#FUNCTIONAL MANUAL BED

[rahul-sharma8295]

3-FUNCTIONAL MANUAL BED

BMH No.77704 Manually adjusted backrest, hi-low knee, Up and Down. Collapsible railing, Detachable ABS foot and hood panel. 5" castor.

Visit for more info.:-

[lijoue]

Better Pool Floats

Hello I have a cute little mod I'm really excited to share with you! It started with a simple little inner tube, but I became so obsessed it turned into a whole pool float overhaul. 

01 / Custom Animation Overrides

I really love using pool floats, but I always thought the default sitting pose was quite boring and stiff. So I've created new custom animations for the “relax” and “nap” interactions for adults and children. The pose is much more relaxed and natural now. 

I chose not to override every animation, so you can still play the original EA version if you choose “sunbathe”.  Since I didn’t override every animation, there will be some jumpy transitions between the EA pose and the relaxed pose. It’s particularly noticeable if the sim has a drink while relaxing, because there are a lot of different drink animations. There may also be some clipping or small imperfections.

02 / Improved Locomotion

I didn’t like how quickly the pool float would spin around and drift away, so I adjusted the movement speed to be much slower. Now it gently floats at a more natural pace.

03 / Custom Tuning Override

This will override the gameplay functionality for all pool floats in the game, including any cc that uses the default object_SitLoungeFloat tuning. I refined a lot of little details to improve the overall gameplay experience. 

"Relax" now restores a bit of energy and fun, and also reduces negative buffs.

New "Relax Nude" interaction

Tired sims won't autonomously go to nap in the pool instead of like, a bed or sofa.

Sims won't always fall asleep after relaxing. Now they'll only fall asleep if they're tired, bored, lazy or drunk. (You can still manually use the nap interaction though.) 

Removed the “scared” buffs and fear triggers. I found it annoying my sims would frequently develop a fear of swimming after relaxing on a pool float. Make it make sense EA!

Other small changes that no one will even notice 

Bonus / Italia Classic Pool Float (Requires Riviera Retreat)

I originally designed this pool float for my upcoming Italia Tartosa World, but I'm sharing it early so you can enjoy it now. Just to be clear, my cc float is not required for the other features of the mod. And the mod features will work with floats from other packs like Island Living as well.

This mod is in early Access until 14/10/24. I worked really hard on this so I appreciate your patience and support ♡

DOWNLOAD

Enjoy ♡ 

[comicaurora]

How do you manage to motivate yourself when you're feeling tired or depressed?

Usually I try to give myself time to rest until those feelings lessen, since they're generally symptomatic of having pushed too hard, but on occasions where tiredness seems to be getting a little too cozy with depression, there's a few things I do.

I've observed in myself a habit of sort of… waiting in a holding pattern for something to push me into action. "Something" isn't defined clearly, but it becomes a real problem on depressed or low-executive-function days. This might just BE what low executive function feels like, tbh; like there's some invisible trigger and I can't Do The Thing until something trips it. When I notice I'm stuck in a holding pattern, I have a few tricks to snap myself out of it:

Flip a coin. Heads I get up and Do The Thing, tails I don't. The simple act of challenging myself is enough to motivate me sometimes, regardless of the outcome, but sometimes this makes me realize that I am legitimately tired, so I stay put and recharge a little until I want to flip for it again.

Set a five- or ten-minute timer and do whatever I need to do until the timer runs out. An artificial deadline can bypass the holding pattern. Sometimes this gives me momentum, and when the timer runs out I keep going. Sometimes this does NOT build momentum, and I crash after the timer runs out - but I crash with five more minutes of progress done. Any progress is better than no progress.

Assume Direct Control. This one only works sometimes, but sometimes it's as simple as breaking down a list of individual units of tangible progress - Get Off Of Bed, Put On Pants, Plug In Tablet, Etc Etc - and just grab the manual controls in my brain and make myself do each thing in turn. Sometimes I'll assume direct control to make myself take a Stupid Mental Health Walk, which has thus far worked every time to improve my mood and energy even though when I am in a Low Mood the last thing I want to do is subject myself to the mortifying ordeal of wearing pants and dealing with people.

I also find that sometimes it's helpful to pull the thread of what you're waiting for. Sometimes I'll realize I've locked myself into a weird paralysis because I've accidentally made something a prerequisite for other tasks. For example, I might realize I'm feeling weirdly frozen and uncomfortable because I haven't taken out the trash, and I've told myself I can't do X Y and Z until the trash is taken out, but I don't want to take out the trash, so I've locked X Y and Z behind Unpleasant Task in a subconscious attempt to motivate myself to Do The Task but instead I've just dramatically reduced the number of things I feel I can do. Often just noticing this pattern is enough to break out of it.

I also find that sometimes the invisible trigger I'm waiting for is just waiting to want to do something. That is unfortunately a trap. There are many things you can enjoy or benefit from without wanting to do them beforehand, because the thought of it is unpleasant or scary or anxiety-inducing or otherwise loaded down with what-ifs and caveats. I will never WANT to have a doctor's appointment, but I feel very good AFTER arranging and going to one. I very rarely WANT to exercise, but after the fact I feel very rewarded and more confident in my abilities. I've only WANTED to go on like a third of the walks I've taken this year, but every single one of them has been pleasant and beneficial to my mental health. Sometimes you just gotta say "I don't WANT to do it, but I'll be glad I did it" and manually pilot yourself into Doing It.

[keyotosprompts]

love's possessing me ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

ur fav tropes (with variations) + microtropes

⇴ person a + person b are both looking for each other, and they wander all around the place until they finally meet in the middle, where they both crash into each other

⇴ enemies to lovers (kind of) because they're in opposite factions that feud. until one day they run into each other on accident, immediately want to kill the other, and get trapped together. slowly, they discover that their own factions are awful, and they must work together to stop injustice (mk storyline!!!)

⇴ super serious and put together b turns into pure mush at the sight of a. i'm talking the brain stopped functioning call 911 bc we think they suffered brain damage. no they're just in love with person a.

⇴ having their own secret code. whether it be hand signs behind their backs, secret looks, or secret touches—as long as it's a secret then i will eat it up.

⇴ getting so tired that person b falls and person a has to catch them. person b ends up laying their head on person a's shoulder, and person a is now stuck with person b

⇴ "i'm not falling in love" and they fall the hardest (idc how used it is i will eat it up until i die)

⇴ person b admiring how person a brightens up any room when they get excited. "the look of love" as some would call it

⇴ two people that help each other heal. they've both had rough pasts, and when they meet each other—initially they hate it but—things start to mend (hometown cha cha cha anyone???)

⇴ banter and teasing at first meeting, but the more they get to know each other, the more they begin to connect.

⇴ person a + person b fighting over who has to sleep on the couch (they're staying at the other person's house), until they both agree on sleeping in the same bed together

⇴ friends to lovers but the other party did not consider them friends. (yikesssss)

⇴ "you lied to me! you kept lying straight to my face! and you expect me to forgive you?" "what are you talking about?! did you never get my letter?" "what letter?" (oh ur cooked)

⇴ "you deserve better than me." "that's not your decision to make, that's mine."

⇴ person a literally thinking they're the worst person in the world, and then there's person b, who can fight through the darkness and find the light

⇴ "you wouldn't understand!" "then tell me. i just want to listen."

⇴ person a's overworking themselves, so person b has to manually close their computer and put away their work and force them to sleep

⇴ person a stays up for person b to get home, but falls asleep. person b takes a ton of photos of them and then carries them to bed (and joins them later snuggling them ofc)

hey guys! keyotos here. this is a little out of my lane but i created this post for my writing event on my writing blog. but anyone else, feel free to use these and lmk if u guys like content similar to this!

[lingyunxi]

Self-use Sims 3 CC Tutorials List

Here is a list of tutorials from which I learn to convert/create sims 3 cc in a few months (and as a poor English speaker). I think it might help someone who also wants to try making things for sims 3 but doesn't know where to start, though it's been 15 years from the game release and even Inzoi is coming hahah.

The list covers objects, clothes, hairs and eyes. I know there're lots of tutorials not listed here, that's because I haven't tried them in my projects by hand. But The list will be updated with new things I learn. Most tutorials are in English. Thanks to all these creators for sharing their precious knowledge!

Sorry for the miserable format, cuz I wrote them in Patreon and paste here. You can also read it there, free of course.

Where I find tutorials

sims 3 tutorial hub

ts3 creators cave and its discord

Mod the sims tutorial wiki and the forum

pis3update tutorials tag

General

CC basic concepts by nightosphere (for clothes, most knowledge is shared with objects)

Tools

TSRW guide by apple (for objects, most knowledge is shared with clothes)

Blender

shortcut by Blender Guru

beginner tutorial for version 2.5, 2.8, 3.0, 4.0

3.5入门教程 (youtube / bilibili)

设置切换语言快捷键 change language shortcut settings

图片取色器网站

Mesh ToolKit with Seam Fixer for all ages

Topaz gigapixel AI guide / higher quality texture

Texture

Nicer bake / bake in blender 2.78

Bake in blender 2.93

Make normal map

small size blank texture

Reasons for black blocks on baked image

Adjust texture color without losing quality

Object

clone obejcts with S3OC

4t3

Functional Objects

Functional bed

TSRW setting

Combining Textures for Objects with Multiple Textures

Add normal map to objects

Introduction to slot categories

Add slots in TSRW

Edit in-door shadow or occluders in TSRW / Talks about 3 kinds of in-game shadow by Pocci

Clothes

4t3 by nightosphere

Reduce polycount / fix seams, holes, shadows or normals

Bone reference rule

Avoid milkshape workflow / adjust bone assignment and morphs in blender

Manually fix bone in blender

Convert between ages/body meshes

TSRW check list

Fix long clothes clip with body

Fix holes on morphs (easier in blender)

Extrude collars

Create texture in PS

Avoid TSRW workflow / CTU tutorial

Hairs

Avoid milkshape and TSRW workflow / delete backfaces / handmade morphs / DABOOBS guide

Keys pointing to in-game blank textures to save file size (for DABOOBS not TSRW)

Reduce polycount

4t3

Fix weird seam lines on hairs from s4s

Fix pigtail issue

Eyes

Convert contacts to default eyes

[catmask]

Do you have any advice for continuing to use your planner once you start? I'm going to be starting one for the first time soon, but I worry I'll have issues sticking to it even if it helps.

it might not be the advice you want, but if your planner doesnt 'stick' theres usually a few reasons (at least that ive found) as to why-

the planner doesnt actually help you remember the things youre supposed to. i prefer very specific, small lists (so i like having food, work tasks, exercise/self care and chores separate) where a lot of planners ive found just give you one big block for the day. when i used those, i would manually separate the lists, usually run out of space, and then give up and not maintain using it.

its not convenient to use! either the size is too clunky, the pages are not pleasant to write on/bleed and become illegible, or - what ive found happens to people a LOT - they focus on making their planner so pretty they take forever to actually write stuff down. your planner is supposed to be a tool to help you, so taking care of it is important, but for functionality sake... it ISNT supposed to be a journal. you dont have to treat it so delicately youre afraid to make mistakes or write too sloppily

when are you planning/writing in it? i write one or two important tasks for the next day as im going to bed, and then add the rest the morning after when i see how im feeling. this makes it so im not using my phone right when i wake up or before i go to bed too, which ive found puts me in a lot better/productive of a mood...

theres more reasons, but ultimately it comes down to 'is it convenient?' 'is it pleasant?'. trying to form habits you resist naturally is much more difficult than trying to find things that are small adjustments, if you try to change everything about yourself all at once, you'll very likely just fall flat! if the planner you have now isnt working... you might just need to be pickier about which one you get. the one i have now was 5 dollars, but i got it because it had the kind of formatting i was specifically looking for.

[copperbadge]

[ID: My shower, tiled in ugly but functional brown, with the shower curtain off to one side; fixed to the ceiling is an oblong LED lamp, shining brightly down into the shower.]

Forgot to post this yesterday! That's the new little lamp I've installed in the shower for better lighting, and actually it looks kinda cool.

It doesn't work, but it looks cool. :D

I shouldn't say it doesn't work because obviously it's lit up in the photo, but it's not serving its purpose. An overhead light in that space is too high up for me to easily switch on manually, so I bought one with motion detection. In theory, when you get in, the shower the light will flick on.

In practice, the motion detection only detects a change of light, not actual movement (it's meant, I think, for something more like a garage, where when you open the door to go in, the ambient light you've let in makes it go on). The result is that in order to get it to turn on, one has to perform a kind of magical summoning ritual consisting of flicking the bathroom lights off and on, and it won't stay on unless the rest of the bathroom is dark, which defeats the point.

It was a $7 lamp, so I'm not overly annoyed. The pricier option (all of I think about $20) has a remote control, so I might go that route, but I also know of a brand with better motion sensing, so I may order from there.

Today's cleaning was mostly a form of rearranging furniture. I don't want my laundry hamper at the foot of my bed anymore -- it crowds the room and looks ugly on my video calls. I've moved it to the hall closet opposite the bathroom, but that meant shifting the storage bins already there and the majority of the lightweight jackets hanging above them. The bins mostly went into the bedroom closet, replacing a shelf I moved out of the closet and may donate, except for one open bin with the camping supplies, which I need to repack and find a home for. Right now there's just a nook of my living room that's "storage staging"; sometimes you just gotta get messier before you get cleaner.

In any case, that took about 30 minutes of a Behind The Bastards episode (The History Of American Masculinity, Pt. 1) and I'm taking it easy because I'm still battling a sinus infection, which is the reason I didn't scrub the toilet instead because I felt okay to move things around but not to get up close and personal with cleaning products. I took a few measurements of the hall closet (which has no doors) and I'm going to spend the rest of my allotted cleaning time on the sofa under an electric blanket, shopping for an appropriate set of shelving to replace what's currently there and make better use of the space. (I was tempted to try and convert it into a micro-office like you saw in trendy magazines early in the pandemic, but I prefer my office setup with a little more natural light.)

[ctrlsatoru]

DIABLO CH2 - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. protective!toji and also asshole!toji. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to being roofied. toji being toji. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k tags: @liitlesushi a/n: ok so this might be longer than I anticipated and also semi slow burn. it'll be worth it, trust. summary: It's Gojo's anniversary party, you're doomed by your Satoru's whims, haunted by your father's scheming, and now a devilish third player appears: Toji Fushiguro. And he's here to collect.

Toji opens his eyes, manually focusing on the ceiling above him. The strange pattern spun in slow circles, and then it settled.

This bed is not his own. The pillow feels too flat under his head, which is throbbing painfully. He feels like a dozen horses ran over him. A voice, distinctly female, unnecessarily loud, makes him wince and curse under his breath.

“... If I agree, and I haven’t, you’re not picking my outfit. Know that .”

This is unlike him. He can’t remember a thing. The one good thing about not recognizing the bed is that he’s not gonna have to deal with a strange woman in his place–

“Because your conception of what’s socially acceptable to wear to a formal function is not tethered to earthly reality, Satoru.”

Oh.

It’s you .

You’re on the phone, standing by floor-to-ceiling windows. The sunlight casts off your ring like white laser when you turn, blinding him.

“Mornin’” he croaks, pushing himself to sit against rough the rattan bed frame. The room moves from side to side, like you’re both stuck in a boat, and not in one of Haibara's many guest rooms. It’s all coming back to him, the party, watching you and your boyfriend’s fight, the deck–

“Oh. Hey, buddy.” you say idly, looking over your shoulder as you sit on the other side of the bed, your ring-covered finger tying some slutty sandals around your ankles like some kind of shibari countess. The strap of your top falls as you lean over. Toji’s buffering.

His ears must be fucking deceiving him. 

Buddy?

The fuck?

He can’t for the life of him remember anything after the deck. You’re zooming through the room, texting furiously. On top of that, you look fresh and plump like lettuce out of the fridge, don’t you? But he had to blink several times to break through the layer of crust around his eyelashes, and his body is telling him you two fucked like animals for the past 12 hours.

Or he spent the weekend in the trenches. 

He feels wildly unprepared for this morning after, and it’s a just fucking relief that you’re keeping your distance until you start tap tap taping your little heels to the door.

“The hell do you think you’re goin’?”

You stop, surveying him over your shoulder like he’s coming close to being some sort of inconvenience. 

And then the corner of your lips lifts, the mole on your cheek jumping with the motion.

“It was fun.” Your phone starts ringing again. The sound drills a hole into Toji’s temples. “Too bad that it never happened.”

With that, you’re gone. 

You abandon Toji with a bunch of unconscious people scattered around the house and Haibara, who’s still young enough to not know what a real hangover is. The kid will just not shut up about some hardcore surveillance system he had installed around the house recently after he noticed someone was stealing from his Kaws collection.

Toji listens to the whole story, sipping on the cold pressed green juice Haibara made himself, simply refusing to use the crystal straw, and makes a promise to himself. You’ll pay for whatever it is you did to him.

Even if he doesn’t remember what that was. Yet. It doesn’t matter. You’ll pay anyway. Nicely. 

“Say, kid.” he asks Haibara, licking the green foam off his lips and putting down the empty glass on the counter. The juice tasted just like it looks, which is cow puke, but his mind is somewhere else. Machinating. Scheming. 

“This system of yours, does it cover the whole house?”

Here’s the thing.

There are many things Toji isn’t. 

For starters, he’s not easily bothered by most things, a trait that people usually mistake for a personal attack, like it has anything to do with them and isn’t just the hand that he was dealt. People assume others, in this case him, think about them more than he can be bothered to. 

He’s not a control junkie either, not anymore. He left those days behind.

Control isn’t something he needs to worry about anymore. He has plenty of it. If something gets out of line, it gets back on it automatically. That’s just the way life is. Sure, he had his vices back then; lactose, gambling, adrenaline, women. 

But the thing is, you learn a few things with age, right? Shiny things lose their sparkle. The excitement wears off. Nothing is safe from becoming predictable, not even the rush of hearing bone crack under his fists or the juiciest, tightest pussy presented to him on a tray.

And this sheds a light on the fact that he’s way past the age of being pussy whipped.

“You cannot be serious.”

So why the fuck is Shiu Kong looking at him like that? 

And who does he think he is standing next to him, all up on his screen, and mind you, only alive thanks to the fact that Toji has lost some edge from his gory days?

He shuts down the tab like a kid who got caught watching porn on the family PC.

“You listen to me. Don’t you ever fucking do that–”

“The Gojo kid?” 

Toji’s eyebrows dig into his face because you’re certainly not a kid. No. Kids don’t look like that. Kids most certainly don't go around passing people horse tranquilizer or whatever the fuck it is you fed him with that glossy mouth of yours.

And that’s what you did. That’s as far as he can remember. 

“Is that what’s been–”

“I’m gonna stop you before you say some dumb shit and piss me off any further.”

Shiu’s been pestering him for days now about the upcoming iteration and the threat of several deadlines. Toji has been brushing it off. No nagging back or shutting down his complaints. 

Somehow, his silence only pushes the stick further up Shiu’s ass. Like he’s his sexually neglected wife of 40 years.

Truth is, he hasn’t given the dynamic with his CFO/best friend much thought lately. Why would he when there’s an infuriating, mouthy woman with siren eyes that somehow look down at him even when he’s about two heads taller than– 

You.

“–stalking the poor girl on the desktop version of Instagram.”

Toji returns to the conversation. “I don’t stalk people. I’m a grown-ass man.”

And you’re not a girl either. You’re something else. He hasn’t figured what yet.

“Mm. So am I.” Shiu says, still standing there with his hands in his pockets, head tilting down at some forgotten paperwork on his desk. “And even I know looking at someone’s profile on a desktop computer is a concerning level of unemployment, which you’re not at. Yet.” 

Toji’s not that thick-headed. He knows he’s been distracted, but he can’t just brush that night at Haibara's away.

You pop up in his head unannounced and make yourself comfortable, rent fucking free. Like a little squatter. In the middle of meetings, when he's driving back home, at the gym, when he’s at the club with a gorgeous woman on his lap. 

It’s becoming so frustrating that he’s started to despise you for real, and not just the made-up version of yourself he created when he met you and decided you were an ill-mannered bunny that he wanted to toy with for a bit.

In this scenario, of course, he was a wolf.

No one ever talks about how sometimes the bunny knocks the wolf out and bolts the morning after.

Days pass and his mind is blank of memories, no glimpses, no time-stopping sex flashbacks, just a bunch of strange vivid dreams about you that would make any mid-century french cult film director weep and the Soviet Union recoil. They distract him to the point of him nearly knocking the front teeth off his trainer’s face, or spilling orange juice all over his clothes this morning.

Toji’s positive you didn’t fuck. Sure, you had a bit of bed hair, but your face lacked the I-was-fucked-by-the-Toji-Fushiguro glaze he's used to seeing in women and takes pride in. You looked perfectly fine, collected enough to be giving your dimwit brother hell on the phone and fuck with him before disappearing.

It was fun.

He was also wearing underwear, and you walked just fine. No wobbly legs or tilted hips. No bruises on your neck or scratches on his back– 

Too bad that it never happened.

You had shared a bed, that much he knew. He caught a whiff of your perfume after you left. He had cursed you then, feeling like a pathetic fucking dog sniffing up some pillows, but now the confusion and annoyance faded to a curiosity that extends past the time in his head he gives to the best lays he’s had. 

So today he put up an incognito tab and looked you up hoping to find something annoying, corny or pathetic about you to make you unappealing, and somehow he landed on your personal IG profile. 

You posted a set of pictures three days ago of meaningless corners at some random location. The fourth picture is a snap of what looks like your desk. There’s a polaroid of you and your fiancé next to a stack of notebooks.

You’re standing in front of him, leaning your head to the side with his chin resting nice and cozy on your shoulder, his nose pressed against your neck. Toji's lip curled in distaste.

He found your twitter account as well, because why not? And found nothing of particular interest. You stick to promoting your work and that's the end of it. Other people in your circle, on the other hand…

Toji went through a twitter phase not too long ago. He found endless amusement in pissing people off with less than 140 characters and replying to those who enjoyed his work. He uninstalled the app the second he found people selling mugs with screencaps of his tweets. 

Safe to say the decision made Shiu’s and the PR team quite happy. 

He’s out of the loop with the overall discourse, but it’s clear that you have farmed your own dedicated micro following online and your boyfriend is some kind of A24 flowerboy on the rise. 

Toji heard of him before meeting you. His newfound success is the byproduct of his dreamy looks, a melancholic breakout role and the occasional activism, something that's been often questioned due to his relationship with you, and the consequential ties to your family.

Both of you, as a couple, act like viagra for a very specific, insufferable and presumptuous crowd. They’re hyper-focused on the fact that you haven’t posted him on your stories for weeks, that Hiroki allegedly deleted some posts with you on Instagram, and that he's been caught dreamily staring at his female co-star during press conferences.

Why people choose to waste their time with their noses up stranger's ass is something Toji does not understand, life being as short as it is.

“Please tell me that’s not her twitter account,” Shiu says. Toji inhales sharply. “This is more pathetic than I thought. No wonder you haven’t gotten anything done in days.”

He kills the rest of the tabs, spitting over his shoulder “I can’t very well do my fucking job if you’re breathing over my fucking shoulder, can I? You know how I fucking feel about people standing behind me when I’m trying to get shit done.”

“Twitchy .” Shiu notes and takes his sweet time walking around his desk, plopping down on the chair.

“Yep, take a seat, why don’t you.” Toji grumbles.

Shiu drums his fingers against his knee, a sign that he’s craving a cigarette, surveying him.

“So I’m gonna take a leap of faith here and assume this is some kind of executive-level scheming, and you’re just exploiting a vulnerability.”

Toji’s face twists like he sucked on a lemon at the mere thought of it. 

“You know damn well the day I do business with that old cunt will be the day your ex-wife comes clean about what she did at that yoga retreat in Bali and asks for forgiveness.”

“Figures. So?”

“You’d probably take her back. Fucking cuck.”

“She really got under your skin, didn’t she?” Shiu notes, unbothered by the unprovoked attack. 

Toji sniffs, comes down from the spike of anger, and finds a more comfortable position on his chair.

“She owes me.”

Shiu leans his head back, mildly amused. 

“You adding usury to your ledger now?”

“Not money.”

“Alright then, I don’t want to know.”

Lies. But Shiu knows better than to push too much. Toji’s the type to hoard details not because he’s afraid of compromise, just to be an asshole. 

It’s refreshing to see him almost… desperate. If you were anything like your brother, Shiu thought, you might be just the perfect little karma agent for his best friend.

“Fine. You get that business sorted. You’re no use to me if you’re distracted.”

“You worry about sorting your own business and I’ll worry about mine, Kong.”

Shiu stands up, fighting back a smile until he opens the door, stopping at the sight of Toji’s assistant about to knock.

“What is it?” Toji asks, scratching his eyebrow, already exhausted.

Keiko looks down at the tablet in her hands, hesitant.

“The team at Gojo Corp has reached out, sir. It seems Gojo Shinobu would like to invite you to dinner next week.”

The look on Shiu’s face as he slowly turns to face him is priceless. Toji rests his elbows on his desk, a sinister smile pulling at his scar.

“Well, isn’t that interesting?”

“Interesting indeed.” Shiu agrees. Keiko eyes them skeptically, because her boss smiling like that cannot mean anything good for society, or her sleep schedule.

“I better get to work then, eh?”

“Anytime would be nice, yes.” Shiu says, turning to Keiko. “I guess I’ll finally find out about Bali, then.”

So you might be thinking, look at him backtracking like that. 

Don’t get him wrong, it’s nothing like that.

Toji’s sitting across from Gojo Shinobu, the man, the myth, the bigot himself, with absolutely no intention of making business with him.

He’s just sniffing the territory.

In person and up close, Shinobu's a disturbing aged mix of you and your brother: the hair and the uncanny valley eyes went to him, but the eyebrows, the slope of his nose, it’s you. Even the handshake, firm and tight like a war general, reminds Toji of you.

Gojo Shinobu’s old as the fucking bible. His eyes are graying, eyelids sagging but it's clear that grandpa's still sharp.

For the record, Toji doesn’t like the old fart. He represents many things that he despises about older generations, and his business model is one of the many reasons for the country living in the past, but he’s not about to get political. 

Not liking Gojo Shinobu doesn't mean he has no respect for him, so he’s honest and immediately shuts down the proposal of Gojo Corp. being involved in future Diablo releases.

Dignified, not happy, but never one to accept a no, Shinobu just smiles, brushes his beard like a Ghibli villain, and switches the subject.

Alcohol involved and pretending to put business talk aside, the conversation flows easily. Your father has a surprisingly entertaining dry sense of humor. Toji supposes you stop giving a shit when you have one foot in the grave, he also imagines the borderline cruel wit had something to do with your mother getting knocked up with you at the peak of her career as an actress and sex symbol.

“I hear you have a kid.”

“Two.” Toji corrects, remembering that he’s supposed to pick up Tsumiki in an hour. Ballet class. She’s getting rather serious about it. “A girl and a boy.”

“Ah, good balance.” Shinobu nods with a knowing smile. “They listen to you? How old are they?”

“15 and 16. And they do.”

They don’t, because they’re teenagers, not soldiers. Megumi and Tsumiki are good kids, certainly better than he was at their ages, they don’t need him ordering them around, watching their every step.

“Dangerous, dangerous age.” your father hums. “You make sure they do that, save yourself the bitterness in the future.”

Damn. Alright. Toji lifts his eyebrows and leans back, listening. That’s all it takes.

“You’d be surprised. You get a little too light handed, and a perfect sapling can get ruined just like that.” he snaps his fingers. “It’s harder to straighten them up as they grow up.”

Toji takes a long, good sip, fighting back a chuckle. He has no concerns when it comes to who or how people choose to fuck, but the blatant homophobia is always amusing.

“And then they gang up on you.” Shinobu scoffs. Toji can imagine you and your brother scheduling a year worth of publicly terrorizing Shinobu. “No wife? You raising them on your own?”

“I am.”

“Good man. It’s hard, honest work. Make sure you look for a good one to settle with, not all of them are in touch with their motherly instinct.”

His assistant comes in, tells him someone has arrived, and Shinobu makes a noise with his nose or mouth that reminds Toji of an exasperated horse.

“Take the advice from me. You see–”

He leans over the table, brushes his beard. 

“If, and I am not wishing this upon you, your daughter comes of age and– after years of picking up and dropping all sorts of interests with no interest in commitment,"

He pauses, chuckling humorlessly.

"–comes to the conclusion that she wants to waste her life playing with cameras and hanging out with gender-bending creatives,”

The word is said with so much despise Toji feels like there should be a new phobia for it.

“You have to sit down and choose what’s more important; letting her waste her potential away, or being in her good graces. More often than not it can’t be both, that’s just how it is.”

Perhaps Toji hasn’t given you enough credit. You could’ve ended up a lot worse than you are. Knocking him out was nothing. You could’ve chopped him up, kept his dismembered body in your fridge, and he’d see where you're coming from.

“But when she tells you she wants to let some vulture into your family and make him blood, you take matters into your own hands.” he nods firmly, like it’s Toji he’s mad at, and finally looks over his shoulder, nostrils flared.

Asaya Hiroki approaches the table. Jetlagged eyes, tail between his legs.

“Fushiguro, this is Asaya Hiroji, my daughter’s boyfriend.”

Hiroki looks like he has half a mind to correct him on either the name or relationship status but he’s too fond of keeping his head attached to his body.

Hiroki’s pretty. Toji can’t compete in that department. He looks like he puts sugar and milk on his tea and smashes the china on the floor when he’s told he can’t have more, like a psychotic puppy. 

In other words, you make sense together. 

You like to look at pretty things so your boyfriend’s cute. No harm in acknowledging that, though he remembers Tsumiki mentioning that when noses dip down like that it means there’s some kind of prosthetic. 

And if you pay attention, really read between the lines of his 90’s film heartthrob face, something’s off with him, isn’t it?

But what does he care? A nose job is no crime. Hiroki has other flaws to offer. For example, he has a rather shitty way of hiding the fact that he’s doing something he’s not supposed to. 

Perhaps, even, going behind someone’s back.

And the guy calls himself an actor.

Satisfied with the results of what he thought would be a waste of an afternoon, he excuses himself. He’ll be just in time to get to Tsumiki’s class before it’s done and have the other kids’ moms and nannies ogle at him. Tsumiki hates it when he does that.

“Don’t be a stranger, Fushiguro. I’d like to keep this channel between us open. I hope to see you at the anniversary party.”

“Pardon?” Toji stops, surprised.

“The company’s anniversary party this Friday,” Shinobu says, like it’s obvious. “I’d like you to meet my son, and well, you’re already acquainted with my daughter.”

Hiroki’s round bobba eyes follow him all the way to the grand crystal doors. Toji has the distinct feeling that he was just part of Shinobu taking matters into his own hands. 

He’s both disturbed and impressed. He never mentioned meeting you, and he’s pretty damn sure that this detail didn’t slip from your lips either.

 

Every year the company throws an anniversary party, and you and your brother and every high-level employee have to attend and listen to your father’s rendition of why diesel was better and how you’re all wimps for being born after the extinction of smallpox. 

The one year that you didn’t attend, because you were stuck in Norway with a canceled flight, your father spent exactly 11 months reminding you of it like you had any say in the weather conditions of the North Sea.

Tonight might be his last speech as chairman, since he’s about to step down from his position after growing health concerns.��The company has gone all out; live music, huge venue, ice sculptures, people are dancing. They've put so much effort your father's probably more annoyed than anything.

Suguru approaches you at the empty family table and sits down next to you with a knowing smile, like he's thinking the same thing as you while you're watching people waltz. He’s looking as handsome as ever, you just miss the bangs framing his face.

“So, when do you think he’s going to publicly execute the medical staff that diagnosed him with Alzheimer’s?”

“Probably after he declares war on Gretha Thunberg.”

You’re wary. He might have everyone convinced, but it’s not like him to step down quietly. Your instincts are telling you to expect shenanigans tonight, and they’ve never once failed you.

“Seems too good to be true, don’t you think?” you say, eyeing the crowd. “I don’t know how Satoru’s so cool about it.”

Suguru sighs, craning his neck. “I wouldn’t say he is.”

And that’s when your brother slams his palm on the table, making you jump in your seat. He leans over the two of you, eyeing the room like it’s the school cafeteria and he’s the king of prom.

And he kind of is. Today your father will officially name him his successor, so the sour look in his face makes you and Suguru share a look.

“Do you see Hideo Kojima on steroids hanging out with Nanamin? I guess next year we’ll have the Yakuza on the jazz band.”

You laugh, only half weirded out. Suguru looks up at your brother, confused.

“Who? ”

“Toji Fushiguro. ” Satoru drawls, icily amused, and your neck turns so fast Suguru worries it’ll break. “And his underling.”

Remember your intuition? Red sirens start ringing in your head, and the edges of your vision start staining in with a deep burgundy color.

What on earth is he–

“Dad invited him.” Satoru says, still not sitting down, still scanning the room with deadly eyes. You feel the urge to look around and pinpoint his exact location, but you wait for him to point with his chin. “They’ve been seeing each other. Mimosas and manicures, I heard.”

You find him across the room, several tables between you, just over the elevated candles in the middle of your table, talking with Nanami and some man you don’t recognize. 

You fight the weak but sensible urge to look away when he suddenly turns to your table and lifts his glass in your direction, like he felt the shit talking from a distance.

The room is vast, but you recognize the feeling of his eyes looking straight at you. Your brother is too occupied cursing under his breath while he mockingly lifts his glass to notice you gulping.

“You think dad’s hitting that?”

You try not to gag. “You’re sick.”

“Cause someone will owe me a loooot of money if that’s the case.” he taunts. You both placed a bet on whether your father is bisexual or not years ago. “Look at him, standing there like he’s threatening to swipe all the fertile wives in the room. Freak.”

You snort. A bit of your goes down the wrong pipe, Suguru helpfully pats your back.

“You better hold on to yours then.”

“Nah, he’s locked in. Ain’t cha , babes?”

You roll your eyes, feeling Suguru shake his head with a lovesick smirk. Your brother replies with a wink, lazily dropping his weight on the chair next to you, like you need to be in the middle of all that.

You lean back, stretching your neck and stranding up. “Ok, you can back up a little. It’s embarrassing enough to be matching with you.”

Satoru stretches his arm over your now empty seat. They’ve been purposefully keeping a distance, him and Suguru, people assume it’s for appearances' sake, but you know them better than that. They’re playing some game tonight, and you’d rather pluck out your lashes one by one than learn the details.

“And I distinctly remember asking you to stop feeding into those fucked up theories online about me terrorizing you as a child, but you had to take those creepy family portraits with the heads cut off. We don’t always get what we want, sis.”

And don’t you know that. Tonight was stressing enough without 6’ something with a lip scar, ever so subtly following with his eyes as you make your way around the party. Not too obvious for an outsider to notice, but just enough to make the exposed hairs at the back of your neck stand up.

You’re a little too energized. Like too many shots of espresso and Ritalin after an allnighter.

It makes no sense to start feeling threatened by Toji Fushiguro tonight, when he’s in your territory, but you do. 

But you weren’t raised under the same roof as Gojo Shinobu and Gojo Satoru to be so easily intimidated, so you mingle, let people stop you for quick, boring catch ups and questions about being excited about your brother and what-have-you-been-up -tos, even those whose faces or names you can’t recall.

You smile, entertain and even ask people about their whereabouts, until you’re out of social battery for the rest of the season.

“Took you long enough.” you say, making a point of not looking at him.

His voice comes closer than you expected or feel sane about. Smooth and dark, in through your left ear.

“Patience is a virtue, haven’t you heard?”

His presence is more unnerving than you geared up for, and just like the first time, a shiver cuts through you. Something urges you to move and take a step sideways, out of the magnetic pull around him. 

You finally take him in. Tailored tuxedo, slightly tousled black hair that you know for a fact is unfairly soft, exuding confidence. Never in your life had you encountered someone as infuriating and intoxicating as him.

“So, are you my new stepdaddy?”

A slap to his face would’ve stunned him less. Hell, he might’ve enjoyed it. You don’t give him a chance. His pants have no business getting tighter from that fucking question. Toji buffers again.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He hums, hands in his pockets.

“Depends.”

You tilt your head.

“You into that kind of thing?”

You scoff, dismissive as always, but suspiciously purse your lips to one side before taking a sip of your drink. Perhaps gatekeeping a chuckle.

Head held high, nose up in the air. Toji takes your profile in. The light bouncing off the high points of your face, the deliberate, doll-like curl of your lashes, the soft slope of your neck and the dips and curves of your shoulders. Your dress painted a nice image in his head of your body from afar, so he refrains from going past your collarbones like the honorable man that he is.

“What? No backtalk? I’m disappointed.”

“I didn’t expect to see you any time soon.”

“Like I said, patience is a virtue.”

You roll your eyes and laugh dismissively. “You don’t believe that.”

“Bold assumption.” he counters. “I wanted to see how long you’d last entertaining guests, but then your right eye started twitching and I suppose took some pity on you.”

“Aren’t you an empath.”

“Even to those who don’t deserve it.”

Your chin quivers, but you keep the smile to yourself with a quick sigh. Toji could look down at the way your chest rises and drops, but he’s not in a rush here. 

“Why are you here?”

“Is that any way to speak to a guest? I’m sure Shinobu raised you better than that.”

Name dropping your father gets the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Why are you here?” you repeat, enunciating slowly, but the words you want to say are don't fuck with me right now.

But you’re too precious for him to deny himself the pleasure. Not when your eyebrows tremble like that. 

“Your father was kind enough to invite me. It would’ve been rude to turn him down.”

“You’re not here to entertain him. He’s stepping down soon and you can’t stand him.”

“Doesn’t mean that I don’t respect him. Why else would I waste a perfectly nice friday night surrounded by a bunch of suck ups? Are you suggesting I have some ulterior motive?”

Your squint at him, like you don’t believe he has the guts to say it.

“Did you perhaps assume I’m here for… you?”

Toji wonders if your silence has anything to do with the white haired manchild looking your way for the second time.

“We do have something to settle. You owe me something, if I remember correctly.” 

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Nice try. An explanation, does that ring any bells?” 

Your head snaps up to him, the wisps of hair hanging from the sides of your face flow with the movement. The tip of your nose and your cupid’s bow catch the light, if he couldn’t see your face this close he’d mistake that for sweat. 

He’s reminded of how you looked at the deck in contrast to the sight of you right now. A sheer layer of sweat was covering your skin, your plump thighs spilling on the wood surface, he'd kept his hands in his phone and held on to his own sanity.

“What is there to explain? Nothing happened.”

Toji tilts his head. “Lying is a bad, bad thing,” 

“We didn’t do anything, Fushiguro.” you insist, lowering your voice. Toji looks over your head, bored with your attempts at gaslighting. “If you–”

“You wanna dance?” 

The nonchalant act drops, you unconsciously lean back and open your mouth like there’s not enough air in the room. Toji smiles at your hesitation, cold and challenging.

“It’s in your best interest.”

“How?”

“Because the old cunt that kept kissing your hand earlier is coming our way and I’m about to leave you alone with him” he lies and you don’t dare look over your shoulder to check, not wanting to risk making eye contact with the slimmy fucker.

It’s a bad idea. Being near Toji is a bad idea, dancing with him is the equivalent of putting on a vest bomb. Your father is somewhere in the room and your brother might act aloof but not a single interaction of his interest is going unnoticed. 

Putting your hand in his is a bad, bad idea. The worst. But you suspect figuring out Toji Fushiguro’s intentions will take some compromise on your part, so you don’t hesitate when you grab his hand.

With his arm around you, he's reminded of a particularly striking dream he had about you days ago. The first thing he did when he woke up from it was open his app notes and write two words, perverse angel.

Now he knows it was actually deja vu; you close your eyes for a bit, the breathing image of reminiscing. This isn’t your first time in his arms.

The melody gets rather slow. You hold yourself with all the poise of a reluctant little heiress, defiant but serene as you look at him, arm resting over his.

While he’s growing quite fond of the sight of your neck exposed, he’d rather find the main pin and let your hair down. Let you get comfortable, not taut like you are in his hold.

“You look like a tall pint of guinness.”

Toji could do this all night. Just watch your expression drop, annoyance pinch at your temples.

One ankle betrays you, but he’s not about to let that happen. The arm around your waist keeps you steady, moving along with him. His grip is firm, but not overpowering.

“You’re an asshole.” You say like you just discovered it tonight.

He’s right. You know it and you hate that he described it so right. You’re dressed in a black, sleek and form fitting dress that goes down to your ankles and the top is made of an off-shoulder white band that wraps around your shoulders.

Toji laughs with that shark grin of his, his scar stretching. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He adds helpfully, hand coming up to straighten the white fabric around your left shoulder. The air turns colder with the absence of his arm, but it returns to the spot in no time. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice, granted, but it’s a lovely dress. Perfect for a night at the pub, watching the game with the boys.”

“I think I’ll pass on the unsolicited fashion advice, thanks.”

“Come on. You can never go wrong with a red dress.” he counters, eyes dropping briefly. You wrinkle your nose, he takes offense. “What?”

“Not my style” you shrug.

“Now that’s just tragic.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure to wear one to your funeral.”

The couples closest to you turn with different looks of controlled distaste. Toji laughs heartily, head thrown back and everything. 

“I’ll hold you to that. I might just return just to see it with my own eyes.”

“Not sure doors open both ways in hell, but hey, more power to you.” 

“So you wanna hear my theory?”

You sigh. “Nothing happened, Toji. I mean it.”

What a terrible liar you are.

“I think you had a little alcohol in you, were fresh off a fight with your boyfriend, and just couldn’t help yourself because you have a thing for problems.”

You nod sarcastically. “And of course, you’re the problem in question.”

“Well, yes.” he blinks. “And also, you don’t have half the self control you believe you have. So you freaked out and put me to sleep to stop yourself from doing something you thought you might regret.”

This is how it was. You had forgotten the rush, despite replaying time and time again your past conversations. Interacting with Toji Fushiguro is like playing five finger fillet, thrilling and grueling and high risk, but it’s a whole other thing with people around you. You can’t let up, all your senses need to be on guard.

“Aren’t you too old to be throwing a fit because I gave you more than you could handle?”

Toji’s eyes dig into yours, a hint of amusement and something else.

“Here’s a piece of advice: choose your words very, very carefully. They might come back to haunt you. ”

“It never happened. And it won’t.” You repeat with a cool tone. The pulse on your wrist drums against his own. 

“I have to say, you’re a better actress than he is.” he mentions. “But denial does not suit you. We’re gonna have to do something about that or things will get very awkward real soon.”

“Actually I think we should focus on your rejection issues first.”

“I’m not a problem for you to solve, sweetheart.” he chuckles darkly, eyes knowing, never leaving yours.

Years of practicing the art of bullshitting in your household could not help you deny the fact that you're maddeningly, disturbingly attracted to him.

“What you see is what you get. And you could, if you stopped being a little coward.”

He makes you turn effortlessly, that’s when you see him. Hiroki. The words die on your lips, your stomach drops, all resolve wavers. He releases you and your arms hang limp on your sides.

He licks his scar and smirks sideways at you, eyes twinkling. You could push him off the roof of the building.

“You should fix your face, angel, ‘cause I won’t behave if he wants to pick a fight.” 

You’ve always liked Nanami Kento. He’s one of your father’s closest, youngest and less... spineless advisors, the pathological victim of your brother's pestering, and always impeccably polite to you, sweet even.

But right now, when he’s introducing Toji Fushiguro and his friend whose name you didn't catch to Suguru and Hiroki, you’d love to hit him in the head with a hammer.

At least your brother is nowhere to be seen.

"Pleasure to meet you." Suguru says.

Hiroki has his arm around your waist. He's not looking at you. You know what the dimpling of his cheeks mean. 

“We’ve met before actually, haven’t we?” Toji turns to him, brow burying into his face like he’s not too sure, shaking his finger in the air. “Correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t remember too well.”

Your heart is stuck in your neck, threatening to crawl out of your mouth. Suguru gives you an odd look.

“We have.” You don’t see the look on Hiroki’s face when he replies, but his tone is controlled.

“Yeah, I thought so.” 

Shiu Kong says something, and Suguru responds another thing. It's all noise to you. 

You grab a drink from a passing tray and the corner of Toji’s mouth tilts, his attention on Suguru’s conversation. You feel irrationally mad, like slapping him, but then he’d probably fix his jaw and look at you like you should've gone rougher and–

There’s something seriously wrong with you. Officially.

You grab Hiroki’s hand and pull him with you.

He’s confused, but follows you nonetheless. “Can you just wait for a–”

“We should ditch the party.” You tell him, but he doesn’t agree like he usually would and grabs your arm, stopping you at once, brown eyes searching yours.

“You’re not even gonna ask why I’m here?”

“My dad invited you?” you reply, confused by the offended look on his face.

“No. Why would he? You know how I feel about this kind of thing.”

Now you’re confused. You smell his breath and notice his flushed cheeks. “But you’re here.”

“Wow. Try to contain the excitement, why don’t you.” he scoffs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fly across continents and interrupt whatever the hell that wa–”

He’s starting to raise his voice, drawing attention, usually composed demeanor nowhere to be seen. You catch a whiff of alcohol on his breath.

“You’ve been drinking.”

His face drops. The volatile look in his eyes is not something you can deal with tonight.

You’re forever grateful for the woman announcing your father’s speech. Hiroki’s expression clears up, but he gives you a look that says you’ll resume the conversation later, soon, tonight. 

Then he pulls you to his side and leads you closer to the podium.

Your father looks into the crowd with piercing blue eyes. You, like you have for the past few months, have a bad feeling. Like if you were to take a picture right now, it would later be displayed as the moment before hell broke loose.

“... And as many of you know, the time has come for me to step back and allow a new generation to lead us forward."

The crowd hangs on his every word. You scan the room for the 10th time, looking for a head full of white hair.

Hiroki notices your unease and looks down at you, rubbing your arm. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t see Satoru.”

Your father continues, voice unwavering. 

"It is with great confidence and optimism that I announce my successor, a person who embodies the values and vision of our company." 

You finally find Satoru at the back, he’s with Suguru and Nanami. Waving his arms around him, hair a mess, pissed.

"Please join me in welcoming our future CEO, Noritoshi Kamo."

The room bursts into applause, but before his words can fully register in your mind, a sudden, sharp crack echoes through. For a split second collective confusion takes over, and then it turns to full blown panic.

You watch your father duck under the podium. Your legs move on their own.

Gunshots.

People are running, crawling and diving for cover all around. Tables are overturned, glass shatters. It's all white noise.

"Get down!" someone shouts. 

Something slams into you.

Toji picks you up from the ground. Exit located, going for it.

“My dad," you protest with wide eyes, hastily trying to look over your shoulder. Toji has half a mind to throw you over his shoulder.

“He’s fine.” he assures, hand covering your head, pushing it down.

Security sprung into action in no time at the first gunshot, formed a barrier around your father and hurried him down the stage. Toji saw it with his own eyes right before he caught you running like a tweaking baby reindeer, right before some piece of shit shoved you to the ground.

You keep protesting, resisting, trying to go in the opposite direction, so Toji has no choice but to lift you up and thrown you over his shoulder.

A colorful string of panicked and enraged expletives follow. You’re livid, fists slamming into his back without mercy. Toji pays no mind, pushing through the crowd, making his way to the emergency exit.

He doesn't put you down until you're both alone in the emptiness of some sterile corridor. And you're still rambling.

“Shut up for a second, will you?"

That does it. You're flabbergasted, opening your mouth again in full Karen fashion.

Toji doesn’t care for it. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” you reply furiously, fist tight on your sides. You catch your breath, step down from your heels and start to speed walk down the corridor. “I have to find my father– I need to– Satoru–”

“They’re safe.” Toji catches up to you in two or three long steps. “Gojo’s security doesn’t fuck around. I mean– yeah, they did fuck up letting a guy bring a gun inside the premises, but they were quick with it.”

Your nostrils flare. Toji hears voices at the corner and pushes you behind him. He sees a couple of guys in black in the reflection of a fire extinguisher cabinet. Dressed in black, wired ears, walking like they know they might lose their jobs tonight.

“Hey, I got the heiress here. She’s looking for her old man.”

They escort you both, eyes hopeful, looking at you like you're their ticket out of unemployment. Your father and his people are gathered in some conference room one floor above. The altercation can be heard from outside. 

“It’s for the best. You're too out of it to see it now, but you will.”

The room is packed. Your father, his disciples, your brother and his boyfriend, a very uncomfortable looking couple of cops. A woman approaches you, asking you if you're ok, but your eyes and attention at stuck on your father and your brother dueling for the whole room to see.

Your brother stops his pacing and turns to face Shinobu. 

“No, that's not it. I see it, I see you. You’re too prideful to let me clean up after you.”

Getting caught in a family brawl was not in Toji’s plans tonight, but he stays put, watching you approach them with confusion all over your face. They don’t seem to notice you. 

Gojo Shinobu levels his son with warning eyes, finger pointed at him. “Watch your words, Satoru. You don’t know what you’re talking about. My decision is final.”

He turns around, beckons the woman who approached you to him, but your brother is not done.

“You know I can do it." he says, your father stops and turns to him with death in his eyes and his lips pressed into a thin line. "You know I can. You just can’t stand the thought of me succeeding where you fucking failed.” 

The look on your face says it all, you don’t know what your brother is talking about, and that you’re in no headspace to ask either. Satoru's not just pushing the limits, he just sped past them.

The words hit your father square in the chest. 

Things are about to get bloody.

“You’re nothing but a spoiled, entitled brat who thinks he deserves everything handed to him on a silver platter. Look at what you’ve made of your life, acting like everything is a fucking game. You think I’ll let someone like you lead what I spent my life building?”

You turn to him, mouth falling open. “Jesus christ, dad.”

“Over my dead fucking body.”

Your brother’s face contorts in rage. He -predictably and unpredictably at the same time- lunges forward, fist aimed at your father’s face.

The room springs into action. Your father's guard dogs, the cops, Nanami Kento, you beat them all to it, but it’s ultimately Toji who gets to him.

In another situation, Toji would've found a comfortable seat for himself, perhaps a drink, and watch the havoc unfold. Let the son champion the decade long cause of union workers, environmental hippies, human rights, consumer advocacy activists alike, and punch the lights out of his father's smug face.

Then he'd spare no details for Shiu over a nice dinner.

But he grabs Gojo Satoru's arm instead, stopping him mid swing.

Blue, crazy and uncanny eyes land on him.

As a general rule, he avoids getting involved in other people's affairs, especially when it comes to love spats or family drama. However, when he says, 

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” 

He means it.

Your father chuckles dismissively.

Your brother watches as he walks away, chest heaving up and down. 

“Toru?”

Surely those two syllables did not come from you. If denial did not suit you, this uncertainty is just disturbing. It’s not right.

“What was that?” The question comes from the depths of your throat, voice nothing like Toji has heard before. 

“Not now.” your brother snaps, turning around and walking out. Geto Suguru on his side.

Toji’s phone starts ringing, he tries to shake off the unsettling image of you before walking out of the room to answer.

It's Shiu. He's waiting outside, watching the police drag the gunman into a car, and wondering where he is. Toji sighs, comes to terms with the fact that he's on a streak of sorts tonight, because once again, against his own code, he tells him Shiu to leave without him, not answering any questions about his whereabouts. 

People have dispersed with your father gone from the scene. Toji walks back inside, pocketing his phone, and finds you by a corner of the room. Your boyfriend has found you again, fuck knows where the came from.

He's pulling his phone out, ready to call Shiu and tell him he's on his way down, but you're shaking your head, running your hand through your hair like you forgot it's pulled back.

Hiroki gets in front of you when you try to walk away. You put your hands between you, like the last thing you need is someone coming close. You must've just said something nasty, hit a tender spot, because he freezes where he stands.

Toji drops his arm.

Once again you try to walk around him, but this time Hiroki gets a hold of your arms.

“Why?” he asks. You’re looking at him like he grew a second head. “We talked about it all the time, we always said–”

Toji's wandered close enough to catch your reply.

“What do you mean why? Have you lost your mind? I can’t leave Satoru alone right now, Hiroki.”

“In case you didn’t notice he just fucking left you here.” he snaps at you. 

You flinch. Recoil. Push against his hold.

“Let go. I’m sorry but I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“You can’t? Right. You can’t. Tell me something, do you have any idea what kind of shit I’ve had to put up with–”

You snarl at him, baring your teeth, bare feet stomping on the carpeted floor. Hiroki doesn’t even sway with your attempts, or flinch at the near animalistic way you look at him. 

“I fucking don’t. And I don’t want to know. I didn’t ask you to be here tonight.”  you reply, tone vicious, jaw locked. “You don’t get to hold it against me.”

The next thing Hiroki says pours out of his mouth like it’s a known fact, or an acceptable thing to say to the woman you’re going to marry. 

“They don’t give a shit about you. You know that.”

By now, you two have caught Kento Nanami's attention. He wraps up whatever he's discussing with a couple of men and approaches the scene.

Hiroki does not let up, it's easy to see that he will not. He fixes his grip like you'll turn to liquid and spill between his fingers if he gets distracted.

You wince.

Toji walks over with four or five committed strides until he's between you two. The abrupt interruption and breach of personal space startles Hiroki, gives you the chance to step back.

“I think that’s enough.”

“Well, this is just great.”

Hiroki chortles, looking away like he’s collecting his thoughts. Biting his lips in contemplation. Nodding to himself once or twice. Toji regards him coldly, lets him gather his thoughts, or the guts to attempt something idiotic like, who knows, get himself pummeled to the ground.

“You know, I keep seeing you everywhere lately, why is that?”

Toji shrugs, uninterested and unintimidated. Hiroki won't get his face cut even if he deserves it, and it's not that Toji's against the idea of being a vessel for some sort of long time coming retribution. In fact, he'd be doing it just for his own satisfaction.

But the night should end now. He’s gonna have a hard time forgetting how you looked earlier when your moron of a brother stormed past you and left you standing there, in the middle of a room full of people that did not care about you, heels hanging from your hand, shoulders sagging.

Doesn’t mean he’s not gonna give the boy something to pop a vein about.

“Why don’t you take a guess, hm?”

Something snaps behind Hiroki's eyes. Toji's front row this time, and he confirms everything he suspected about him. 

And he makes his mind up.

Hiroki looks at you, lids heavy, ears red. “Are you fucking him?”

How predictable. Toji looks at you over his shoulder, and somehow, you understand. It's barely noticeable, but you shake your head.

“You have to leave.” you sound a lot more like yourself this time. Only tired. Really exhausted. Like your feet are about to give out under you. Toji's not blind to the way you’ve been putting all your weight on one foot.

Hiroki pauses, realization lands on him that you’re talking to him, and not Toji.

“Get on a plane, fly back to Spain, and stay there for as long as you have to.”

“This is fucking unbelievable.” 

“I disagree. Have a safe flight.”

Hiroki stomps out, shoulders past unfazed Nanami Kento, who looks at him like he’s a speck of dust. He approaches you, asks you if you're ok.

You ask about your dad, he tells you he’s currently talking to the police and insists on getting you a car and someone to accompany you. Says you should rest.

“I can take her home.” Toji says. You peer at him like that's the last thing you were expecting to hear, and then you nod.

Nanami watches Toji carefully, studying him intently. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Keep me posted?”

His features soften just a bit, he touches your shoulder, promises he will.

He doesn’t keep his eyes off Toji until you two make it to the door. Toji might find the guy agreeable, stick up his ass and all.

[winchester-co]

Dean initially hates that Sam's lost some of his bulk, but he learns to love it.

At first it's just unhealthy. Sam finding it hard to eat during depressive episodes, then overdoing it during exercises to make a point. Functioning, but not well. Hitting the books to try and be useful, losing all sense of self-care because he just doesn’t think he matters in the grand scheme of things. His baby brother not necessarily chasing death, but baring his neck in the face of it. Scares the shit out of him.

Getting settled into the bunker is a game changer. They've got a functioning kitchen; Sam likes to prepare his own meals. He's sleeping more, because they've got a proper bed. The world keeps ending, but at least they've got somewhere safe to hide while they figure it out. Dean realises it's easier now to make him laugh.

Dean stops being able to count Sam's ribs when he catches him after a shower. Sam's starting to fill out his clothes again. He's healthier, they're both healthier, in a 'we do manual work for a living' way instead of a 'death is at our front door and all we can do is keep running' kind of way.

They're getting older. They're not going to look like they did when they were in their 20s. And not looking like they're in their 20s means that they're still alive: that they've beaten the odds.

And if it means it's easier to get his arms around Sam at night? He's not complaining.

[punks-never-die205]

Kid and Killer catching you touching yourself...

Oh.

😳

Ohhhhhhh

😈

Oh yeah, wait - I - just hang on. Oh man.

Up first Kid

Cw: manual masturbation, being watched, sex, rough sex, mating press, cream pie, mdni

You don’t hear the door open, legs wide, fingers teasing your clit, on display. You didn’t really mean to have your pussy facing the door, you’d been wiggling around a little trying to find the best position.

You didn’t hear the door, but you did hear the heavy boot. Freezing in place you look over at Kid in shock. He grins, continuing toward you and the bed, grabbing the desk chair on his way.

“Keep going, Mouse.” He says, setting the chair down and sitting on it backward, arms draped across the back of it. “Don’t stop now.”

“I, uh…” you can feel the blood rushing through you. It’s not like he hasn’t watched before, but this was different somehow.

Kid’s voice drops, the tone he usually reserved for sessions slipping from his lips. “Keep. Going.”

The chill down your spine is delicious and you nod before continuing. You keep your legs open, eyes closed and head turned aside. You can feel his gaze on you and it’s making your pleasure build faster.

He doesn’t say anything, listening to your soft moans and quiet, warm gasps as the pleasure grew. The rush flows up from your clit, washing through your body and making your muscles shiver in delightful release.

You stay on the bed, legs open, and look at him through hooded eyes.

“Functional, huh?” He muses and you nod. The two of you had talked about masturbation before and you had admitted that it was functionally useful, but it didn��t compare to what he did.

You’d teased him at the time for “ruining” it for you.

“Let’s see how functional.” He steps away from the chair, pulling his belt off and freeing his cock that had been straining from behind his pants.

He strokes it a few times as he puts his knees on the bed, grabbing your legs and pulling you toward him.

“Tell me if it hurts.” He commands, lining himself up with your swollen and wet entrance. “You might be wet enough, that I don’t need to finger that pretty little cunt of yours to make this fit.”

He rubs the tip against your slit, coating it before pushing in carefully.

“Feeling you clench on my hand is fucking hot though, so it’s not like I’mma stop.” He assures you, watching your face carefully as he slowly works his way in deeper. He presses in barely half an inch before pulling back.

Then he presses in deeper.

He pulls back almost pulling out of you, before pushing in again.

Out, almost entirely, and back in.

Out. In.

The stretch is more intense, and he keeps pulling back just when you start to think it’s too much. Again and again and the long slow pace is driving you up the wall.

His hands are wrapped around your ankles, keeping your legs back, and your hands are over his as you whimper and gasp. The grin on Kid’s face turns you on more, and he’s delighting in how much louder you already are. How animated and shivery you get because of him.

His hips press against your thighs and he grinds into you, teasing your clit with his coarse pubes. You gasp and cry out, squirming uselessly under him, and he doesn’t stop.

He teases you like that for a long time, stopping every time you get close to cumming. The first time you thought he was going to start fucking you, but he just stilled, waiting for your breathing to slow before he went back to it.

The second time you whimpered when he stopped, and the third time you started begging. He made you hold your ankles as he leaned over you, pushing a little deeper before grinding against you.

The new angle hit you inside and out so much better than before that you practically screamed. He made you cum that way once. Twice.

You couldn’t hold onto your ankles anymore and he grabbed them again, nearly putting them by your ears before he started to thrust into you.

“Fuck you’re so cute like this,” his voice is heavy and full of heat, falling against your skin like gravel. You can’t say anything, he’s fucking the air out of your lungs with you folded in half like this. “Dripping everywhere and desperate, really does suit you best, Mouse.”

Your fingers rake bright red lines along his shoulders as you cum hard against his cock. A growled swear from Kid is the only warning before he empties his balls deep inside you.

[nickeverdeen]

Blanket and Tea | Kate Bishop x fem!reader

Pairings: Kate x reader (romantic)

Type of fic: Comfort, Fluff

Warnings: Sickness

Summary: Working from home today you decide to get it over with while Kate is putting together a furniture, but when Kate notices somethin off about you she doesn’t let it get worse.

Ps: This is a bit shorter as I only came up with this in a bus so spare me, thank you

———————

The soft creak of a power drill and the occasional thud of wood echoed through the apartment, pulling you from your slumber. Rubbing your eyes, you shuffled out of the bedroom, the oversized hoodie you’d slept in hanging loosely over your frame.

The sight that greeted you in the living room made you smile. Kate Bishop, already dressed in her usual mix of casual and functional clothes, was crouched on the floor, wrestling with pieces of a half-assembled closet. A manual lay open on the floor nearby, though it seemed mostly ignored.

“Good morning,” you said, voice still laced with sleep as you padded over to her.

Kate glanced up, her face lighting up as she saw you. “Morning, sleepyhead.” She sat back on her heels, gesturing to the half-built furniture. “I’m almost done.”

“Need help?” you offered, kneeling beside her.

Kate shook her head. “Nah, I’ve got it. You should get yourself some breakfast.”

You arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue, standing back up. “Alright, if you say so.”

As you wandered into the kitchen, you could hear Kate muttering to herself about screws and dowels. You grabbed some toast and tea, sitting down at the small dining table where you could still see her.

“So, what inspired you to start this so early?” you teased, taking a bite of your toast.

Kate shrugged, not looking up from her work. “The box has been staring at me for a week. It was time to put it out of its misery.”

You laughed, sipping your tea as you kept up the light banter. By the time you finished breakfast, Kate was tightening the last screws. You grabbed your work files—notes on a case you’d been reviewing for your job as a private investigator—and began flipping through them, occasionally throwing in a comment to keep the conversation going.

As the morning went on, you started to feel a bit off. Your head was heavy, and your body ached faintly. Deciding a blanket and tea might help, you excused yourself.

“Everything okay?” Kate asked, immediately alert.

“Yeah, just grabbing a blanket and some more tea,” you reassured her with a small smile.

Kate’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded, setting the closet into a stable position before standing up. “You sure?”

“I’m fine, promise,” you said, brushing it off.

She hesitated for a moment before letting you go. You returned a few minutes later, wrapped in your blanket and holding your tea, settling back into your chair. Kate cast you the occasional concerned glance but didn’t say anything.

An hour passed, and the files you were working on blurred together as your grogginess grew. Kate, now finished with the closet and tidying up, noticed you slumping further into your chair.

“Alright, that’s it,” Kate said, walking over and gently tugging the files from your hands.

“Kate—”

Before you could protest further, she bent down and scooped you up in her arms, blanket and all, cradling you against her chest in a bridal style.

“Kate!” you yelped, though your voice was weak, and you made no real attempt to resist.

“Shush,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re not feeling well. Bed, now.”

You mumbled something about being fine, but Kate wasn’t having it. She carried you back to the bedroom, laying you down with care. She tucked the blanket snugly around you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Stay here and rest,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing.

You sighed, already half-asleep, but not before managing a quiet, “You’re so stubborn.”

Kate smiled, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Always.”

She stayed with you until your breathing evened out, her fingers gently tracing soothing patterns on your arm. As you drifted off, the last thing you felt was the warmth of her presence, a sense of comfort settling over you like a second blanket.

[obeymematches]

My friend’s been starving for Simeon content ever since I introduced them to OM! (which was yesterday) so can we get some random Simeon HCs? Ty

he been on my mind lately-

🩵 Random Simeon HCs 🩵

Domestic stuff:

I just know he is the fastest at changing the bedsheets manually, without using any spell. He got used to this, living with Luke; being in a clean environment is high on his priority list. Moreover kids tend to pee in their bed sometimes, in that period you get real fast at changing sheets and doing the laundry.

However he does like a good spell to help with domestic stuff, like doing the dishes. Though... I don't think he uses these often, only when he is seriously tired.

He prefers tea with coffeine instead of coffee. Has a very elegant, impressive teapot and likes to try various types of tea; you are always welcome to join him! Tries to have a limit on coffeine though, his self control is extraordinary regarding things like this.

Although he is not the self-care advocate of the bunch he does like having time for himself; he does like to smell nice but not too much perfume; he does like dressing well. Bet he is the cleanest guy after Asmo.

He is very knowledgeable on a very board spectrum; he likes to learn about ideas, structures, functions. He also knows a lot about stuff he doesn't really care about but had to update his knowledge because of Luke. You can ask him anything basically, the man is a walking Wikipedia.

Though! In case you find a topic he is not much familiar with, he is not too proud to admit he has absolutely zero idea about the answer. It makes him so loveable ahhhhhhh

Can't learn to drive a car to save his life though.

Dating stuff:

Listen I just know he is not as punctual as he wishes he was. I mean 15-20 mins of running late is normal when you date him. He is always apologizing because of this, but he does his best to get there ASAP.

He is the kind of guy to text you WITHIN 3 hours after your first date, whether or not he enjoyed it; he is going to tell you why he doesn't think you are going to work out if he believes so and you can't change his mind if he didn't enjoy the time spent together. On the other hand if he did like you he is also going to let you know; he starts flirting even more, gets more bold but doesn't cross any boundary!

He could get so obsessed over you; talks nicely about you to everyone, thinks of topics he would like to discuss with you..... imagine him sitting at the window, daydreaming of you as he plans your next activity together, his mug letting off steam, his hand holding his head. He already had peace; it is dull without you though.

Also imagine a dim lit room, you laying under the bedcover, him joining you with an adorable smile and a book in his hand. 🥹 He is there to read next to you when all is calm and it's just you.

Another scenario to think about is going on roadtrips with him and Luke! You must be the driver though.

Alsooo I think he would appreciate funky gifts??? Like buy him that strange shaped mug! Get him socks with ducks on it!! There are those mittens that are shaped as crab "hands".... yeah he would have a good laugh, appreciate it and use them. 😌

[melorambles]

i've been trying to figure out how to reconcile the antivan crow lore from origins with what we're seeing from veilguard and i think i've got some ideas:

the crows aren't a united organization with a training manual, there are base requirements and tests to pass, maybe a more universal initiation rite (probably getting put on the rack for torture resistance training like zevran talked about) in order to become a crow, but the specifics are decided by each house

and each talon is responsible for a handful of houses. maybe they've each got areas of control too, so they're getting into territory scuffles with each other, maybe stealing contracts and promising recruits from each other.

house arainai is under the sixth talon, and their methods are some sort of survival-of-the-fittest meets quantity-over-quality meets monkeys-with-typewriters. They don't care how many potential recruits they lose, because the ones who survive have the (grit? will to live? whatever it is people like that justify themselves with) and eventually something brilliant will happen. (and zevran happened.) They're more brutal, and much more prone to violent internal coups. Maybe they're also less discerning about what contracts they take and for whom. Everyone is functionally out for themselves, and take whatever contracts might give them an advantage over their competitors.

house dellamorte is obviously under the first talon, given the name we'll even go so far as to say house dellamorte is one of, if not the oldest, crow house. they've got a sort of elitism to them, maybe some snobbery. they're professionals, they have standards. They're not common cut-throats and bounty hunters. they have contract negotiators and they aren't getting out of bed for anything less than the annual income of a ferelden village.

house dellamorte are also much more discerning about recruits, but more careful and less wasteful in their training. If a recruit isn't going to make the cut, they always need more people to mix the poisons, make the weapons, repair the armor, spy for information, etc. This increases the loyalty to the house and lets them look down on 'more wasteful' houses. not that their methods are much better. all the crows are training and abusing child soldiers, its just that some are getting fed better than others and some are at more immediate risk of death all the time. but it gives members of the house more ego-based in-fighting, rather than survival based. they're not scrabbling for power to get to the top of the pile, they think they're the best already and why shouldn't the best be in charge. (just a generalizing of the different reasons for political infighting, individual characters would have individual reasons)

each house/talon-ship(? someone come up with a better word for that or its going to stick) polices it's own. its supremely embarrassing to have another house step in and clean up your mess. so, of course everybody is always looking for weaknesses in everybody else. houses and talon-ships may ally with each other, but the strength of those alliances varies. We're talking assassin politics here, make it complicated, bloody, and messy.

so in origins, we're learning about the crows through zevran, who came up from the bottom of one of the harshest houses. zevran was literally bought by the crows, tortured by them, feels no true loyalty to them, and was literally ready to escape via death. and in veilguard we're seeing the crows through lucanis, who is essentially the ivy league gentry. lucanis was raised in the family business, with the personal attention of the family matriach who had impossibly high expectations (and he could explain away her treatment of him with the death of their family and her wanting him to survive, which does not justify how he was treated) he was more worried about not living up to than anything else. If rook is played as a crow, they're coming from a house closely allied with house dellamorte, so they presumably have similar standards.

[sejarcus-archive]

Some fluffy modern Sejarcus scenarios and headcanons, that have been on my mind:

(Premise: in these Sejanus is not an early bird at all, cause so many cute scenarios can be born from that)

Their morning cuddles usually end with Marcus trying to get up to start the day and Sejanus not letting him go, wrapping one arm around his chest and leaving repeated kisses on his shoulder, while mumbling to please stay in bed a little longer.

After Marcus is done applying moisturizer on his own face, he asks Sejanus to face him and delicately applies it on his, too, but he can’t help himself and keeps leaning in to give him quick kisses, before pulling away to actually look at what he’s doing.

Sejanus takes charge of the cooking most of the time, seeing that he’s a bit more experienced and really enjoys it, as well, but in the morning he’s always too tired to function, so preparing breakfast is a task that falls on Marcus. He really doesn’t mind, he’s good at it too, and while he’s not as passionate about it as Sejanus, he has no problem cooking. The real problem arises on days when Sejanus manages to get up from bed at the same time as him, ‘cause while he’s trying to get everything ready, he clings to him from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist, resting his head against his shoulder, and following Marcus’s every step around the kitchen, making it so difficult for him to move and heightening the probability of either of them getting burned on the stove or the hot pans. But saying that it bothers him would be a blatant lie.

(This is just me trying to spread the koala Sejanus agenda)

Sejanus mostly follows his ma’s recipes that he grew up with, but sometimes he likes to venture out of his comfort zone and experiment with combining ingredients in new ways. He has a lot of fun doing it, but is always scared that Marcus won’t like the dishes he makes. But Marcus always responds so enthusiastically to them, praising how good they are and asking him so many questions on how he made them, what ingredients he used, how he achieved those textures and flavors. Sejanus still gets butterflies at Marcus’s sweetness and thoughtfulness, even after years of being with him; Marcus gets butterflies at seeing Sejanus so happy and talking with his eyes all sparkly and a smile so big, but still somewhat timid at the praises and attention.

Marcus does some sort of manual labor job, which makes it so his back and shoulders are often sore. Sejanus takes it upon himself to help him, by giving him massages most nights before bed, even when Marcus tells him he doesn’t have to, that he’s fine. But Sejanus loves how both his body and whole demeanor start to relax under his touch, it makes him feel good in turn, knowing he’s helping Marcus feel better. Plus he loves physical touch too much to let an occasion for it slip by, and Marcus is the same, so he doesn’t really insist on not needing it.

Marcus gives Sejanus massages too. He works as a nurse and has to stand for hours during his shifts. When they're both home in the evening, Marcus takes Sejanus’s feet on his lap while they sit on the couch, and massages them as he listens to him vent about his day.

For a while Marcus worked at a job in which he had to bring his lunch from home. Sejanus took charge of the meal prepping and packing, insisting that it helps him destress. He would put a little note with each lunch, reminding Marcus he loves him, or wishing him a good day, or writing little inside jokes and scribbling doodles on them. Each one felt like a warm hug to the heart for Marcus. He kept them all and put them inside a little wooden box that now sits in his night stand’s drawer.

Sejanus gets a slight pout when he’s upset. It’s not that noticeable if you don’t pay attention, and he himself isn’t aware of it. Marcus, on the other hand, is extremely aware of it and one little look at Sejanus is enough for him to know he’s upset. He finds it very cute, and thinks that if Sejanus was to ever look up at him with his huge eyes and that slight pout, and ask him to cut his own hand off, he would do it with zero hesitation.

Marcus’s absolute favorite jacket is a vintage leather jacket that fits him like a glove. Sejanus’s brain short circuits every time he wears it (he wears it a lot).

They fight for hours over who has to make the phone calls, ‘cause neither of them wants to. Somehow, 99% of the time, Marcus is the one giving up first and doing it.

Marcus genuinely thinks Sejanus is the funniest person on the planet (he is). Everyone could tell he was into him, because of how hard he laughed at his jokes. Similarly to this, Sejanus only ever gets super giggly around Marcus, and everyone could tell he liked him because of that.

Sejanus likes to sit on Marcus’s lap any chance he gets. They are that couple at a party. You turn around and you see them sitting at the edge of an otherwise empty couch, Sejanus on Marcus’s lap, with his arms around his neck, and they just keep whispering stuff to each other and chuckling and kissing. Marcus loves whenever Sejanus sits on his lap, ‘cause he can wrap his arms around him and hold him so easily, which is his favorite thing in the world.

And since we’re on the topic of Marcus holding Sejanus, I’m gonna add here three headcanons that I had shared in the tags of a post on sejanusarchive some time ago:

Marcus can’t help himself from hugging Sejanus whenever they’re in the same room, and he accompanies each hug with a very essential and mandatory kiss on the head.

Sometimes, when Sejanus is feeling tired or lazy, he uses his tall, strong boyfriend privileges, and asks Marcus to carry him. Marcus pretends to be annoyed by the request, to tease him, but the fond smile on his lips, that he didn’t quite manage to conceal, gives away the fact that he’s actually very amused and endeared by it.

Contrary to Sejanus, Marcus is an early bird. In the morning he is super active, waking up and getting ready for the day with no problem and in no time, but having to help a very sleepy Sejanus get ready faster or else he’ll be late. At night the roles are reversed. When 9pm rolls around, Marcus is already falling asleep, fighting with everything in himself to keep his eyes open, while Sejanus is the most energized he’s felt all day, and just keeps yapping and yapping to poor Marcus, who really wants to pay attention to what he’s saying and is trying very hard to, but his brain won’t let him.

Sometimes when they cuddle, Sejanus climbs on top of Marcus to lay completely on him like a baby otter does with their mother, and jokes about sleeping like that the entire night. Obviously he doesn’t, ‘cause it would be too uncomfortable for both of them after a while, especially for Marcus, but he can still dream for a couple of minutes.

When Sejanus was a child, he used to watch romcoms with his ma all the time. From them, he learned that gifting flowers is one of the most romantic gestures out there, so he grew up internalizing that. On his first date with Marcus he felt shy and nervous, and didn’t know how the flowers could have been perceived by him, so he didn’t bring him any. But on the second date, with the confidence of how well the first one had gone and how sweet and gentle Marcus was, he brought him the most beautiful bouquet ever, with flowers in all shapes and sizes, and colors of the rainbow. Marcus was incredibly surprised and flustered; no one had ever gifted him flowers before, and he had to fight the urge to get down on one knee and ask Sejanus to marry him then and there. After years together, Sejanus still brings him bouquets of them every once in a while. Marcus still feels like he could explode with love each time.

[hunter-creature]

Three's a Crowd

Another successful mission. We were on a roll recently, my Dog deserves a reward. Like a good pilot it waited for me to disconnect incase of sabotage. Approaching the mass of vaguely humanoid engineering, its top mounted RX38 close combat nano-ripper still dripping with coolant of some poor fool who thought bullets were the worst tool of my Beast. Though I had my doubts that Pup was the one that actually begged for it to be installed.

Keying in my credentials the chest plates released and lifted the cockpit up to the catwalk from deep within. My Dog squinted at the sudden bright lights of the hanger, but even the temporary discomfort could dispel her dopey smile. It had done so well for me. Climbing into the cockpit with it, straddling its lap, I gently cupped its cheeks. Softly cooing, "There's my pretty puppy. You did so well. You've been such a good dog." It was starting to get wiggly from the praise, a reward on its own, its brain implant making reward and punishment functions amplified by my vocal resonance. "You've been so good lately, you deserve something nice." I started leaning in close when there was a hiss and clank. The cockpit falling back into the mech, closing, and throwing my against my Dog, shoving its face into my chest. "Damn bucket of bolts! Open up!" "She likes when they squirm-" mumbled out of my Dog before I gripped its chin and shoved my thumb into it mouth. "I didn't ask for your opinion, Mutt." Damn mech was getting sassy. Everything nowadays seemed being developing a bit too much intelligence, but the results didn't lie. Sometimes I doubted they needed a pilot, that they just liked toying with it. My Dog started sucking obediently as I dug around for the manual ejection lever. I let this damn cockpit get messy with aftermarket additions and upgrade. My Dog was perfect, moving it exact trained movement. Until it wasn't. I had been a handler long enough to notice the delays and sloppiness of an action even as simple as a lick. Pausing my search to look at the Mutt only to find her eyes blown wide, I could see the JackTack combat sedatives were leaking into her interface plugs. I tried to tighten the valve with the computerized interface, but the controls were fighting me. Growling out my frustration, I finally pinched the tube with my free hand. The ship systems beeped out an error code, but I didn't care to translate it. Watching careful for awareness to start to return to my Dog before ordering it, "Disconnect and manual eject." It's movement were a little sloppy, but its brain had memorized every inch of this mech. I watched as the interface systems retracted and the cockpit shoved forward again. Wiped my thumb off on its cheek before lifting my Dog out onto the catwalk. It simply sank into my arms. It's mental capacity had been severally reduced without the connection to two super computer. Turning to face the 50ft machine, "I am putting it to bed. We need to have a talk." The mech merely sat in silence, the ripper giving it a permanent predatory grin. The ship system beeped out an error code, something about insufficient output. If we kept fighting like this things were liable to start falling apart. I would not allow that.

[nametakensff]

Come Here (S/teddie)

Decided to go off of this idea here and cooked up 3.4k of S/teve and E/ddie fucking 💕

E/ddie decides to tease S/teve with some quick inducing one hot summer day

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, established relationship, both S/teve and E/ddie have the fetish, E/ddie gets off to his own sneezing, manually induced sneezing, mentions of allergy sneezing, mentions of handjobs, dry humping, blowjobs, masturbation, spray, a little tiny mention of mess, sneezing on someone's face, teasing, nose rubbing, nose blowing, some tiiiny sprinkles of foot fetish stuff (my bad), they are both very sweaty lol

CW: nothing especially? E/ddie is playing with S/teve but they're both completely into it, S/teve is very handsy

~~~~~~

NSFW, minors please DNI!

“Stevieee.”

Lying on Eddie’s bed in a spread-eagle position, Steve was pulled out of the depths of his semi-conscious afternoon doze by the insistent neediness of his boyfriend’s voice.

“Yeah?” He called out, rubbing his eyes groggily with the heels of his palms.

“C’mere.”

Steve sighed. Moving was the last thing he wanted to do. They were in peak summertime heat, and the Munson trailer had very little in the way of functional air conditioning. It was fine if he was permitted to lie around like a spoilt house cat, but Eddie was energetic today. Granted, he was always energetic – but this was a lot even for him, given the veritable furnace-like atmosphere they were sweltering in.  He’d only been able to snag this little nap because Eddie had been so preoccupied with some fantasy novel or other, eyes flying over the words in the thick tome without pause. Not much interested in books and even less interested in watching somebody else read one, Steve had slunk away to sweat a man-shaped puddle onto Eddie’s sheets.

“Baaaby boy. I said come heeere.”

Steve’s eyes snapped open again, and he realised he had already started to dose off in those 10 seconds or so of sleepy contemplation. He knew Eddie wouldn’t stop, so with no small amount of effort he pulled himself to his feet and staggered in the direction of the living room.

He looked at Eddie through bleary eyes, an apathetic expression plastered to his face in sharp contrast with the beatific grin his boyfriend wore. They were both shirtless, dressed only in boxers. It was way too fucking hot for much more, and Eddie had only been persuaded to keep his underwear on after Steve insisted on it. He didn’t think Wayne would appreciate a great big ass-shaped sweat stain on his sofa, and Eddie had had to agree, if not reluctantly.

“What is it, Eds?” He mumbled, making his way over to sit on the couch next to the older man. Eddie promptly stopped him with a hand to the chest.

“Nope. No sitting for you.” Eddie smiled up at him.

Steve blinked, taking in the mischievous twinkle in those big brown eyes, and the electricity sparked by their mutual gaze woke him up the rest of the way faster than a shot of espresso. Oh. So it was like that. The boner he’d sustained in his sleep, though it had been flagging in the miserable heat, gave an interested little twitch. He smiled back as Eddie started to play absently with his chest hair, waiting to hear what he had in mind.

“How about you kneel for me, huh? Right here.”

Eddie gestured at the space on the floor between his spread legs. And sure. Steve could do that. He dropped to his knees, maintaining eye contact with his boyfriend as he did so. Eddie’s smile widened, all teeth and eyes crinkled at the corners, evidently very pleased with how easily Steve was willing to play along. He swung one arm over the back of the sofa; Steve watched the slight rippling of lean muscle as he moved.

“Great job, big boy.” Eddie praised him in a lilted, singsong like manner. Steve smirked.

“Thank you. I studied really hard for all my obedience classes.”

Eddie’s smile widened as he reached behind a couch cushion.

“Could have fooled me, Harrington. Always talking back, always sassing me.”

“Just following your example, I guess.” Steve shrugged, a little distracted from the verbal back-and-forth as he focused in on Eddie’s right hand – and more importantly, what he clutched between his forefinger and thumb. He opened his mouth to enquire, but Eddie was quick to interrupt him.

“Shhh, Steve.”

He didn’t offer any explanation, and Steve’s eyebrow raised in scepticism. It was only when Eddie began to move his right hand up to his face, and Steve recognised the small item in his grip, that he found himself genuinely wordless with anticipation. The small clothing tag had become a regular and happy edition to their sex life now that they had become comfortable enough to indulge in their mutual fetish. He had to admit there had been a little more reluctance on his part, but not for lack of desire; he often felt like his body was too tiny and mortal to contain the levels of excitement he experienced being around Eddie on a daily basis, let alone when he was sneezing for his – their – pleasure.

His sweaty cheeks were already flushed by the heat, but they darkened a little all the same. His mouth suddenly felt dry, his stomach full of butterflies. More importantly, his genitals were making themselves very well known, pitching a solid tent in his boxers in seconds. Eddie was looking at him through heavy lidded eyes with an almost predatory expression of hunger. Steve could relate; he loved when Eddie was equally as responsive and pliant for him. Still didn’t stop him from feeling just a little embarrassed at his own uncontrollable eagerness, though.

Eddie flashed him one last grin before slipping the little tag into his right nostril and beginning to tease. He was so sensitive, Steve thought with immense appreciation. The rim of the metalhead’s nostril twitched even before the tool was inserted, as if in lusty preparation for the tickle to come. As Eddie probed himself, both nostrils began to flare in earnest. He was a pro at this, and Steve knew it would only be a matter of seconds before the first sneeze would come trembling out of him. His allergies had been behaving today, likely because they had been sweltering inside with every window firmly shut. It didn’t mean they were completely under control, and they’d both ushered in the morning with gentle, rolling orgasms, courtesy of Eddie’s morning sneezes and both of their hands. By the cringing expression that was beginning to crumple his features as Steve looked up at him through unblinking eyes, his sinuses were as easily irritable as ever.

One final, shuddering inhale later and the metalhead was pitching forward with a ticklish little fit.

“Hh-HH! HDdt’TSsieww!! Ehdt’TChieww!! Hah’ESHH’ieww!! ‘TShhieww!! EhH’NGXtshh!!”

Steve couldn’t help it as he let out a closed-mouth moan, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Eddie had purposely leaned forward more than the natural propulsion of his fit, and so Steve had felt every droplet of the fine aerosol each sneeze pushed out of his boyfriend. He had tilted his head back ever so slightly, letting the sneezes mist his neck and chest. The cool kiss of spray felt even better than usual on his heated skin, and he shivered, breaking out all over in a pleasurable rush of goosebumps.

“Bless you,” He sighed. He wanted to reach out and grab for Eddie, but his boyfriend didn’t even so much as acknowledge that he had spoken to him, slipping the tool right back into his waiting nostril. Steve placed his restless hands on his own thighs, digging his fingernails into the muscular flesh just shy of breaking the skin.

Eddie tickled himself, gasping intermittently as Steve watched him in a dreamy haze, feeling like his bones had been replaced with jelly. He normally only felt this loose post-orgasm, but the combination of sweltering heat, his recent unconsciousness and the unexpectedness of this game left him loopy and soft.

Steve barely had to wait before the next round of sneezes was raining down upon him, the last few so unbearably tickly his boyfriend’s left leg jerked off the ground as they overpowered him.

“hh’NgXt’shieww! HAH’ENGXtch’tsieww!! IGSH’ieww!! Huh’IgKkShieww!! ESHhh’ieww! ‘DDZz’SHieww!!...Ahh, holy fuck, that felt good…”

Eddie sighed, looking about as wiped out as Steve felt. The younger man was happy to see that the metalhead was sporting an impressive erection, pressing up against his boxers and leaking a little through the fabric. His own cock jumped in response, and he swallowed down a sudden deluge of saliva as he drooled at the sight like a fucking dog.

“Fucking bless you, Eddie!” He moaned, fingers flexing as he continued to kneel in front of his sniffling boyfriend.

Eddie didn’t respond this time either, just rubbed at his tickly nose with the palm of his left hand, mashing it around roughly for a couple of moments. The wet clicking sounds the action produced made Steve throb again. He could feel the head of his cock dripping, now.

He jumped at the sudden feeling of Eddie’s heel pressing into his crotch, groaning in equal measures surprise and arousal. It was only for a fleeting moment, a cruel little nudge before Eddie placed his foot back on the ground, thighs spread even wider. Steve tried not to think too hard about how good the pressure had felt, about how much he would have liked to grip Eddie’s ankle and rut back against him. The older man laughed softly at the look of Steve’s wide-eyed incredulity, but then simply returned the tag to his nostril again, barely a pause as he worked on his next fit.

Steve wouldn’t take that shit sitting – or kneeling – down. He pressed forward, torso up against the couch cushions between Eddie’s legs, and gripped each pale thigh firmly before yanking Eddie slightly towards him. Eddie didn’t stop him; he continued to tease himself until his chest swelled with a definitive breath, forced out of him moments later with another attack of spraying, tickly sneezes.

“Hit’TSCH’hieww!! HdT’TScchieww!! EhD’TSchhiew!! ISHhh’ieww!! Hh-! Hah’ISCHHtt!!”

Steve’s eyes closed reflexively, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as those sneezes caught him squarely in the face. He sighed, shuddering slightly with adrenaline. This always felt so, so good. He was moments away from shamelessly fucking the couch where his cock pressed up against the worn cushion.

“Bless you, baby.”

Eddie sighed, a distinctly orgasmic and dramatic sigh, sinking back into the couch and luxuriating in the sensation of his own sneezes. Steve liked to sneeze, couldn’t really help the little fetish-fueled rush it gave him, but he wasn’t one to get off to the sensation itself. That Eddie did, admitted to him that sneezing alone, not even someone else’s, could make him cum – it just about made Steve’s head explode every time he thought about it.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

Steve peered up at his face, took in the way Eddie was watching him from under his dark eyelashes. Eddie was addressing him directly now, acknowledging his blessing. He reached for the metalhead’s cock, figuring if he still wasn’t allowed to touch, his boyfriend would be sure to let him know. And, yeah – immediately his searching hand was being redirected, placed right back on Eddie’s thigh. Steve bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed a low whine, feeling as though he was losing his mind just a little bit – even more so as Eddie reached up to tease his nostril again, barely skimming the rim before another set of irritated sneezes burst out of him.

“Hh’EHhTT’TCHieww!! IGSHhh’IEWw!! Hah’EScHh’IEww!!....IISCHhhhhh!”

That lingering, definitive sneeze was so incredibly desperate, so high pitched as it misted over Steve’s face that the resultant shiver of pleasure that rolled down his spine had his hips thrusting involuntarily against the couch. It had been a pretty wet sneeze, too – Steve reached out with a large hand to wipe away the little dribble of saliva that dampened Eddie’s bottom lip. The intimacy of it made both of them moan.

“God bless you. You’re so sneezy, honey. So hot.”

He was getting bolder, incrementally, with every time that they fucked, but Steve couldn’t help cringing just a little at the sound of those words leaving his mouth – even if the giddy rush of arousal they produced was intoxicating. He could handle the embarrassment, however, as long as his words continued to have the effect on Eddie they had evidently just done. His boyfriend almost whimpered, squirming in his seat, cock rock-hard and begging to be touched. Steve was dying. He wanted his hands on Eddie more than he’d ever wanted anyone else’s hands on him – and he always wanted hands on him.

“Mm, thank you. Tickles so much.”

Steve swore and reached for Eddie’s cock, groaning like a petulant toddler when he was once again denied with a quick slap to the wrist. His hands gripped into the flesh of his boyfriend’s thighs, flexing intermittently in restless irritation.

“Eddie,” Steve groaned, voice strained and gravelly.

Eddie said nothing, but as he made to slip the inducing tool right back into his nose, something in Steve snapped. He yanked Eddie forward with a hand behind his knee, causing the older man to yelp in surprise, before manoeuvring the captured leg between his thighs and pressing his straining cock against the older man’s shin. It wasn’t an ideal body part to hump – a soft thigh, an ass, a crotch were all infinitely preferable. Even the sole of Eddie’s foot, the arch of it, pressing up against his cock…but this would have to do. He was pushing his luck as it was.

He started to buck his hips, wishing he was fucking his boyfriend’s ass, imagining the tight clench of muscles around him. Gripping the sweaty skin behind Eddie’s knee was making the angle a little easier, and he found a rhythm faster than he’d expected to.

“Fucking hell, Stevie!” Eddie giggled, pressing his leg up, hard, squashing Steve’s cock and balls between the limb and his own body. Steve gasped – it felt awful and wonderful all at once, and then the pressure was gone and he was pushing himself forward, chasing the contact as if possessed.

“So sensitive.”

Steve huffed at him.

“Shut up. This all your fault, Munson.” He stared up at Eddie. “Look at what you fucking do to me.”

The look that Eddie gave him as he took in the sight of him, the nakedness of his desperation, was so loaded with emotion – burning desire, fondness, awe – that Steve almost swooned with the resultant rush of blood to his already swollen cock.

“Yeah. All my fault...” Eddie muttered, sounding breathless and ruined. Steve wished their chests were pushed together so he could feel the feverish beating of Eddie’s heart, the rapid in and outs of his laboured breathing.

When Eddie raised the tool back up to his nostril, Steve nearly came on the spot. He managed to hold back, gritting his teeth and choking back a strangled ‘fuckkk!’ He wanted to time it just right, bust a nut inside his boxers right as Eddie was showering him with spray. It was going to be an intense orgasm, judging by the way his entire body was beginning to heat up, so, so hot, sweat prickling on his skin as his universe narrowed down to the throbbing in his cock and the sight of his boyfriend’s twitchy pink nostrils.

Eddie’s face crumpled, tongue pressing against his bottom lip as the sneezes built, tickling himself in earnest. His chest jumped with violent hitching breaths, a single tear of irritation beginning to roll down the side of his face. It was so painfully erotic Steve couldn’t catch his breath – the oncoming orgasm leaving him stupid and operating on animalistic impulse alone. He felt his balls drawing up in preparation, felt the coiling pressure in his belly tightening, ready to explode in a euphoric release.

Eddie gasped – a huge, desperate intake of air that sounded almost pained as he pressed the clothing tag as deep into his nostril as he could. He held it there, frozen for an intoxicating moment, the cresting tickle as monumental as Steve’s approaching orgasm. When he did sneeze, they barrelled out of him, an intense rush of both air and sound, overpowering Steve’s senses and ushering his orgasm in so abruptly he yelled with it.

“HUH-!! HHIIISSHHH’IEww!! HahDT’TScHieww!! ENGXT’TSchieww!! IGSSHh!! Hh! HuH’ISSSH’Ieww!! EhH’NGXT’Tschieww!! DDZ’Zshieww-! Heh!! Hahdt’TSSCH’IEWww!!”

Steve came throughout, twitching helplessly, his face a twisted rictus of ecstasy. The sweet, throbbing pleasure of it pulsed through him, cock spitting cum into his underwear, soaked and sticking to the skin of his boyfriend’s leg. He finished cumming in time to tip forward and press his head against Eddie’s thigh, mouth still frozen in an ‘o’ of pleasure, as Eddie sneezed one last time over the expanse of his back. He groaned as the aerosol rained gently across his spine, thoroughly sneezed on and contented in a way only his fetish could make him.

“Ohh fuckkk…” He muttered after a moment, drooling a little onto the soft, pale skin pressed up against his face. Eddie laughed breathily.

“You’re welcome.” He sniffled, the sound of it ominously thick.

Steve gingerly raised his head, feeling almost drunk in the oppressive heat of the room and the closeness of their bodies. Eddie had covered his nose and mouth with a hand, and Steve knew those last few sneezes had been productive.

“Do you need a tissue, baby? Made a mess?”

Eddie nodded, eyes smiling over the protective cradle of his hand.

“Sure.” Another thick sniffle that had Steve’s cock twitching almost painfully with a pitiful, post-orgasm spasm. “But I think you made a bigger one.”

Steve blushed, sighing and pulling himself up on shaky legs. God, that had felt good. He’d practically painted the inside of his underwear, Eddie was right about that. He smiled a goofy, sated smile at Eddie before making his way over to the bedroom. He considered his messy state for a moment, then simply shrugged before removing his underwear and wiping his cock on the clean parts of the fabric. He sighed in over sensitised pleasure; he was still hard and it felt great to stroke himself. He indulged for a few moments longer before flinging his underwear onto the pile of dirty laundry on the floor and returning to the living room, entirely naked and box of tissues in hand.

Eddie was fumbling his left hand over his crotch, pawing lazily at his straining erection as his right hand remained covering his face. Steve’s cock gave an appreciative twitch at the sight of it. He knew in that moment that he wanted his boyfriend to finish in his mouth. He proffered the box to Eddie, waiting for the older man to reach up and take it before he returned to a kneeling position between his legs. As Eddie pulled back his hand, Steve caught sight of the glistening mess underneath for just a moment, and then the metalhead was scrubbing himself clean and indulging in a long, crackling blow. It ended with an awkwardly loud honk that had the pair of them locking eyes and giggling like stupid kids.

When he was done, Eddie simply let himself melt back into the couch.

“That was fun.” He drawled, eyes closed and head tilted back. Steve’s hand crawled up the inside of his thigh. “Did you like that?”

Steve snorted.

“Did I like that? You drained me dry, dude. That felt so fucking good.”

“Yay.” Eddie offered, the corners of his mouth turning up with a smug little smile.

Steve began to pull Eddie’s underwear down, and the older man cooperated by lifting his ass off the couch.

“Not going to slap my hand away this time?” Steve half-heartedly joked, pupils blown wide at the sight of Eddie’s leaking, solid cock. He was salivating in moments, leaning forward and inhaling the scent of him deeply. The press of sweaty pubic hair against his face as he nestled his nose up against the base of his boyfriend’s cock was familiar and intoxicating. Eddie’s breath hitched in anticipation, and Steve knew his arousal was fueled partially by the promise of a blowjob, but even more so out of the suggestible proximity of his pointed nose against his genitals.

“Go to town, honey. I’m not stopping you.”

Steve smiled, kissed his way up the length of Eddie’s cock before pressing his tongue into the slit of his urethra. Eddie uttered a garbled, broken moan, hips bucking uncontrollably and cock head leaking fluid in response.

“You know,” Steve started after licking his palm and wrapping it around Eddie’s sweaty shaft. “Normal people just ask for blowjobs when they want one without the pretence of sneezing all over their boyfriend.” He took the head of Eddie’s cock into his mouth, licking it a couple of times like a melting popsicle before sucking on it, hard.

“Ohh, Stevie…..my way is so much more – ahh! More fun-!” Eddie choked out, fingers reaching out to wrap themselves in Steve’s floppy hair.

Steve couldn’t disagree in the least, replaying the sights and sounds of his boyfriend’s sneezing in his mind as he sucked him down like he was best damn thing he’d ever tasted.