full belly and a newfound sense of strength, Toji takes a running start, vaulting over the barrier and landing with a thud in the neglected grass. He falls to his knees and plops into the cushion of the ground, rolling onto his back with a huff. 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he giggles, it’s light and unexpected, mingling with the night air, and helps his lips curl into a rare smile. He gazes up at the starry sky, stars that he wishes he had names for but still uses their presence to create warriors and animals to tell himself stories on nights when he can’t sleep.

“No matter what I tell you, you still never listen.”

The sound of his uncle’s voice shoots an electric jolt of fear down Toji’s spine, propelling him to his knees before he can draw another breath. He can’t have his back on Naobito, he needs to have his eyes on every movement even though it won’t make a difference.

His breath is lodged in his lungs, forming a tight knot that constricts his chest and parches his throat. The sight of his uncle, the sound of his voice, and the scent of his overpowering cologne, make him break into a sweat immediately. It’s a Pavlovian response and his body yearns for some sort of survival instinct that has long since been beaten out of him. But he tries, god does he try to defend himself every time.

Toji sits back on his haunches, shooting an ineffective glare up at his uncle that does little to penetrate the unnaturally smooth texture of Naobito’s skin. Toji can’t run, where would he go? To the other side of the compound where another member of his family can grab him by the hair and drag him back to the underbrush? To the front gates that are always locked and manned by security guards who control who can enter and exit?

“I’m guessing you ran your mouth to everyone you saw. Told those commoners that you’re a poor, neglected boy trapped in the clutches of the Zenin family.” Toji should have done that, but he was too caught up in good food and having friends like a kid should. He shakes his head at his uncle, unwilling to form words that bubble with the now overwhelming queasiness within him. “Oh I’m sure you did, didn’t you?” 

Toji shakes his head again, more eager, more insistent even though his heart begins to race in his chest. What’s the point in trying to prove himself to someone who’s already made up their mind? It’s useless, Toji knows that, but he continues to be honest, shaking his head over and over, hoping that maybe just this once, his uncle will believe him.

Naobito scoffs, his peppered mustache twitching with the movement of his mouth. The raven hair on his scalp is always gelled and brushed back no matter the time of day. He exudes wealth in tailored suits and eloquence with a nasty edge that cements his authority within the family. He’s a mean man, a rotten man. A man who subjects Toji to torment no matter the time of day. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the authorities are on their way here right now. Ready to arrest your family, to haul away your catatonic mother so she can’t defend you.”

Naobito’s words are a sharpened tool of manipulation, Toji knows the pierce of it against his skin. But the thought that his own actions would endanger someone else, makes him start, to open his mouth in a plea.

“I didn’t—”

But before he can say another word, a searing pain grips his scalp, forcing a hiss of agony from his lips as Naobito yanks him by the hair through the thick grass and drags him away. Knotweed scratches his face and scrapes against his ankles as he kicks desperately, trying to find purchase on the ground before his uncle can do anything else. 

His heart pounds in a recognizable rhythm, adrenaline coursing weakly through his veins, its effects dulled by the overwhelming fear. His fighting doesn’t matter. Toji knows the routine all too well—the sensation of the wooden floor beneath his back when he falls onto it, the sting of a slap across his face, the ache of a knee to his gut. 

Toji hasn’t sobbed in front of his uncle in a long time, but he can’t suppress the wretched sound that escapes him as the yakitori and takoyaki resurface and leave his mouth bitter. It feels like the worst punishment he’s ever received, the consequence of eating wonderful food that was never meant for a peasant like him. He took it in, and now it’s on the ground. 

He shouldn’t have jumped the walls. He shouldn’t have even thought about it.

Stupid.

Worthless.

Insignificant.

“Now what did we learn?” his uncle’s bored drawl cuts through the air, indifferent as his own flesh and blood cries in front of him. It’s just another day for him and he enacts punishment based on ideals that have been hammered into him by his own father and the father before him.

Naobito pulls a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away specks of blood from his knuckles. His perfectly groomed hair is now disheveled, falling over his eyes, glowering with disdain down at his nephew. Towering over him, Naobito radiates dominance, his imposing stature a constant reminder of Toji’s weakness. Toji hates it. He hates Naobito. He hates his entire family. He hates that his very existence brings so much distaste to those who should be protecting him. 

His ears are ringing and his face hurts, and large, calloused hands grip Toji’s cheeks, squeezing them painfully and forcing his gaze upward to lock with evil eyes. His charcoal irises hold no depth or uniqueness and they’re devoid of warmth. Pure hatred, it’s all that oozes from his uncle’s gaze. He’s endured that hateful look every day for the past decade, yet it feels just as fresh as the day before, just as painful to the inside of him. 

Toji chokes on a tight breath, groaning against the pressure of nails digging into his skin. He’s devastated by the stench of sweat, dirt, and vomit, and he’s so tired. All sense of strength that filled his hollow bones on the other side of the walls evaporated as soon as the sound of his uncle’s voice shot into his ears like a rifle.

“I said,” Naobito begins, voice low and filled with venom. His breath smells faintly of whiskey, but Toji knows he would inflict this pain upon his nephew completely sober. “What did we learn?”

Through the delirium of it all, beneath the horrible smells around him and the pain that radiates from his stomach up to his hairline, he registers the tremble in his body. He’s shaking, quaking in the grip of a family member who has done nothing but terrorize him as early as he can remember. Toji wants to spit in his face, wrap his hands around his pale neck, and squeeze until the life leaves his body.

But he’s not strong enough. He will never be strong enough.

So he does what he’s been conditioned to do, what he knows will appease his tormentor.

“I’m useless,” Toji whispers, tears finally welling in his eyes, shame gnawing at his gut. No child should ever have to utter those words, yet Toji speaks them daily.

Naobito hums in satisfaction, sickly sweet, eliciting a sharp twist in Toji’s stomach. If he throws up, he hopes it gets on his uncle’s finely pressed suit. He hopes the stains never come out, hopes he has to throw it away and spend more money for a new one. 

“And what else? You are…?”

The pucker of Toji’s lips quivers as they curl to form the words and his vision swims. The sight of his uncle becomes hazy, and Toji is thankful that he can’t see his face if only for a moment. 

“I’m…insignificant.”

Even though his uncle’s features are a blur, Toji can still see the whites of his teeth as he smiles. It only makes the tears fall quicker and scalding, dripping down dirty cheeks and onto his uncle’s fingers that still dig into his cheeks. He recoils in disgust, shoving Toji away as if he’s been burned. The fingers are gone, free from their biting grip, but Toji can still feel the indentation of them on his cheeks, branded and there to stay for as long as he lives.

Clutching the wooden floor beneath him, Toji’s nails try to burrow into the hard surface and he desperately wishes the floorboards could open up and swallow him whole. Tears stream down without reservation, smacking onto the dark wood next to his dirty fingers. Since his birth, he’s known not an ounce of happiness, not an ounce of peace or love, and is always the subject of his family’s wrath. He’s just come to accept what he’s forced to repeat day after day. Of what he is.

Insignificant.

Useless.

And that thought, the terrible and ever-present thought that his life has no meaning, only makes him cry harder. They’re harsh sobs that rattle in his chest and make him hiccup with every inhale, and he can’t stop them. Finally, his uncle has taught him a valuable lesson.

Somewhere in the distance, he hears Naobito scoff as he stands on his feet and readies to retreat and leave Toji in his misery. The routine will continue in the morning—cold water through a garden hose to shower him down, leftover breakfast from the main house, and another dusty yukata to wear.

Toji knows it like the back of his hand. And like so many times before, Naobito rolls his eyes, stuffs his dirty handkerchief into his pocket, and utters the same words.

“Stop—

***

“—fucking sniveling.”

It’s the third time Toji has to say it in so few minutes and his patience is wearing thin. They always get like this, it shouldn’t surprise him, yet his annoyance refuses to morph into practiced indifference, despite his years on the job. A part of him recognizes the fear in the man’s voice and the tears that run down his cheeks. He held that same emotion and cried many times through years of beatings.

But that was a long time ago, and this is different. This isn’t a man who has spent years under the abuse of his family, this is a target, successfully hunted down by Toji. Right now, it’s just another Tuesday. Another contract. Another paycheck. 

Toji doesn’t give them names; attaching emotion is pointless in a job he is always eager to finish so he can get paid. But he needs something to keep his mind focused; so he uses adjectives or random words to effectively detach himself. His current target’s name? Greasy.

The moniker suits him, evident from the persistent shine on his bald head, the stain of sweat that builds at his collar, and a dingy button-up that hugs his beer belly. His beady eyes are filled with tears, his lower lids red and swollen and a thin chapped lip split down the middle. He squirms and wiggles in his chair and every part of him seems slimy, reminiscent of a snake fresh from its egg. And Toji hates snakes. 

What the hell is he again? A stock broker? Hedge fund manager? Toji doesn’t really remember nor does he really care, it’s not relevant anyway. His career is but a small stepping stone for figuring out the best approach for reconnaissance.

It takes Toji a week to track Greasy’s movements in the vastness of the city that is part of America. Despite Toji’s skills in navigation, everything is unfamiliar. But he adapts quickly—he has to.

Greasy works a typical nine-to-five and has a corner office in a nice skyrise downtown that he spends most of his time taking personal phone calls inside of instead of working. Toji knows because the building across the street is empty and just as tall with large glass windows that are blacked out to those on the outside. On the 42nd floor, Toji has a perfect view of the back of his target and watches every day to note every detail of his routine.

For lunch, Toji stealthily follows Greasy to the same 7-Eleven at 12:35 PM, watches him purchase the same cherry slushie and tuna melt for ten dollars, and grimaces beneath the cloth mask that covers his mouth as he watches Greasy scarf down the food like the pig he is on the journey back to the office. At 5 PM, Greasy walks from the office to the train station, takes the Red Line to another city, and arrives home thirty minutes later.

The routine is as mundane and uninspired as the man himself. Yet, it’s the days marked by suspicious behavior from his client that pique Toji’s interest. Those are the days Greasy indulges, presenting the perfect opportunity for Toji to strike.

On Monday and Wednesday, Greasy tells his wife he has to work late and clocks out at 4:45 PM, riding the same Red Line but exiting the train at a stop before his usual. He climbs into a shiny Mercedes, kisses a much younger blonde woman, and disappears until 11 PM when his client reports that he’s arrived home. Like many others of his kind—seedy and grimy and consumed with themselves—Greasy remains oblivious to Toji’s presence. The last thing on his mind is his wife and children as he indulges in infidelity.

He’s climbed the ranks of his job but failed to realize the ease of it is from his wife’s influence. He’s too selfish to recognize that cheating on a governor with a dark side would not only incur her wrath but also put her in the spotlight due to his carelessness. He’s too conceited to realize his mistress only fucks him because her house and car are being paid as long as she continues to entertain him. He’s stupid in the best way for a mission like this, and ignorant of the world around him. 

It turns out, Greasy has been fucking on the side for half of his marriage. And he’s been taking a little bit of his wife’s money that she earns as a politician to fuel his alternative lifestyle. His wife is easy on the eyes, gave the loser two kids, and remained faithful even though her husband slept with anything that had a pulse. The only things Greasy gives his wife in return are two children and an STD. She’s angry, distraught, and filled with rage. Rightfully so.

Thanks to the help of the department in his organization that handles all things technological, Toji is able to SIM swap the mistress’s phone and send Greasy a message to meet her in a different location. Specifically, one of the many random establishments throughout the city that have been bought by his organization under the guise of something else. 

Greasy walks into Toji’s trap, ignorant and vulnerable, and now here he sits—tied up and squealing. This contract is so easy that it’s almost upsetting. He doesn’t usually like to get his hands dirty, but mental stimulation would have been a nice distraction.

Toji doesn’t get it—cheating. He’s always been one to stick with a woman and take what he can before he moves on to the next. While his intentions are never worth a gold star, he does things one woman at a time. Cheating seems…exhausting. And he’s been exhausted for most of his life to stay away from it if he can.

He’s not one to be tied down anyway.

At least he thought so.

“Earn me.”

Your words echo in his mind, a precursor to what might become a throbbing migraine because he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. You shouldn’t be in the dark, bloody recesses of his thoughts focused on killing. The room will only stain your smooth brown skin and ruin you, consume you, and corrupt you in ways beyond repair. He can’t afford your gaze to turn into anything other than teasing or annoyed when you look at him.

“I s-swear. I’ll do-do wh-whate-ever you say just—“ 

Whiny. Sobbing. Annoying.

“Shut up,” Toji grumbles, using the muzzle of his Glock 43 to massage his temple.

He’s tired, his brain now pulsating and being fueled by the stench of Greasy’s body. Despite the amount of money that he can get from revenge contracts, they are typically handled by those ranked lower than him. Revenge contracts deal with anything personal: infidelity, a family member that is despised just enough to warrant making them disappear, two legal companies doing whatever they can to take the other down. Anything with a vendetta.

They are driven by anger, hatred, and bitterness. Heavy and unnecessary emotions that Toji has to deal with before he can complete the job. Clients often demand specific proofs of guilt, from signed confessions in blood to videos of their target with tearful apologies to a picture of a severed finger if they are demented enough. To the client, it’s freeing. To the world, it’s insanity. But to Toji, it’s tedious and he has no choice but to get it done.

He pulls out his phone, ignoring the absence of notifications from you, and dials the burner number provided to all clients.

“Is it done?”

Most wives would be a sniveling mess under such circumstances. But not this one. She’s been wronged to a degree that her sadness washed away a long time ago and all that was left was rage, revenge, and unyielding determination. It takes a special someone who has been really hurt to stoop this low into darkness.

“Not yet, honey. Doing what you wanted remember?” 

Toji sighs, putting his phone on speaker as finally rests his gaze on the disheveled and pissy state of Greasy. His other hand steadies the gun aimed at Greasy’s dick and the hiccuping words flow once again. He’s so goddamn loud. Toji needs Ibuprofen, food, a fucking text from you (but he’s not thinking about that right now), and some sleep.

Greasy has already exhausted the usual litany of cries, but Toji endures the same performance again for his client on the phone.

“I’m sorry!”

“I won’t do it again!”

“Please give me another chance!”

Blah, blah, fucking blah.

In the early years of Toji’s time in darkness, he watched this performance firsthand. It’s a feeble attempt to cling to life, words uttered in desperation on the precipice of death, holding little substance. Once the adrenaline dies down, old habits resurface, seeping through the cracks formed by fear. And Greasy’s wife won’t be willing to pay such a hefty price a second time.

Removing the phone from speaker, Toji presses it firmly to his ear to drown out Greasy’s heightened cries. “You get all that, honey?”

“…yes.” 

Mrs. Greasy sounds a little unsure, but she can’t back down now. That’s the other irritating thing about revenge contracts. Deeds fueled by emotion are unpredictable, and in a business like this, you need to be absolutely certain of what you agree to. She could back down, but then that means she knows about this little business and Toji’s organization will have no choice but to come after her.

No, he needs this signed and sealed with a deposit in his account by the end of the night.

Toji waves the gun dismissively, rolling his eyes at Greasy’s flinching. “You wanna stay on for the rest?” It’s a courtesy Toji always extends, twisted though it may be, offering some semblance of closure to his clients.

Greasy’s face is a mess of mucus and sweat, and the front of his pants is wet. It’s fucking disgusting, but there’s a part of Toji that revels in the sight. Perhaps it’s the years of desensitization, but Toji relishes seeing those who deserve to get their due. Rotten people. Terrible people. And while cheaters aren’t inherently evil, they seldom learn until their world crumbles around them.

“Just get it done,” Mrs. Greasy replies firmly, though a tremor in her voice betrays her fear. She should be afraid and drowning her worries in bottles of wine tonight. It’s one of many logical responses to ordering the death of a cheating husband. She hangs up without another word.

Normally, Toji has a few words before he pulls the trigger or tightens the noose or whatever nefarious thing he’s ordered to do before his target goes limp. But the throbbing in his head has blossomed into a migraine just as he expected, he hasn’t eaten in ten hours, and he hasn’t heard from you since last night.

To put it quite simply, Toji is pissed off.

So he cocks his gun and does what he needs to do.

Despite the deafening roar of the gun, the ensuing silence is gratifying to his head. He doesn’t bother with the mess, that’s someone else’s job and he shoots off the text to the appropriate party. In a few hours, Greasy’s body will be dealt with in whatever way the cleaning crew decides. A death certificate will be signed by a coroner and an autopsy report will be forged by a pathologist—two of many on his organization’s payroll—and to the public Mr. Greasy will have been a loving man killed by his own heart. It’s almost poetic how efficiently things are run.

Thick red droplets splatter the grimy concrete, falling in a rhythmic cadence Toji knows all too well. Scenes like this are etched into his psyche, a constant hum in the background of his thoughts like a relentless generator. The instinctual response is to recoil, to scream, to flee at the sight.

But Toji has learned to numb himself to the gore and violence of his profession. To reach the level he has attained, to gain that notoriety, he had to confront the brutality without flinching. He had to absorb it, dream about it, and recall it with clarity when necessary, sketching it on a canvas as if it were fresh in his mind. 

Despite the beating he received, the small taste of freedom Toji savored at ten years old was just the beginning. Sneaking out became a routine and it didn’t take long for him to learn from Shiu how to swindle, scam, and steal. Every time he scaled the walls of the compound, Naobito’s wrath got longer and more painful. As if to teach him a lesson, as if the pain would make him fall back in line. 

But his uncle failed to realize that he took that hope from Toji long before he decided to seek more freedom. He had taken everything from him. He had nothing left to lose.

On the day that he learned of his mother’s passing, he leaped over the white brick walls and never returned.

The streets became his domain, cobblestones his makeshift bed unless a caring vendor offered him a room for the night or Shiu was able to convince his parents to let Toji sleep over for a few days. They ran the streets together with other kids their age, and as they grew, so did the prevalence of crime.

It didn’t take long for Toji to get mean, to embrace the cruelty that always radiated from his uncle’s pores. Survival demanded ferocity and each fight he got into honed his strength and capacity for violence until it simmered perpetually beneath his skin.

Despite the bloodshed ingrained in his past, Toji shies away from memories of his first kill. He was too young, too naive, and too angry. He refuses to conjure the face of his victim, to entertain the image of the man he eliminated in defense of an older woman who was being attacked. He pushes that memory down into a dark corner where he can never see it. He refuses to remember more.

But Toji does remember how cold it was that night—the rain, the tremble of his hands around the gun, the precision he summoned, the hollow emptiness that followed. Naobito’s influence had carved out any trace of emotion, leaving behind a vessel capable only of detached efficiency. It’s so ironic that it’s laughable. He became the very thing he feared.

When larger and more menacing gangs began to cast their shadows, Toji realized it wouldn’t be long until he would have to fall into one just to survive. He remembers a member from one of the more vicious gangs recruiting him. Not Yakuza, but just as structured and disciplined with a hideout, hot food, and warm beds. How could he possibly say no? 

In a year, Toji ascended the ranks, earning his place as Wakagashira—second in command—at the age of seventeen. If someone needed to disappear, Toji was the man to get it done. Morals were luxuries he couldn’t afford; his survival depended on their sacrifice.

Those efforts paid off. He moved from the local hardcore gang to a legitimate organization that gave him a mentor who showed him how to read, encouraged him to get his GED, and taught him how to be disciplined and mature. He began to get paid for his work and his world changed. 

He no longer had to think about his next meal; it was always within reach. He no longer endured cold showers from a garden hose and the leaky roof of his shed; he had comfort and a cheap apartment. He no longer sought affection; it was thrust upon him by every woman his age who could breathe the same air as him.

Everything that he has earned in his life, has been by his own hand, his own skill, his own diligence. 

But no amount of money and comfort can wash away the brutal beginnings of his life.

Toji swipes his finger on his phone screen, a new ritualized distraction that gives him satisfaction when he watches a row of orange jewels disappear. He’s reached level 150. And while he can’t make any money playing Candy Crush, it still fuels the addiction that he used to harness when he places bets. He has yet to admit freely that he’s a gambler, but you’re no idiot. His determination to win as many games of Spades on the 4th of July at your uncle’s was the first giveaway. 

“Jesus. You always this messy?” a voice from behind him calls out, prompting Toji’s hand to instinctively fly to the gun on his side as he whirls around. His breathing halts in reflex, ears straining to capture any subtle sound to give him an advantage. Yet, the sight that meets his eyes—a group of people clad in grey jumpsuits, their insignia faded—elicits only a frustrated exhale. “This how you do things over in Japan?”

There’s an undertone to the comment that Toji recognizes, but doesn’t bother to acknowledge as he walks past the crew and out of the warehouse. There’s no point entertaining them. No matter the contract, the cleaning crew always complains. New recruits in the organization, no matter how promising, have to work their way up and show they can handle any job. So Toji knows what it’s like to complain during cleanup.

But it is true, this isn’t how Toji does things. He’s quick and precise without leaving a mess, silent and stealthy—a reputation that has elevated him within the ranks. He’s heard the whispers, and seen the way those of lower rank either tense up or shine their eyes at him when he’s near. His boss boasts of him as Japan’s notorious hitman—nameless yet highly sought after for his efficiency. The Invisible Man.

With his years in the game, Toji can call the shots on how he does things. He only kills scum. Scum lower than himself. Raised in squalor, abused by those meant to care for him, he knows evil intimately. Each bullet he delivers to his targets brings a semblance of peace, and a sense of justice to his troubled soul. 

There was a point in his life when he wasn’t so troubled. Somewhere beneath the layers of filth and pain lies a man sheonce knew—a man of tenderness and warmth, embraced for a fleeting moment. A brief, yet exquisite time filled with the gentle caress of her hands, the comforting cadence of her voice, and the birth of a son, a fragment of her very soul. She was able to push through the anger he gave, wrap her hands around his, and never let go.

But like all things in Toji’s life, he’s constantly reminded that he is nothing. That he deserves nothing. And the world made sure to take her away to reaffirm that devastating fact. Six years of barely holding himself together in front of a child who needed him, made him realize he needed to do better. 

He’s not ready to give up his career just yet—he’s not sure if he ever can. However, one thing he is sure he can do is provide his son with a better life. He’s not the best father, he will admit to it, and he always has enough connections to give Megumi protection from his family and the dangers of his job. But it’s not enough anymore. He needs to be more involved, more attentive, more of a parent to fill the hole left by his mother. He can make sure his son has a childhood worth remembering.

Not like his own.

America is big, which means more opportunity, which means more money, and an entire continent away from the echoes of his past.

He should forge a future worth pursuing—a future where his kid can have simple joys he never got to experience; maybe a dog, a nice private school, and a father with a convenient job. Retirement flits through his mind more frequently these days, but he knows that truly getting out of the business may be next to impossible. A small part of him longs for that freedom again, a chance to escape all the shadows of his past. However, as his phone buzzes with yet another notification, he’s jolted back to the grim reality that he lives in.

Unknown: Not your usual leftovers but you still got the job done. You should have your payment later today.

Toji: Good. No more revenge contracts. I mean it.

Unknown: I have another if you’re interested, a classic one and done. Want to get you situated in the new market before people start demanding you.

Toji: Gimme a week.

Unknown: I can do that.

***

He’s downed three Ibuprofen, scarfed McDonald’s, and washed away the remnants of blood and frustration from his skin. In the bathroom mirror, his chest is flushed from the vigorous scrubbing, his scars appearing more pronounced against the backdrop of crimson. Each scar serves as a stark reminder of his tumultuous life, where every gain is intertwined with bloodshed and agony. 

Under the dim glow of the streetlights outside your uncle’s house, you likely didn’t notice the scars that mar his skin, a fact for which he’s grateful. It would only be more that he would have to lie to you about and he hasn’t thought of the story that he will tell you when you finally ask him.

He has no idea what sort of card he’s pulled to have you in his life. You deserve someone accomplished—a doctor, lawyer, or politician—certainly not a man who deals in bullets and bloodshed, someone like him. Men like Toji don’t deserve the kindness of a woman. Men like Toji don’t deserve the softness of skin scented with Shea butter and a hint of vanilla or the radiance of sunlight dancing on curly hair. Everything good and beautiful in this world slips from his scarred fingers. 

He feels insignificant, worthless, a stray wandering the streets, latching onto any speck of attention. Yet, despite your piercing glares and the thin thread that you have him on, you possess a warmth surrounded by fiery edges. The urge to subject himself to that searing heat is almost unbearable.

Both of your lives are consumed with demanding professions; his by contracts, yours by on-call duties and long shifts. It’s been about a week since your date and you both text frequently. You’re busy with your fifth consecutive 12-hour shift and you haven’t messaged him all day. He knows you’re busy, but there’s a piece of him that has been trained to expect unhappiness. 

Deep down, he knows you have every right to cut ties with him forever. He’s deceiving you in the worst possible way. If you were to uncover his deeds, the dark agreements he’s made and completed, you would surely turn away without a second glance. He had no intention of wanting more of you after that night. But women like you are rare, fleeting in appearance and he’s a selfish fucker. So, so selfish.

He was ready to ask you out again before the reality of his harsh world dragged him away. A contract that he thought would be simple and quick, had dragged into a week-long affair; interrupting little moments he could be spending with you. 

In those moments, alone with his gaze fixed on Greasy as he observed his behavior, he thought of you. He thought of seeing you again when you’re not yelling and screaming at a referee. Maybe for dinner? Somewhere decent where he can snicker at the way you glare at him in the low lights. Somewhere he can see you in a dress besides the red one he met you in, curls framing your face, naturally long lashes narrowing as he flirts with you without shame.

The knowledge that he doesn’t know more about you, leaves an odd fluttering in his stomach that he can only describe as annoyance. He’s known you for over a month but you are as mysterious as you are beautiful. With his skills, he could easily dig into the far corners of his organization to discover more about you. But the mere thought of knowing parts of you without your permission leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’s slept around enough to know a good-looking woman when he sees one, and you stood out like a genuine gem amidsta sea of counterfeit trinkets. Toji can’t deny that he approached you that night with a certain goal in mind, but the instant he looked down and called you ‘princess’, the minute you shot him a glare that could rival a city’s destruction, he was hooked.

He’s drawn to women who are independent, strong-willed, and able to speak up for themselves. The assertive ones were rare until he met you. That night at your uncle’s, you exuded a resoluteness he had never encountered before. You took pleasure solely for yourself, oblivious to the fact that your selfishness merely made you more enticing, inviting him to sink his fingers into your flesh and take root indefinitely. He had never been so delirious with lust, so utterly out of control with his body as you took and took. The sex was amazing, toe-curling, and intense but it wasn’t just that, it was you.

You, you, you—fuck.

Normally, he’s content with momentary encounters with women; lingering around for a few weeks, taking what they offer until he moves on to the next. It’s a practiced air that he’s used to breathing.

Breathe in—a good fuck on Monday that has a little bit of money for him to take advantage of until Friday. Breathe out—she’s had enough of him or he’s taken his fill and he finds a nice brunette on Saturday.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

But the air is a lot thinner when he tries to breathe you in, tight in his chest and too much but also not enough.

Because you’re a fierce little thing, yet he can see hints of vulnerability beneath the steely resolve of your gaze, a softness rarely revealed to others—especially men and those who challenge you. There’s a familiarity in that vulnerability, a long-forgotten sensation buried deep within him, hidden away in that same dusty recess of his being that’s been rattling for attention a lot more lately. 

The allure of you is like a swift current within a crystal-clear stream, beckoning him to immerse himself despite the rocky terrain beneath. Against his better judgment, he’s plunged headfirst without thinking about what he’s doing—about what’s at stake—and letting the current take him away.

You must have seen something in him, because, despite your protests and excuses, you dropped your defenses enough to show more of yourself. Enough to smile at the daisies he gave you when you thought he couldn’t see. Enough to mold your soft lips against his one more time.

His mind wanders back to the present again and falls into a familiar urge that has to be satiated. He knows that whatever it is, it stems from his childhood, but he doesn’t know how to stop it. He runs his fingers over his skin, tracing each scar he’s come to memorize to ensure nothing appears out of place. He can distinguish those from Naobito’s cruel hands and those earned from years in the field. He knows. Yet, he still feels the need to double-check, from the locks on the front door to the latches on every window, even poking his head into the attic before bed just for reassurance. 

He has to be sure that he’s safe, that he is secure in his home, away from prying eyes because Naobito could be his neighbor. He could be here in the US, here in this city, here watching his every move and he has to be safe.

His fingers tremble against the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink as his heart races, each breath shaky and uneven as it falls from his throat, his eyes fluttering to push away the sting as he begins his own routine that comes up a few times a week. A steady mantra to quell his rising panic.

He’s not here.

He will never be here.

He will never hurt you again.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

He hasn’t had to worry about Naobito in a very long time, but the logic of that falls to the wayside no matter the time of day. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone about it, he’s fine. The fear and pain will fade away with time. 

It will.

The chime of his phone interrupts his thoughts and makes him flinch. He exhales another shaky breath and presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, using the pressure to ground himself and get his thoughts back in order so he can go about his day with what remains of his sanity.

“Fuck,” Toji whispers and slides large hands down his face before snatching up his phone and making his way to his living room to plop on his couch.

Toji rolls onto his side, the cotton of the couch pillowing his cheek as he stares at the eggshell wall of his living room. The house he’s purchased is spacious, more than he’s ever had, but it’s not for him. It’s for Megumi. His son deserves a proper home, a place to grow and thrive. But it lacks warmth, devoid of the touches that make a house a home. The hardwood floors have no rugs to clothe them, the living room only has a couch and TV with no stand beneath it and the walls are bare and without character. Maybe he could go furniture shopping this weekend? Invite you if you’re not too tired from working.

When he finally checks his phone, his heart thumps heavily in his chest when he sees the notification from you.

You: I’ve had such a shit day. My car wouldn’t fucking start and work has been so busy. I’m exhausted.

Relief floods him too quickly for him to swallow down and analyze later. There’s no stopping it now, and Toji finds himself sitting up on the couch, his nose almost touching the screen of his phone as he types his response. So many thoughts bubble within him at once. The urge to ask you what he can do, the urge to come over to your house so he can take care of you—so many urges that his late wife would effortlessly draw from him against his own volition overwhelm him. 

Toji: How did you get to work

You: I took the bus.

He growls under his breath at your response, his mind flashing with every single danger possible at the thought of you traveling alone at night. Any sleazy man could watch the stop you get off, take note of the street, and come back later. Someone bigger than you, stronger than you. And even though you’re fierce and strong yourself, evil usually wins. The thought makes his blood boil. All you had to do was tell him about your car, and he would have picked you up immediately. But the words from you that shine from his phone are a blatant reminder of just how little you rely on others.

Toji: I’ll pick you up.

You: I get off at midnight. Toji it’s fine.

Toji: I don’t care. I’ll be in the parking lot when you come outside.

You don’t respond, leaving Toji to wonder whether you’re simply swamped with work again or pointedly ignoring him out of defiance. He’s showing up whether you like it or not. He tosses his phone toward the end of the couch and rolls onto his back, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling. 

Popcorn ceilings. He despises them. It’s a trivial thing to fixate on, but the textured surface only amplifies the visibility of dirt and grime, reminding him of memories of the dilapidated greenhouse shed where he grew up; of dust and dingy yukatas and soiled food. Toji realizes that the stupid thought is so annoying because of how quickly it reminds him of his life. It’s a vicious cycle of how his mundane thoughts can instantly make him think of a painful memory. 

Maybe that’s all his brain can do—think of the bad in his life. He’s not meant for happiness. Wonderful things like you are beyond his reach, and even his own son couldn’t be further detached from him. His thoughts are murky and desolate, so burdened with despair that he’s amazed his body still finds the will to wake up each morning. But he does, for some reason, he still does.

***

A few minutes past midnight when you slide into his car, Toji inhales the weary air you breathe out. Your bun is loose, curls frizzed along your hairline, your scrub top has baby spittle on it, and there are circles under your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, but Toji’s heart stutters when he glimpses the determination in your gaze—resolute and fierce even when dead on your feet. 

And suddenly, he can’t help himself. He leans over and presses his lips to your cheek, siphoning the softness against the chapped edges of his lips to make the coldness in his chest warm over. You don’t smack him or tell him to behave or call him names for taking something without asking.

“Am I at least allowed to do that without you smacking me?” Toji asks you, a soft smirk on his face as he takes in your familiar glare. It almost washes away the blood and murder he had his hands in this morning.

You wave him away in mild annoyance, but Toji sees something on your face. With his years of perception, he notices the subtle tug of your cheek as it pulls inward for you to bite down on it, your lips fighting to contain the smile that threatens to bloom. One day, he will pull a smile from you freely. One day.

As he drives to your apartment, he unconsciously takes deep inhales to savor the delicate vanilla beneath the sharp tang of hand sanitizer and sterile hallways that radiate from your side of the car. He turns on the classic rock radio station that he played last time you were both in the car together, and you hum along again without thinking. Only this time, your hums are broken, and without strength, your head lolling against the window until you slowly fall asleep.

When he parks the car at your complex, he doesn’t wake you up immediately. In sleep, you can’t scowl at him, but even now, your demeanor remains guarded. Your shoulders are tense, hands clutching the strap of a well-worn leather bag, cheeks flushed with a fever you vehemently deny even though he can smell the common cold in the car. 

Only two minutes have passed, yet his thoughts are consumed solely by you. Not about the people he’s killed. Not about the abuse he’s suffered. Not even the echoes of Naobito’s taunts that intrude when he least wants them to. 

Just you. 

He will earn all of you, just like you asked of him.

That rattling in his chest he felt the last time you were both together makes itself known again, pushing against his belief that his happiness will never be permanently his own. Maybe the sight of you rolling your eyes and offering him little pieces of affection with the smirk you try to hide is the very thing he needs to breathe a little easier. 

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t quite figured it out. 

So for now, he’ll grasp whatever morsel of solace he can, disregarding the ache in his chest that gets worse when he breathes in your air, knowing you remain unaware of such a significant aspect of his life.

He hopes this never catches up to him, and if it does, he hopes that you can forgive him. He hopes that he can forgive himself for taking from you when someone more deserving should occupy his place. 

Until that reckoning arrives, he’ll indulge in his selfishness, because right now, it’s the only thing bringing him a semblance of joy.

Thanks for reading!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

[flyingfabio]

le mans thoughts dump!!!

sorry it’s gonna be a picture-less dump because i wasn’t prepared and i only had only my phone with shitty camera quality… also this going to be a mess. first general remarks and then a fabio special part of course… under a read more because i think it’s gonna be longgg

general remarks about the event

well not a surprise but le mans is CRAZY. so many bikes so many people and the atmosphere… you don’t need beer or anything else to feel PUMPED there

the weather was GREAT and i felt it made the experience so enjoyable. i wore long jeans and big tshirts and applied sunscreen and spent time in the grandstands away from the sun and yet my face is red. i have a sunburn on my chin. MY CHIN.

i didn’t feel unsafe or witness anything gross during my time there. important to mention that i was with my brother and didn’t camp on site so the experience can definitely be different for others. there ARE overly drunk people at the circuit and some entitled people smoking weed with families with kids nearby…

as for the camping sites you could see them from the circuit and HEAR them from afar and it is WILD. never in my life i think i would be capable to camp there lmao

so many things to do at the venue: the village, fanzones, a stunt show, fireworks… you can feel how this gp is organized as a whole experience for the fans

did i mention a lot of people?

obviously some things to improve especially the management of the entrances/exit points of the circuit but with so many people at a venue that is not that big i can understand the struggle. maybe they need to think about implementing a limit for the attendance at some point

i had grandstands tickets and it was really enjoyable to have a place with shade to sit down at any moment though i LOVED going to sit on the grass trackside to watch the bikes, especially with the warm weather. sad that we only had time to watch from only a few places at the last turns of the circuit (raccordement, “s” bleus, chemin aux boeufs). would have loved to sit at garage vert for example.. we only did this on friday and saturday because we thought sunday would be too crowded. people literally come at 6-7 am to get the best spots!

the NOISE. thank god i brought my earplugs with noise reduction. the bikes are very loud on their own obviously, but if you are trackside you can watch without ear protection easily. but in the grandstands on the straight? HELL NO! i think it’s very special to le mans where the place is acting like a “soundbox”, amplifying the sound

where we sat in the grandstand we could see the canal+ booth from the other side of the straight. at some point i was like wait a min… isn’t that maverick and rivola out there? and i was right, my bro was shocked i could recognize them from their backs and so far away… also guessed raul, miguel and lin jarvis. maybe i’m too deep in the motogp hole? also recognized the back of a fabio cut-out that people had installed at the bottom of our grandstand but this is a given i guess

idk where to put that but i saw pecco’s mascot so many times i’m starting to think there are actually two of them

also the speaker at the circuit was shit. he flopped so many times 

the races

overall good races! 

moto3 was good, especially because they were close and there were overtakes for the win at the end

moto2 was meh, some good battles in the pack but the race was over after lap one... probably was the only one looking for tony at every lap and cheering for him. rude speakers saying how he was fighting for the championship last year and how he is struggling this year. bitch it's not his fault that speedups are suddenly rocketships 😭

motogp sprint… it’s better that i don’t talk about it. thank you acosta for the overtaking crumbs

motogp race!! i thought it would be a repeat of the sprint, but it turned out to be such a good battle at the front! the crowd went NUTS when martin and then marc overtook pecco. obviously it’s so nice to get battles like these at the front for the win, but this doesn’t erase the fact that it’s still ducati only. and for me motogp CAN'T be at its best unless it’s different brands fighting it out

you know my distaste for the sprints, but i have to admit it adds something to the experience at the track, especially for casual fans like my brother. for me i really enjoyed friday, seeing the different bikes go around the track and observing the different riding styles. my brother much more enjoyed saturday and sunday when there was more “at stake”. this sprint was shit though

my grandstand was… something lmao. a mix of marc truthers and booers. pecco haters who had beef with the pecco grandstand next to us lmao. pecco grandstand started to cheer for pecco after people clapped when the speaker announced martin as the poleman… you can imagine they weren’t as loud after the race lmao 😭

the japanese bikes… it’s so depressing to see irl you have no idea. this weekend basically all of them (except fabio) were hanging out at the end of grid with augusto fernandez...

the marini case is even worse man. it’s so bad that i think i had left my grandstand before he even crossed the finish line on sunday and i’m not even kidding (many people were leaving just after the winner arrived to try to get out of the circuit quickly) 

pedro acosta was probably the most applauded after the frenchies and marc 

that jorge martin guy is REAL fast on a ducati i’m afraid

marc marquez is a showman

weird personal observation but i was less stressed before the race start than i am when i’m watching on tv

FABIOOOOOOOOO

as i said last year, he really is his people’s DARLING

but first about his performance this weekend. INSANE. straight to q2 with an insane lap. with fellow fabio truther lady sat next to me we held our breath until the very end of the session… then during q2 i remember thinking well let’s see fabio qualify p12 now and then when he pushed that tractor and it got him to p6 at some point? my jaw was on the floor and everyone around cheered 

the sunday race… man. i felt it IN MY BONES that fabio would crash at some point. i knew it when he was just in front of aleix and he was manhandling that bike in every direction just to stay in front. then i saw that he had managed to make a small gap to aleix and i thought “he wants too much and he’s overriding it too much…” next when the yellow flag alert appeared i knew…

it was clear that he wanted to give his everything this whole weekend, no matter how shit the bike was. it was no coincidence that the cross necklace was back this weekend… 

even my brother who is the casual of casuals noticed the difference of riding style. said that it was obvious how much fabio was fighting the bike compared to others

the special livery. my god it was SO beautiful on camera and irl… the bike looked so good on the track and fabio looked radiant in those leathers. i tried the special le mans cap but it was a flat brim which i don’t like very much and it looked ugly on me so i bought this baby instead

i was pleasantly surprised not to hear any fabio slander during the entire weekend. when you look at the comment from moto french “fans” on facebook it’s always full of hate (he only thinks about money, he is too “feminine” or whatever bullshit, homophobic shit etc.) even with his special livery (shit like omg can you believe he is a MAN and likes to wear PINK???) i heard nothing. probably for the best or i was ready to throw hands

rins didn’t come with fabio on stage in fanzone for the “meeting with riders” event and it’s understandable poor guy probably wouldn’t have had any question for him

it’s crazy how fabio’s voice sounds different to me irl. at some point i thought he sounded like mbappé 😭

when asked who was his favorite rider (the question didn’t mention past or present, but then the host said well let’s go from the current riders) fabio answered marc marquez is a legend of the sport. also joked don’t worry valentino fans lmao

got asked if he thinks there are too many ducatis on the grid. you can imagine the reaction of the crowd lol. then said that “yamaha and myself are working hard to have two more yamahas on the grid… and two less ducatis smirks” 

someone asked him the obvious question of why he stayed at yamaha. answered how he understands why people don’t understand his choice right now, but that they will in the coming few weeks and right there i believed him. this man could sell me the moon

hardcore fans who take this rare opportunity to ask fabio to sign their fabio related tattoo will never fail to make me cringe but what’s way worse is the man who thought himself entitled to ask fabio about his private life in front of everyone and how “we never see the many women who are after him” posted there (do you get the gross implication there?) anyways. the cunt got booed and fabio got applauded when he answered that he has the right to keep some parts of his life private while he already shares many things with the fans

maybe i will conclude on this but going there you understand why yamaha had to do everything to keep fabio. going beyond the performance element which is obvious, fabio’s marketing power is insane. when fans were asked about their favorite brand, yamaha got the most applause. i didn’t count but i think the yamaha/fabio merch was the most worn among fans (maybe alongside with vr46 lol). and like yeah we’re in france so obviously it’s more visible but having managed to keep the face of their brand is essential in rough times like these. take honda for example, it’s like they weren’t even there this weekend, even with zarco riding one…

probably forgot many things but i think that’s enough lol. i’m already missing it (thank god i took this day off to recover) and i will certainly go again in the future!! (maybe not every year because it’s A LOT though)

[sparklingsora]

Hi. I would like to know many things about your roleswap au bc I love it very much but I have no idea what to ask I just want to know many things bc my brain has been consumed already

uhhhhh I guess can you lore dump a little bit on backstories? Idk I just wanna know everything about this au

I will be back in your ask box for this au several times most likely

-Spaghetti Brain Anon

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK!!! i am SO glad that i could get this au to live in someone else's brain rent free too. all i could ever ask for in life tbh i guess i'll infodump about character backstories, dynamics, character arcs, all that juicy stuff putting it under cut because HO BOY THIS IS GONNA GET LONG

as a heads up, take the timeframes i give you with a grain of salt, because i still havent completely figured out the timeline so first of all, vox!! he's a sinner, died in the 1950s, as per canon. he's a businessman, but less stable than in canon. he's always jumping from job to job, business to business, which results in him having a lot of connections with various people around hell. soon after arriving in hell, he met and became friends with alastor. cut to, i'd say around 7-10 years before the events of the story? alastor disappears without a trace during an extermination and vox assumes him dead. having now been personally touched by the effects of the extermination, the idea to try and solve overpopulation another way is planted in his head, but wont come to fruition until much later. in the meantime he meets velvette - finds her bleeding out in an alleyway after getting too cocky and trying to fight back to an exorcist (bad idea). he nurses her back to health, they become friends and eventually start dating, yada yada yada. one day vox and velvette find a funky little cat (keekee). keekee takes a liking to them and leads them to the old ruins of a building up on the hill on the edge of pentagram city. they figure out that the cat turns into a keyblade that can be used to magically build shit (only the hotel though, as keekee is the spirit of the hotel or??? whatever the hell the canon lore is idk???) vox finally decides to realize his idea to try and solve overpopulation more humanely - through redeeming sinners! his reasoning is, if angels can fall (as proven by lute and charlie), then demons can surely ascend, right? though he's not as sure or idealistic about it as charlie is in canon. he simply thinks it has a chance of working, and opening up a hotel means a bigger sample size than if he were to just try and get into heaven himself or something like that. besides, he wouldnt wanna go to heaven, he likes it here. also, im not sure where this is situated in the timeline yet, but he was in a band with adam, lute and possibly eve at some point? the band is called brimstone eden, as mentioned in the comic i posted. im not sure yet whether he was in the band prior to eve's disappearance or after it (eve disappears 7 years before the story starts to mirror canon lilith). swap!vox, like his canon counterpart, is a very reactive person. he follows trends, he's extremely go-with-the-flow to a fault. he never really had any strong beliefs until the hotel - his character arc mainly involves him gaining something to believe in and learning to fight for that belief, 'ready for this' being more or less the culmination of his arc. jesus christ i cant believe i wrote that much JUST on vox. *slaps the top of his head* this boy can fit so much lore in him

now, velvette... she's how you'd expect her to be. same old brave, arrogant velvette. she's a fashion designer and seamstress and runs a moderately sized business which she promotes on sinstagram. she's mutuals with val there, which is how he finds out about the hotel. there's not much to write home about when it comes to val - it's insane how similar angel and him are. like literally barely anything changes when you swap them, it's very clean. he's a prn star, sold his soul to angel dust, yada yada. though a bit on his dynamic with vox - vox is very good at reading people, and doesn't like being lied to (he's a bit of a hypocrite in that regard - he puts on a facade all the time when in professional settings). he can clearly tell val isnt doing as good as he pretends he is, and wants to help him really badly, but val just sees it as vox pitying him and rejects his help (its what they fight about in ep 4, as a counterpart to the whole "charlie going to the studio" thing bc vox wouldnt do that) and now here's the fun part - ALASTOR! oh, alastor, you beautiful stuck up bitch! so turns out, he's not so dead after all! he ALMOST died in that fateful extermination, but husk found him and offered him a "give me your soul right now or bleed out in this alleyway" type deal. of course alastor chose the former, but boy he's not happy about it. he's extremely ashamed of how far he's fallen. so ashamed, in fact, that he hid from the world for those 7-10 years! yeah! he's only pulled out of hiding when husk summons him to be the bartender for the hotel. vox is of course, extremely bewildered and demands answers. alastor doesnt give them and avoids him instead. it takes a sincere conversation with valentino in ep 4 for alastor to finally talk to vox again and explain himself. alastor is basically in extremely deep denial of just how fucked his life is. he clings onto his radio demon persona like a lifeline bc its the last thing that can help him feel some semblance of control over his situation. his tension with valentino is twofold - first they butt heads because of opposing personalities, and second because they both see the other's bullshittery. it's a clusterfuck it eventually bubbles over in ep 4, they both admit how absolutely fucked they are and are friends now. wish i could say more on al & val bc i love them very much but it seems ive run out of eloquency for now. though i know i'll draw some comics of them eventually so maybe it'll come across better in comic form. anyway as mentioned above ive run out of eloquency and im honestly not sure how coherent this whole thing is so you'll have to come back for the other characters some other time, dear anon! until then, thank you so much for the ask once again, and have a nice day/night :)