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ctrlsatoru · 9 months ago

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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.

#toji fanfiction #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro #toji fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut

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peeves-gurl · 2 years ago

Text

Thighs

Fred Weasley × BigThigh! Female

i literally have no idea where this is coming from after a year of writing nothing.

Summary: She hates her thighs, but her boyfriend loves them, and he wants to make sure she knows.

Warnings: established relationship, self hate, body dismorphia, lots of fluff, pet names (sweetheart/baby/darling/ love), mention of pregnancy, 18+ MDNI!!

FEMALE CHARACTER HAS NO NAME, AND NO SPECIFIC SKIN/EYE/HAIR COLOUR (partly because i couldn't make my brain come up with so many details😭)

smut: oral fem recieving, thigh fucking, face sitting, unprotected p in v, praise, body worship, hickeys? idk

She looked at herself in the mirror, light makeup highlighting her features beautifully. The thin straps of the sundress hanging across her shoulders, the top resting just above her bust, not exposing much, but not showing anything either. The fabric was a light powder blue with tiny flowers along its length, and it hugged her figure perfectly. It was the perfect summer dress, upto her mid thigh.

She looked alright in her opinion, good even, but for her thighs. They were too thick, with too many stretch marks. The cellulite was dimpled and heavy, and jiggled with each movement of hers, and it truly disgusted her with herself. She was okay with her body, and honestly thought she was attractive when she was dressed well, like today, but her thighs were always the problem.

Gritting her teeth in annoyance, she flung open the door of her wardrobe that she shared with Fred, and picked out a different dress. It was a pale pink one, loose and long, and extended beyond her knees, hiding her biggest insecurity. Still slightly grumpy, she completed the finishing touches to her look, when she heard her boyfriend's voice from the door.

"You ready love?" Fred called out, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah. All done." She smiled, grabbing her purse and slipping on her sandals, before walking towards the handsome man. He was dressed in a white tank top vest and blue jeans, and a blue and white floral shirt wrapped around his broad shoulders, completing the summery look.

Fred held out his hand to her, and she delicately placed her much smaller one into his, and he gently pulled her closer to himself. Placing a tender kiss on his lips, she smiled up at him, admiring his beautiful eyes and perfect freckles and his signature Weasley hair that she loved so much.

Fred's eyes trailed down her body in admiration, before he turned back to meet her eyes with a puzzled look.

"You didn't wear that dress?" He asked sincerely, hoping to finally see her in it since she had been so happy buying it weeks ago.

"Not in the mood." She lied, and he nodded convincingly, though he was anything but convinced by her answer.

"Gorgeous, never the less," he said, complimenting her as he always did.

"You more," she smiled, kissing his cheek.

Since buying the dress, it was the only thing that she had talked about. She gushed over how her bag and sandals went perfectly with it, and how she'd style her hair whenever she'd get the chance to wear it. And now, she stood there, wearing something else, and Fred was sure there was more to it than she was showing.

They hurriedly locked their place and apparated to their destination, Lee Jordan's housewarming party. It was just a close knit celebration that he and his girlfriend, Andrea, were hosting together, since moving into their first appartment in London.

She blended quickly among the known faces, smiling and chatting with all their old friends and then joining Andrea and Angelina in a small tour of the appartment. The entire party then ended up in the living room, and she, along with Fred, George and Angelina hopped around their circle, enjoying the little reunion they were having with the entire gang from Hogwarts.

Fred couldn't help but look at her. He always thought her to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and himself to be the luckiest man in the world, to be able to call her his girlfriend. He loved looking at her hair, her soft makeup and her smile, but today it wasn't as big as it always was, and he knew it wasn't as real, and it physically hurt him to not know the reason for it. He was sure it had something to do with her dress, because every time someone complimented her tonight, there seemed to be a bit of hesitation before she uttered her usual 'thank you'.

She'd been saving it up for some 'special occasion', and as soon as Lee had called to extend an invitation to the party, she had been delighted at the idea of getting to wear it the way she had wanted. Fred was happy that she was happy, and now she wasn't, and he didn't know why.

It was nearly midnight when the party ended, and Fred and George finally bid goodbye, ready with their plan to spend the next day together at their shop, as per usual. She hugged Angelina, and then got hold of Fred's hand and apparated them back to their front door. Fred unlocked it and hung the keys in their spot as she headed back to their room to change into her pajamas. The feeling of her thighs touching each other under the dress made her want to throw up. She felt disgusting in her body and she just wanted to cover herself from head to toe and bury herself quietly into the blankets.

Her expression must have given it away, because Fred walked into the room right as she took out her pajamas.

"Hey," whisper into her ear, kissing her neck softly, and his hands circled her waist. "Don't change just yet, love. I haven't had the chance to admire you properly tonight."

"The dress is a bit uncomfortable", she replied, trying to stop her voice from breaking.

"Just a few minutes, please?" He requested, and she complied, twisting around in his arms to finally face him. His eyes were so full of love for her that it nearly made her cry, and when he leaned down to press his lips to hers, a stray tear managed to find its way down her cheek.

"Baby what's wrong?" He asked, gently wiping the tear away.

"Nothing, just tired," she lied.

"Why didn't you wear that dress today?" He asked again, and she repeated her previous answer of not being in the mood to wear it.

"Don't lie to me," he condemned softly, and she knew she was caught. "Tell me love, why didn't you wear it?"

The singular tear that had made its way out of her eyes was now followed by many more, and before she knew, she was a sobbing mess in front of her boyfriend. Fred pulled her into himself and comforted her, his hands gliding over her back and just letting her know that he was there, and he would be there forever.

When she had finally calmed down, Fred gently guided her over to their bed, and sat down, as she stood before him with puffy and swollen eyes. He slowly pulled her onto himself, making her straddle his lap and resting his hands across her back.

"What's the matter Princess?" he coaxed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It's something about that dress isn't it?"

She breathed in deeply, contemplating weather she should tell him or not. Of course she can tell him, he's Freddie, her Freddie, and he'd always understand.

"Ihatemythighs" she blurted out in a single breath, only to find Fred looking down at her, amused.

"Try saying that slower baby? I'm not that smart," he joked, earning a small smile.

"I hate my thighs," she said finally. "They're fat and ugly and they move around a lot, and that dress reveals them too much."

"Don't say that darling!" Fred said seriously, upset over what she'd just said about herself. "I've seen you try that dress on and you looked gorgeous!"

"Those trial room lights make everything look good, but I look horrid in that dress." She said.

"Do not say that about yourself," Fred scolded. "You're the most beautiful woman I've seen, with the most beautiful body and the most beautiful thighs. I won't hear anyone talk like that about you, even if you're the one saying it."

"You'd obviously say that, you're my boyfriend," she reasoned.

"I'm not lying sweetheart, I swear. You don't have to be insecure about anything." He said, only to be matched with a blank look from her.

"You don't believe me." He stated in disappointment, settling his hands over her thighs, through her dress, his fingers steadily moving towards the hem. "Can I?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable. She took a deep breath before nodding, allowing him to flip it up and run his fingers on the smooth skin.

"I love you. Every thing about you is perfect. You've got the most beautiful face, and I can't stop looking at it. Your eyes, your lips, your cute button nose," he said, leaning in to peck it. "I love your hair, and you look gorgeous when you leave it down. I love your neck, and that tiny freckle on your collarbone." He buried his nose at the base of her neck, breathing her scent, and nibbling gently.

"I love your boobs, and I can't stop thinking about them when you're not around, and your bum too," he smiled cheekily as his hands trailed up her thighs to gently squeeze her ass, and then returned to their previous place. "I love your arms, the way they wrap around my neck when I kiss you. And those damn hands, those fingers, could very well be the death of me." He smiled, kissing her exposed shoulder, and then her upper arm a few times.

"And your stomach is so soft darling. I love just looking at it, thinking if someday you'd let me put a baby in there?" He smiled, earning back a smile and a nod from her. "Your pussy, baby. I'm not even going to say anything, because you know she's better than drugs. And I love your legs, especially when you show them off in pretty skirts and dresses. I love it when you wrap them around me and pull me closer when I make love to you."

"So pretty," he whispered, caressing her thighs, barely audible. "Such beautiful thighs baby, so soft. I want to bury myself into them right fucking now."

"Freddie, please" she whispered back, not even sure what she was pleading for.

"Can I baby? Please?" He said, running his fingers over the smooth skin, and she nodded without thinking.

Fred's arms looped around her back, holding her tight to himself as he stood up and turned them around. He gently lay her down on the bed and got on between her legs. Leaning down to kiss her deeply, he whispered praises to her, making her feel so loved.

He kissed her neck and collarbone, leaving a few stray hickeys, and then pushed the straps of her dress aside to show the same love to her shoulders. Looking up at her for confirmation, he slipped her dress off her body and tossed it away in the room.

She was there now, in nothing but a pair of panties, and she could feel her usual confidence seep back into her body. She reached for Fred and pulled him back in, kissing him passionately and lovingly. Her hands fisted his shirt and pulled it off him, soon followed by his tank top vest, leaving his torso as bare as hers.

"Hmm that's how I like it," he encouraged into the kiss. Soon enough, he moved to her breasts, biting and sucking, and the room was filled with her moans. He kissed his way down to her panties, and she lifted her hips to let him pull them down. He placed her legs over his shoulders, and she shut her eyes in anticipation.

Instead of going right to her clit, he began to kiss and caress her thighs. "They're so pretty sweetheart. Why would you ever dislike them?" He whispered, teasing the skin with his teeth. He licked up the length of her left thigh, but stopped short of where she needed him. He began to suck and nibble the flesh there, drawing moan after moan from her throat. Soon enough, he was repeating his actions on her right thigh, and she was getting hornier by the minute.

Finally, his tongue reached where she wanted, and her eyes rolled back into her head at the feeling. Her fingers found themselves intertwined in his hair, pulling and tugging each time he did something more pleasurable than he'd done previously. Her walls had began to clench around nothing, and the pleasure she felt was too much to hold back. She was so close to her climax, moaning Fred's name, at the edge of bursting, when Fred stopped his actions and pulled away. Groaning, she sat up to face him, as he smiled through his slick covered lips.

"Sit on my face," he demanded with a grin.

"What? No." She said breathlessly.

"Please baby, it's not something that we haven't done before," he reasoned.

"But my thighs are really big and you..."

"No buts, come on!" He said, lying flat on his back, waiting for her to climb onto him.

Still not very sure of the idea, she positioned herself, but didn't put any weight on him, choosing to hover over his face instead. A blush crept up her neck and made its way to her face at being so spread out in front of him.

Fred smiled and licked a stripe from her entrance to her clit, and her head hung back at the feeling, as he picked up right where he had left off. Seeing her pleasure, his hands caressed her ass, before he pulled her onto himself entirely. He moaned at the feeling of being between her thighs, and began eating her out with even more enthusiasm than before.

She was so lost in her pleasure that she forgot her insecurity and began grinding down his face once his tongue entered her, and her moans were reciprocated with his own. She was coming in mere minutes, and it was probably the one of the best orgasms she'd had.

As she came down from her high, she shifted back from his face, sitting on Fred's chest now. His eyes were drowsy and his face was covered in her slick, as he smiled up at her. She immediately felt something hard behind herself and instantly reached her hand out, unzipping his jeans and letting her hand slide under the waistband of his boxers to reach his dick. Fred groaned in pleasure when her hand brushed against his sensitive tip, and instinctively jerked his hips forward.

"Don't," he grunted, almost sounding pained. "I won't be able to hold it in."

"Then don't hold it in, Freddie." She smiled, leaning down to kiss him, moaning at her own taste all over his mouth. She quickly whispered a soft "I love you," only for him to hear.

"Want to fuck you baby," he said. "Please."

She let go of him at his request, and climbed off him. Her hands busied themselves with getting rid of his jeans and boxers, as he lay on the bed watching her. As soon as he was completely undressed, he sat up, and then proceeded to get off the bed, much to her confusion. He walked over to ger dresser, hurriedly tossing everything off it onto the chair next to it. He came back towards her then, offering his hand to her, and she took it, following him off the bed.

"Going to fuck your thighs today, baby." He declared, "Need you to know how much I love them. Is that okay?"

She nodded, letting him sit on the sturdy wooden table, with his back against the mirror, and stood right between his legs. One of his hands rested on her waist as he finally took his length in the other and guided it to her slit, rubbing it through her wetness and letting his head fall back against the mirror in pleasure. She had enough of his teasing now, so she quickly took matters into her own hands. Her fingers pulled away his own from his dick, and she wrapped her palm around him now. He let her take the lead, both his hands clutching onto her waist, and holding her in place. Spreading her hickey covered thighs a little, she guided his tip through the gap. He thrusted forward in relief, and he brushed perfectly against her clit, giving her just as much pleasure as him. His head now rested on her shoulder, and his moans went straight into her ears, turning her into a complete mess.

It was slow at first, since they had never tried this before, but once the pleasure built up, Fred's thrusts became more confident and sure, until he was close enough for them to become sloppy once more. She was just as close, her clit throbbing with each stroke against it.

"I'm so close baby," he whispered hoarsely. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside Freddie, please!" She replied, barely able to keep her eyes open. He immediately pulled her onto himself and she was straddling his lap now, her hand guiding his tip into her warmth. She sat down as soon as the tip was inside, completely sheathing him, and burying her face into his chest.

"So warm love. So good." He moaned, thrusting up into her mercilessly.

"You're so big Freddie. Could never get used to you," she said back in her state of complete haze. Her walls fluttered around him, and he connected their lips, his tongue intertwined hers as she came hard. Fred followed seconds later, his moans swallowed by her as their lips remained connected, and his warmth coated her insides.

She once again buried herself into his chest as they stilled, her arms in their rightful place around him, and his softening dick still inside her. He held her close to himself, warm breath fanning her back as his head rested on her shoulder.

"Baby?" He whispered after a few moments of silence, and his voice was laced with his usual mischief.

"Hmm?"

"Do you like your thighs yet? If not then I'd love to try again."

#fred and george #fred weasley #harry potter #weasley twins #fred wealsey fic #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fluff #fredweasley #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter smut

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i-cant-sing · 2 years ago

Note

Hi. So I found this

And you can’t tell me that it doesn’t scream Fushiguro Reader’s drip. She could be wearing the most expensive kimono for her birthday (courtesy of uncle Naoya) but what stood out the most was her footwear. People are supposed to be GUSHING over the kimono but they cant help stare at her sandals

Fushiguro reader is just slurping up her noodles, not caring for manners while everyone stares at her feet

And uncle Naoya is sharpening his blade cuz they being creeps for staring at his niece’s feet

And that was the only time Fushiguro reader didn’t cause her usual chaos because I feel like she loves her uncle enough that she’s willing to offer him some peace and mind on her special day because he became her mom AND her dad ☺️

Platonic Yandere Uncle Naoya x Fushiguro reader

Oh yesss 100%. I mean just imagine that its reader's birthday (who is either a teen/adult now) and Naoya already gifted her the kimono the day before her actual birthday, and by now reader knows that she has to wear it because its a tradition- every year, Naoya gives you a kimono for your birthday (which is the first of many gifts he has for you) and you have to wear it for the birthday portraits he has commisioned for and its followed by a big party at night at home, so yeah... its the same every year because according to him "this is how rich people celebrate their birthdays."

You only comply because he lets you do anything you want for the rest of the day before the big party, plus you do love your uncle. I mean, even if he's an ass sometimes, a misogynist to everyone else, a walking red flag... he still raised you like his own, provided you with all the luxuries and a comfortable life, even after you were "abandoned" by your father. In his own way, you know he loves you and only wants the best for you.

Anyways, its the morning of your birthday, the maids have just finished dressing you up and doing your hair and you go to the living room for your pictures, and as expected the rest of the clan is already there, smiling widely as they all gushed about how pretty you looked in traditional clothing and its a nice sight to see you out of your Hello Kitty shorts and a hoodie with Naoya's face edited on a cockroach. They all start coming towards you, wishing you a happy birthday and envelopes with wads of cash, the females kissing your cheeks and cooing how cute you looked, while the men stiffly patted your head.

After the portrait and family pictures are done, its time for you and Naoya to do stuff you want while the family prepares for your big party.

You're both sitting in the car as the driver takes you to your favourite place- 7/11. "Do you like your kimono?" Naoya asks, looking out his window.

You nod. "I do. Thanks. Its really comfortable."

Naoya turns to look at you. "It better be. Its Chanel."

"Its definitely better than the snakeskin Gucci kimono you got me last year."

"I thought you'd like to know how it feels." Before you could argue, your favourite convenience store came into place and you were already out the door before the car had even came to a full stop, making Naoya yell at the driver for not getting the child locks installed.

Naoya could only watch in disgust as you ate downed another bowl of instant ramen before moving onto another one, the noodles smacking against your cheek as you slurped hard.

"Ugh." Naoya cringed as he picked up a napkin to wipe the residues off your face. "Why must you eat so messily? Do I need to send you to table etiquette classes?"

You just shrugged. "Its fun this way." You picked up another onigiri before inhaling it.

"Oh my- can you stop eating like you dont know where your next meal is coming from?!"

"Can you stop screaming? This is a public place, and you're disturbing everyone with your screeching." "You brat-" "Buy me some instant rice. I need to add it to my soup."

As Naoya is walking towards the aisle, grumbling about how this chemical pumped liquid full of MSG that you kill "soup" is gonna kill you one day, he notices some people standing in the corner and just staring at you- or more specifically, your feet.

And thats when Naoya notices those pink monstrosity of sandals.

What's worse is that these people are just gawking so openly, hell they even have their phones out and taking pictures of your feet and its driving Naoya absolutely bonkers because what kind of feet fetish creeps are these guys (some of them are just old grandmas, but Naoya does not discriminate. Everyone's a creep.)

Besides, he doesnt know how long they've been standing there. For all he knows, they could've taken pictures of more than just your feet and Naoya doesn't remember giving them the permission to fucking look, let alone record you!

So, naturally, Naoya stomps over to you and tells you that you need to leave now. Upon inquiring, Naoya tells you about the "creeps" who have been recording you all this time and what not and you just shrug.

"I'm not leaving. Besides, it doesnt bother me."

"Y/n dont start-"

"Cant you take care of it? I thought you said youd let me do anything on my birthday." You take the rice from his hands and dump into in your soup. "This is all sounds like an excuse for either your jealousy because I'm the one who's taking the spotlight or your inability to protect me, hm?"

And Naoya knows- he KNOWS this is your unbothered ass doing reverse psychology on him, but it works.

Because now Naoya has taken their phones, smashed them to the ground until they were pieces and then immediately bought the whole store so that these creeps can be thrown out.

"See? I can take care of you. And you wish I was jealous of you."

"Mmhmm." You hummed as you ate your ice cream. The whole store was now empty, so you could eat as much as you wanted in peace.

Naoya narrowed his eyes. "Besides, those sandals were not a good decision. Who let you walk around like that?"

"Your hair is not a good decision. Who let you dye it that color? Does everyone in the hate you so much that they let you walk around like that?" You countered.

"You brat, you're lucky its your birthday."

"I'm also lucky I dont look like a bleached rat, unlike some people who thought that was the shade of blonde they wanted their hair to be."

#yandere naoya zenin #yandere naoya #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere zenin clan

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buckyarchives · 2 years ago

Text

EARTHQUAKES CAN BE A FLIGHT RISK, TOO. [1/3]

modern obi-wan kenobi x female reader

w/c: 8k

!!!: obi-wan is referred to as ben. family trauma, jealous asshole men, anakin is dead and it comes up a lot.

heavily inspired by im with you by wkemep

ao3 / masterlist

“...ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention? We regret to inform you that the current blizzard in Chicago has delayed several flights… for more specific information, please go to the customer service desk for your respected airline assistance. We are sorry for the inconvenience.”

The airline speaker announces like a mantra to a less-than-pleased crowd at O’hare international airport.

Watching as sun-kissed families that are more than ready to go home sit around barricaded by the feet of snow piling up on the floors, and behind and ahead of you people with permanent scowls as they come to the realization they'll be stuck in this airport for more than expected.

The line to the few customer service desks has loomed and looped around the place, from where you stand it looks like it never ends. You look forward and at the back of a pitch-black head of hair, a tall man in a suit taps his fingers on his leather briefcase and groans for the 10th time in the past few minutes, (yes, you're so bored you began to count). The snowfall outside was more of a blessing rather than a curse for you, you wear a small smile, completely unbothered by the long line ahead of you.

New Year's Eve is tomorrow, and tomorrow is your annual new year's party.

Your friend group has done it since high school, it's like a sort of reunion, and the only thing keeping your friend group alive. It seems no matter how far apart or distant any of you've grown, everyone manages to make it back to this party. You’re sure some of the reason is for the fact the girl, your best friend, that throws it every year is absolutely loaded. You're less than excited to go this year, though.

A loud, stressed yell of a man in a tacky Hawaiian button-up makes your head shoot up. You'd been watching the family at the front desk for a moment now, the stress of the toddler whining and the teenager complaining has probably gotten to the father. You understand, yet it still doesn't give him the right to yell at the customer service attendee just doing his job. You shake your head in disappointment.

“A bunch of barbarians.” is whispered with a thick accent behind you, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to where it might have been directed at you.

You think to turn around to find out, but you don’t and keep looking ahead at the father yelling and successfully keeping the line looping around the airport.

“Honestly, I can't tell if the yelling is more embarrassing or the absolutely disastrous excuse of a shirt he's wearing.” the man behind you comments and even if he isn't speaking to you, you can't stop the snort that leaves you unprovoked.

“The socks and sandals combo, I think,” you mutter back, hoping in lands. It does, a small breathy laugh comes from the man behind you. Smiling to yourself, you still haven't turned around, yet.

You do - instead - shift your eyes to the large windows. The world is covered with snow and the bright lights of the city. A dystopian feeling washes over you that you're sure only comes from being at an airport this late, or so early in the morning. Time is irrelevant in the sense you only need to know how long it will take you to grab gum and some caffeine while also being able to make it to your boarding gate on time.

You snicker to yourself, accepting the fact you'd be completely okay with your flight being canceled or missing your boarding time.

The line erupts into chaos, it happens so quickly. The Hawaiian shirt must have blown his top, taking a step back and causing a domino effect to the line. The businessman with no bits of patience falls back on you and before you can even get a yelp out, hot coffee pours down your sweatpants and solid arms brace your fall.

The world moves on though, everyone's eyes don't stop looking annoyed, at their phones or flight board. The man in the Hawaiian shirt continues to yell, and apparently, so do you.

“Asshole! I spent a good 4 dollars on that!” you push yourself out on the arms of the mystery funny man behind you and barrel forward like a goddamn tank, you'd barely got a few spits out of that drink! Grasping at his shoulder to get his attention, the man whips back fast.

“You got your coffee on my shoes, you bitch!” his finger raises to your face, he's tall. You should feel intimidated but irritation blinds you and your rage doesn't stop your shouts.

“Me! You're the one with no sense of surroundings and bumped into me!”

“Listen here, young lady – “ he begins to step into your space, tower over you and fear suddenly washes over you. Flinching as his pointer finger waves around, you shut your eyes and an arm from behind you brushes past your shoulder.

Blinking your eyes open, 5 fingers are spread out and pushing the businessman back, whose gaze is looking past you now.

“Please back off the girl, sir.'' His voice is stern, an interesting contrast to the sarcastic tone from moments ago. It sends a chill down your spine and you haven't even seen his face yet.

Your eyes trailed from his hand down to his cream hoodie sleeve, slowly he steps in front of you and between the man. You notice his side profile, a large mole on his cheekbone and then the back of his sandy blonde hair as he speaks to the man.

“Do you know how much these shoes cost? Just for coffee to be spilled all—”

“I suggest you settle down, turn around or you'll have to argue about your cheap shoes to airport security,” he speaks with a stern, calm tone. “And with this layover, you do not want to be stuck in airport security.”

You're not sure if it was the threat itself or the intimidating aura this man suddenly gave off, but the businessman turns around with a stank in his eyes and a grumble leaving his lips. You're impressed, to say the least.

“Are you alright?'' The sandy blonde hair turns around once the threat is seemingly gone, his voice is less stern and replaced with a surface-level worry. You notice his eyes, they're piercing through you.

Your fingers run down your wet pants, it's warm but bearable, not noticeable.

“Uh, yes, I think so.” just startled and damp, you almost say.

“I'll get you another cup of coffee once we survive this line,” his Atlantic blue eyes dart from your hands to the head of the line, and then back to you.

“You don't need to, you weren't the one to bump into me.” you wave his offer off, “anyways, you did enough with that dude.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, with a surprising amount of concern in his voice for a stranger that literally fell into him.

“Yes, I'm sure,” you say, suddenly feeling like a deer in headlights as he stares at you. You reach your hand out, offering your name.

His smile catches you off guard, it's warm and reaches his blue irises, and the sides of his eyes crinkle. It's genuine and very, very pretty.

“Ben Kenobi, it's nice to meet you.”

The line moves, thankfully, and you're reminded of the fact Ben had technically stolen your spot. He notices as well.

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, I didn't mean to step in front of you.'' He gently pushed you in front of him, with a gentle hold on your upper arm. His hands are impossibly warm, you don't like physical touch, much less from a stranger at an airport. But this was okay. He coughs and you turn around, he might as well disappeared then, except for the fact his presence loomed over you to an uncomfortable extent.

Time is still irrelevant and you notice how quickly the line begins to move now, the airport has seemed to get a grasp on the situation as the flight plan board begins to flicker with dots of green and another customer service worker starts a new line. You almost forget about your coffee-soaked pants until you begin to move to break off into a new line, conveniently having a suitcase full of clothes.

The boy behind the desk looks barely eighteen, maybe just a babyface. Either way, you can tell the stress of the situation is getting to him. His ears and cheeks are tinted red in stress and his eyes dart wildly in anxiety, you do your best to be considerate.

As he begins to punch in the number for your flight, you wait patiently, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Ben at the desk next to yours. Glancing over, he glances back with those piercing blue eyes. Have you ever seen something so blue? You smile kindly, one of those smiles you give to someone whom you're not friends with, but not strangers. It's fitting.

“Thank you for your patience, ma’am.” you hear, he clears his throat and you notice his anxiety diminishing. “We are still watching the blizzard before we can get a confirmed time of departure for your flight from Chicago to San Diego. Please be patient and keep watch on the flight information boards and announcements going forward. We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

You nod and thank the man for his help, he smiles at you, watching his shoulders slack a little. Honestly, you'd rather stay camped out around cranky kids than step foot in the state of California right now. You have no complaints and an unusual bounce in your step as you go to find a place to rest until you hear more news about your flight.

A part of you wonders why you even agreed to go this year, a moral obligation to the unspoken tradition that's been going on for over a decade now? Probably. To see your best friend? You see her normally, you don't need a stupid New years party to see her. You know he will be there and just for that fact you're dreading it.

Seeing him by choice should be considered self-harm at this point. Especially since the last time you saw him, because you know once you see his stupid smile the cycle will repeat and you'll be head over heels. Your eyes dart back to your flight schedule. Delayed. Good.

Your name is shouted from behind you, faintly you hear it and have to let yourself hear it again before turning around. Ben comes walking close with a military backpack slung over one shoulder. He's still calling out your name before you ground yourself enough to respond.

“Hey, Ben. Updates on your flight?”

He shakes his head and wears a bittersweet smile, he doesn’t seem so down about the blizzard either. You wonder for a moment if he too is versed in the art of balancing on earthquakes just to fall, because that's what this is, whatever you're doing right now.

“Nope, off to terminal D to wait it out.”

Your eyebrows perk up in surprise, “terminal D, huh?”

“Would that be where you're headed as well?” he catches on, the end of his lip quirked up slightly. You notice the freshly groomed beard. It suits him but you also notice the razor cuts lower on his neck, it makes you want to laugh.

“It would be.”

“In that case,” his eyes darted to the terminal entrance, a sense of familiarity was in his eyes. “I think you should let me buy you a new coffee.”

Wow, this man is stubborn.

An amused smile paints your face, and you almost laugh. Not sure why. Thinking to protest, but you remember a conversation you had with your therapist. Looming over your shoulder telling you to say yes to good things more, even if you believe you don't deserve it. This could be a good thing, or this could be nothing and you steal a latte from this man and never see him again. Either way, caffeine does sound good.

“Okay, Ben. Lead the way,” you say and Ben smiles, he tells you there's an okay coffee shop in this terminal he swears by. You trust him and watch the back of his head as you walk down the terminal.

Your palms are slick as you grasp at your suitcase handle, the clicking sound as the wheels hit the grooves in the airport floor turning to white noise. Trying to cast out any thoughts of this party, or actually attending it.

“Where are you going? If you don't mind me asking,” he asks, the sounds of the world come rushing back and Ben’s walking next to you now.

He must have slowed his steps for you, his eyes are still so blue even under the dull lights. You didn't realize you made it to the cafe already. It smells warm of vanilla, a stark contrast from the artificial smell of cleaning products the rest of the airport gave off. Ben is still looking at you.

“San Diego,” you answer plainly as you step into line. Two blonde-haired teen girls stand in front of you, giggling about something. In Front of them is a college-aged student with heavy bags and headphones over her ears, she's ordering something with too many shots of espresso.

Ben laughs, “Me too. La Jolla.”

“Clairemont.”

A beat of silence. Ben rocks on his feet and puts one hand over the other in front of him, his eyes darting to the menu. “What will you be having?”

You hum, overwhelmed by all the options. Maybe this is the time to try something new, you think.

“just an iced latte with espresso.” old habits die hard. You always get that drink, no matter the cafe, no matter the state, no matter if a handsome and polite stranger offers to buy you anything you’d like. Maybe you should have gotten a matcha or a cappuccino to make yourself more interesting.

“Alright.” he nods.

“Thank you,” you mutter.

“It's no problem,'' Ben smiles and it's so genuine, it feels strange to be on the receiving end of such a genuine smile from a man you met only a few moments ago. “If you want – you can grab a table or change out of those pants while I order.”

You look down at yourself, the sweatpants are practically dried now and you really didn't feel like digging through your bag in the middle of this cafe. “Thank you, again.”

Ben just nods and you roll your suitcase and yourself to a table, it's sitting next to the glass window and looking at a middle-aged man passed out on a bench. You hope he doesn't miss his boarding time. A group of adults with fruity drinks laugh together, surrounded by luggage.

your fingers brush your hair out of your face, taking a deep breath in and just settling, only for a moment. Glancing back to the front, Ben is ordering and the barista has a smile on his face. With a look of familiarity in his eyes as he speaks to Ben, it's obvious they are speaking about more than just coffee order, he must be an old friend.

Quickly, the unknown but apparently familiar barista glances towards you, and back to Ben's face once he notices you were looking too. That was embarrassing. His face is painted with surprise, and happiness when he looks back to Ben, just before you could look away and dwell on your own life.

Ben comes walking back, you sit up straighter so maybe he doesn't get the impression your rethinking all your life choices up to now. You know? Bad first impressions and all.

Well, you may have already checked that box now. Great.

“So,” he smiles, setting two cups down. A piping hot chai with lavender and honey and your drink, a simple latte. “What's in San Diego that you've decided to travel to during a blizzard?”

“Uh,” you stutter, do you lie so as not to get into the dread of why you wish to not be going? Hmmm, he is a complete stranger as well. “Well, I didn't technically choose to travel during this. Mother nature as her own mind.”

Ben chuckles, “That is true, I guess.”

“A party.” you spit out. “A New Year's party, I've had it every year since sophomore year.”

“Oh, college or high school?”

“High school.”

He sits back, an amused smile, maybe even a little shocked as you’re in your early 30s now. “Wow, long-time tradition.”

“Yeah.” you breathe, sipping at your latte. It is pretty good, you are glad you followed this stranger into this cafe. Better than Starbucks, god, you could roll your eyes.

“Excited?”

Your eyebrows furrow, “excuse me?”

“Are you excited about the party?” he clarifies.

Are you this out of your mind? Nothing feels real right now.

You pause, almost choking on your own words. Do you lie?

“Yes.” you keep it short and simple, gritting your teeth.

Ben hums, seeming not too convinced. You had never been a good actor before.

“Sorry,” you say before Ben could even ask if you were lying, “I'm not good at small talk.”

“That so?” his eyebrows quirks up, “big talk then. What first? Politics? Religions? The meaning of life? Pineapple on pizza?”

You smile, “It's criminal, fruit doesn't belong on pizza.”

“Oh, have you tried it?” a cheeky grin falls to his face and he leans forward.

“I don't feel I need to, I know it will taste horrible,” you say.

Ben just laughs at you and it's warm and genuine and it's nice enough to wear it rings in your ears and for a moment, muffles out any thought of him. You think, maybe you can get used to this. Once again, your eyes find the world around you and you begin to notice more and more stressed passengers scrambling for their brains and flight times. You sigh, a part of you wishes you could care so much.

Ben observes everything too, he looks almost nostalgic. You've known this man for only twenty minutes and he's been the most interesting or mysterious man you've encountered in a while. You're not sure which word is best to describe him yet, you haven't decided.

“All hell is going to break loose soon, we’ll have to make a game plan,” he says, deadly serious and it makes you smile. It's never been that easy.

“Game plan?”

“Of course.” Ben sits up straighter. “We’ll need to find food, shelter, chargers, and entertainment. In order of importance.”

The question slips off your tongue, “You seem familiar with this, do you travel a lot.”

An emotion flashes across his face, it's unknown to you, but it didn't seem very positive. You'd wish you held your tongue, instead, you sip your coffee.

“Somewhat, more as a kid than now.” you're trying not to overanalyze the way he sounds sad when he said that like it was a pain to come back. It's probably nothing. You sip your coffee again and so does he.

Ben's eyes glance to the clock, “well, we should probably get to it.”

It's funny, you don't realize this now but the way he doesn't need to ask, or you need to request teaming up on surviving the O’hare international airport blizzard. But you do, you get up and follow him again as he begins to ask you about your favorite food, if you're vegan or gluten-free. Maybe it is the bonding over coffee and assholes that molded this, an unspoken bond within 30 minutes. It's quite impressive, you think.

You just hope he doesn't turn out to be creepy or some serial killer luring you in with his charm and blue eyes, it seems like a recipe for another Ted Bundy. But within those piercing blues, you see kindness and a sort of pain you would only be able to recognize in yourself. Maybe you have a strong intuition, or maybe you're stupid, but you continue to follow him into a small convenience store.

The air still smells like a cleaning product, you catch a whiff of garlic when you walk past a certain aisle and then cold air once you reach the back. You grab a water and soda, a few strides to the right and you turn around, one thing of pringles and gum. You look up and see Ben's hair bobbing up and down as he walks down another aisle, just before he shows himself in front of you with handfuls of his own snacks.

“All good?” he asks you, checking up on you. It's sweet.

“Mhm.”

The cashier rings you both up, once again, Ben knows the cashier.

“Haven't seen you around her in awhile, Ben.” her raspy voice speaks, she looks to be in her 60s with a head of shoulder-length gray hair. She balanced red glasses on the tip of her nose and wears a soft, apologetic smile as she greets him.

“Can't stay in Chicago forever,” he says, you think about what that means. He said he traveled a lot. Maybe you think too much.

Her hand grazes over the bag of m&m’s, the yellow-colored pouch ones with peanuts. Her face goes sour, a stark and surprising contrast from the happy customer service mask you recognize. She holds them in front of her like it was a flaw, but she doesn't say anything and lets Ben notice it first. He does.

“Oh,” he says, almost like he surprised himself that'd picked them up and carried them all the way here. “Habit. I'll put them back.”

Habit?

You watch the interaction with a solid confusion from start to end, feeling like an outsider watching from within, an inside joke you can’t seem to grasp. From the apologetic, embarrassed, and solemn faces – it definitely isn't funny though. Ben speeds up, grasping the package all too tightly with his eyes trained on the ground and then he disappears around in isle.

The cashier looks back at you, she doesn't know you but she knows Ben. She smiles, it's a sad smile and she understands your confusion.

“They were his little brother’s favorite.” is all she says, you're still confused and your brain urges you to ask more. It feels way too personal though, and Ben is already back with empty hands.

He pays, you pay. You try not to think too hard about what it means and why she looked so sad telling you that, you don't think to ask either.

________________________________

Ben's palms are hot and sweaty as he wipes them on his pants, he's doing better. He's talking to new people, new people being a very pretty stranger during a flight delay. Only one small slip-up, it wasn't his fault really, muscle memory because normally Anakin would kill him for not getting his m&m’s. Maybe he should have just bought them anyway.

He passed the terminal D sign, he could navigate this place blind. Your railing close next to him looking around curiously, shelter. That was the next part of the game plan.

“Over here,” he mutters, glancing at you. Show you a mostly deserted corner, a free outlet (rare), and close enough to a flight board so each of you'd be able to keep up to date. Not like Ben really wants to see those red words turn green, shamefully.

You settle in, you drop your backpack, and park your suitcase against a wall. Ben goes straight for the outlet with his charger, got to hog them before any iPad kids can. You follow and sit next to him on the large window sill, his phone buzzes alive and he's met with a picture of Leia and Luke crawling onto his shoulder. It was when they were only 5 years old and they'd taken a trip to the beach for Ben's birthday, it was also the last time he'd seen either of them. He bites back a frown.

“Cute kids.” your voice brings him down to gravity, and his head started spinning in the convenience store. Forgetting you were looming over his shoulder. “They yours?”

“Oh, no.” Ben gulps, “my niece and nephew, they're twins.”

You just smile and not, not saying anything else.

“You should probably change out of those pants. Do you have something else to change into?” Ben asks, eyeing your stuff.

“Oh, yeah. Thank you for reminding me.” you jump down from the window sill and zip open your suitcase. Ben watched as you rummage through your clothes to pull out a pair of black shorts, “I'll be right back, save my spot?”

“Of course.”

And you headed to the restrooms.

Ben looks back down at your wide-open suitcase, he's not nosey or creepy, but he notices the short and sparkly dress laid out on the top. It looks incredibly fancy and even a little skimpy. He thinks you'd look pretty in it.

You come back in no time, legs on displacement and Ben notices your beat-up converse, little doodles along the soles. Ben smiles to himself.

“Do you mind if I ask?” the words leave his mouth without permission, and he glances back to the sparkly fabric absolutely intrigued. He's probably crossing some personal line right now, but his mind can't stop thinking of your face - compared to now, at least – when he asked if you were excited. You say yes with a disappointed look while sitting in a long line knowing your flight will be delayed with a satisfied look in your eyes. It's curious, but Ben thinks he understands fully.

“Are you actually excited for this party?”

You look like you've been hit with a brick, for a stranger to be able to suspect your real emotions so well, to be able to read you, to detach that carefully crafted method of acting. You look down at your shoes, clench your fist and look back up at him. Smiling, it's not genuine, but it's what he would call a smile, “no, not really.”

Ben nods, he understands.

You huff and shoulder slack, sitting next to him. The secrets out and the boulders on your shoulder begin to lift, slightly. The overbearing weight that you could still be eating on a slight soon still hangs heavy over your head.

“It's horrible, but I was actually so excited to find out about my flight delaying.” you laugh to yourself, it's self-depreciative. “It's just…” the words begin to slip out of your mouth, “I've known these people forever and obviously, you go through a lot with people you've known that long, but we still make an obligation to go to this party no matter what. This year though, some of my relationships with people there are a bit shakier than usual.”

“I understand,'' Ben breathed out. His voice shakier than usual, now he won't let the water break the damn, he's sure of it.

“You do?” you light up ever so slightly, looking at him with sudden curious eyes. A sense of understanding and someone to bear your burdens with, your shoulders look even more relaxed. Ben wants to curse at himself when he notices your lip quirked up when you start to speak. “What troubles face you on the other side of this stupid flight.”

Maybe he won't let himself crack, maybe.

Ben gulps, “Yes, uh.” he thinks, should he? “My family–”

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.” You seem cautious, but Ben would be a hypocrite if he didn’t even vaguely explain his situation after you practically spilled your guts in the wonderfully terminal D of O’hare international airport. “I know how some family drama can be.”

“No, it's okay.” he laughs off your incredible consideration, breathing heavily. Why does he do this to himself? Just don't mention Anakin, he tells himself that it's going to make any difference once he opens his mouth. The damn always breaks.

You nod and sit patiently, attentively and it makes Ben's chest thump. What is wrong with him? He frowns with pink-tinted ears because what good has come from learning to pretend?

“My sister-in-law and I don’t have the greatest relationship, currently…” Don't mention him, don't say his name. “So I haven't seen my niece and nephew for a while.” your eyes widen, not because of the simple fact of what he said. No, you feel bad about asking, obviously, it's a sore subject. You think you should have known, but you didn't. “And no good has really come from that either, I've pretty much been digging myself a hole with her and the kids over the past few years and well, their tenth birthday is in a few days so I'm trying to make steps to apologize for my absence.”

You don't say anything, but you understand. Ben can tell by the way you're looking at him, you know there more though. You don’t push or prod, you wait.

“But it's very scary, as you can tell,” he says, avoiding eye contact and looking at his sweaty palms, he's still sitting on the window seal with blinking city lights just past you two. The cold feeling on the large glass panels calms him and single-handedly keeps him back from breaking down. Ben learns to find comfort in the dangerous blizzard, strange, isn't it? He's never liked the cold before.

“I feel guilty for being happy about the delay, I should be excited to see them.”

A beat of silence, he shouldn't have said that. A failure of an uncle, a bad listener, and a bad person. He's just laying it all out too, ironic. Just as he called himself a hypocrite.

“Well all my best friends are at this New years party and you don't see my moping around about this flight delay, hm?” you say like it's just that easy, maybe it should. “Don't feel too guilty, you are nervous, you're human.”

You're human.

______________________________________

It's been an hour, you think.

Actually, you're not sure about it all. having not checked the time in a while, much more occupied by beating Ben at uno. It's been borderline embarrassing having handfuls of cards as he yells uno for the 8th time. But hey, you're learning things about each other whilst doing it, and how bad is getting to know a charming, handsome stranger with a toothy grin even if he's absolutely killing you with +four cards.

“Uno!” you look up to see a cheeky grin and unfortunately, one uno card in his hand.

“You have to be cheating!” you murmur.

“Sorry, I'm just very good at reading people.” he quips back and you hate the shine in his eye as he speaks, it's making it very hard to be mad at him.

“You know, if the shoe fits.” you nervously put down a green five, eyes glancing up at him as Ben watched you intensely. His face is empty and calm, but Ben puts down his last card and you erupt into a pained groan. “This is horrible for me!”

Ben just laughs softly, grabbing the deck of cards and yours and beginning to shuffle them once more. You originally planned to sleep off or even finish that book you've long neglected during this delay, anything to not think, but this. This was an alternative you were okay with.

Most of the airport got the memo, keeping watchful eyes on the flight information and listening ear to the announcer. For those that could – slept, read, snacked away. Parents did anything to keep their children quiet or entertained. It was a sort of humility you'd only ever see during such a situation, it helped the doom brewing in your chest.

“So what did you say you did for a living?” you ask, as Ben hands you another seven cards.

A new discovery was made soon after you got to know Ben. Small talk is much more bearable whilst multitasking, so those awkward beats aren't filled with even more awkward little “interesting” or “that's so cool,” which are most of the time, very ingenuine.

But the small talk you started with had slowly snowballed into big talk, or whatever Ben has called it in the cafe. You'd learned Ben's favorite color was blue, he was thirty-nine. obviously, he's very good at uno. That one you figured out on your own, besides that, it's been purely basics.

“Well, I am currently unemployed.” Ben swallows, putting down a red nine.

You put down a red-three, “almost forty and unemployed. You're brave.”

“Are you shaming unemployed people?” he deadpanned and his certain sarcastic demeanor makes you giggle.

“No! I've been there once, you know,” you add, leaning back to get a good view of your cards before getting another down. “I just mean, what do you do with your life?”

“Mope.”

“Be serious, Ben!”

“Okay, okay.” he settles, putting down another card. “I am currently living off the government's money, army back pay. I read books, and visit cafes. Read books in cafes, draw pictures in them too, but only sometimes.”

“Army?” that would explain the military bag, the non-humanly straight posture, and definitely the traveling.

Ben looks away, almost embarrassed when he speaks, “Twenty years.”

You want to gawk, but that'd be rude. Should you say thank you for your service? Based on his demeanor now, you don’t think that's a great idea. It's always forced and no one really means it anyways.

Instead, you ask probably an even worse question. “Why'd you leave?”

Ben's figure taps rapidly on his card in hand, he's trying his best to keep eye contact with you but you can tell it's hard for him. You regret asking him that, maybe you should have stayed in your comfortable small talk area.

“My brother,” Ben starts, barely holding himself together by grasping at the uno card. “He passed almost 10 years ago and I decided then I would leave since he had just had children.”

Oh, that’s what the moment in the convenience store was about. You think about this place and everyone that seems to know him, assuming they knew his brother as well. This airport must bring some conflicting memories.

“That was very considerate of you, Ben.” You answer honestly, your mouth feels dry as the syllable leaves his mouth.

“It was hard.” Ben looks down at his hands and shuffles the few uno cards in his hands. “I’m not a patriotic person but the military was my life. I left to help my brother's wife and didn’t realize I would need help after making that decision.”

There’s a beat of silence. You feel an uneasy rage for Ben, rage towards the corrupt military system and how it treats its veterans. That’s definitely something that can be hashed out another time.

“I failed her.”

It scares you how sincere and accepting he is of the phrase that he spoke, too comfortable with his failings like it’s a second skin.

“What are you doing?” You ask softly.

Ben's head shoots up, confused, caught off-guard. “What?”

You nod ahead, urging his response because you know he heard you.

“I, uh,” Ben stutters for the first time since you’ve met, which arguably, isn’t that long. “I’m getting on a plane, to see my nieces and nephew for their birthday.”

You smile, not bothering to say anything, hoping he gets what you were getting at. Maybe you’re an optimist for everyone but yourself, or a fool. Ben looks ahead at you, intense eye contact grows and you feel his stare in your stomach. It’s strange.

Ben knows what you’re saying, knows that you see he’s trying, and do not believe he’s a failure. You see it, and you’ve known him for less than a day. Scary.

“Uno.”

Ben looks down at your hands and sees one card, he smiles.

_______________________

“Do you have any pets?”

A few more hours pass, and an empty uno card and another solo trip for caffeine later. The careful question games continue.

“No, but I used to have a husky.”

You gasp, almost choking on your spit since the dynamic of hanging your head upside down off a bench didn’t agree with that exasperation. “That’s so cool.”

“She was very pretty,” Ben says, he sounds a little occupied but not annoyed. It’s nice and helps with your overwhelming boredom. “Do you?”

“I wish,” you say. “I think my landlord would crucify me, my plants will suffice.”

“Do you name them?”

“What?”

Ben laughs like he knows the question itself sounds a little ridiculous. “Do you name your plants?”

“No, I don’t think I’d be able to keep track.” You look at Ben from the corner of your eye, he lay covered in a tan-colored shawl.

The airport had started to grow chilly and your choice of camping out by the large windows maybe wasn’t too practical, the pretty lights make up for it. Ben looks comfy, his black sweats and crème colored sweatshirt make him look too good, way too good. A man that knows color theory is dangerous. Hoping he doesn’t notice your lingering glances.

“I’m assuming you name your plant then.” You taunt.

“Oh, yes.” He pauses to yawn, “any sane person would.”

“Are you calling me insane?” You spring up, blood rushing to your head and leaving you a little dizzy. Shooting playful daggers at Ben, failing to hide the quirk on the corner of your lip as you speak.

“What? Never.” He’s dripping with sarcasm. Rolling your eyes, you get to your feet and make small strides to sit next to Ben.

“I thought about being a landscaper,” Ben adds.

“Oh, so you like plants that much?”

He chuckles under his breath, “I guess you could say that. Being able to design spaces and make nature more beautiful than it already is – deeply interests me.

“I say go for it.”

Ben's head cranes and he looks at you, looking for something in your features. He must have found it because he looks satisfied when he turns away and says, “I might have to.”

Ding!

Both of your heads shoot down to your phone as it lights up, just some random email, probably about work or some store you signed up for sending you more 30% coupons.

“Are those your friends?” Ben says, eyes still looking at your phone. Not the email, your wallpaper. In photos from last year's party, everyone sat on the couch, some on the floor in front, and some laying on the back above everyone. “I’m sorry if I’m being nosy.”

“It’s okay,” you laugh, despite the sting in your chest thinking about the memory. It’s fair though, considering you were in the same scenario earlier, prodding about his life and generally being nosy. You had forgotten that photo was even in your wallpaper album, the phone turns off and back on to re-notify you of the email, and a new photo is replaced. “And yes, those are my friends.”

“You seem awfully happy and close to dreading this trip,” Ben adds.

“We are close but,” you drag out, contemplating your words. Bens watching you so attentively, almost zoned in on your face and lips. His eyebrow quirks with curiosity and anticipation.

“But?” Ben prods, not that you mind.

“It’s stupid.” You drop your head shamefully.

“I doubt that.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Oh, I doubt that even more.” He says under a breathy life, an amused smile dances on his lips.

“You’re laughing right now!” You accuse him, but Ben's eyes dance around your face first, looking for something. His mouth opens to speak, he knits his eyebrows and draws back.

“Excuse me then, I’m serious and definitely will not laugh,” Ben says, you want to smack the grin on his face.

You also really want to know what he was going to say before that statement.

Groaning, “Fine.”

You breathe in once and another out, “there’s this boy, we’ve had a complicated relationship for many, many years now. Last year it kind of all came to a stop after some… decisions. We haven’t spoken for a year now and I’m just, I don’t know, dreading seeing him.”

Ben hums, and you watch for a response. For him to laugh for being so stressed out over such a silly reason, especially in comparison to his problems. Not that it’s a competition.

“That’s certainly not stupid.”

You want to roll your eyes, sarcastically you murmur, “Sure.”

“I’m serious,” Ben affirms. He does sound incredibly serious, you shift nervously in your seat. Your knee brushing against his thigh as you sit with your legs crossed, Ben tenses slightly. “Don’t undermine your feelings. I understand your nervousness, I know I do not know the full story but may I share some advice?

“No one is stopping you.”

Ben yawns once more, excusing such actions before continuing. “This boy, no matter what experiences you’ve had, he’s just a boy. I don’t think you should put so much weight on it and let him ruin your happiness. You shouldn’t worry too much about the past, it’s happened and you can’t change it, focus on the now.”

You snort, “Easier said than done.”

Ben makes a sound of agreement before facing you, leaning in way too close. He raises a hand and taps the temple of your forehead, “It's all up here, once you put in the work, your mind will fill in the blanks and adapt.”

You feel his breath as he speaks, much less focused on his words of advice and rather trying not to drown in the pair of Atlantic blue’s absolutely staring you down. You feel vulnerable and stripped down under his glare, but warm and seen.

With another yawn, Ben and you share another knowing glance. “I think your mind wants to sleep, Ben.”

Ben purses his lips, as to protest before realizing he is defeated. Before he can reply, you reassure him, “I’ll watch your flight.”

So you do, and Ben sleeps. Pretty quickly he had fallen asleep and your shoulder burned when eventually his head dropped on it. You didn’t mind, quite the opposite, it was just a new sensation you weren’t mentally prepared to hash out in the particular circumstances.

Looking down you see his scruff, sandy hair with blonde highlights that look way too tempting to run your hands through. His lashes are long, you're jealous. The colors he wears make him look warm and comfy, you see a scar on his forehead and cheekbone, next to his

Mole. If you looked closer and maybe if it wasn’t winter, you’d see freckles littered across his nose.

Thinking about how he called himself a failure, kept his niece and nephew as his wallpaper despite how long it’s been since he’s seen them. You wonder what his plants' names are and if he has a favorite, you hope he gets to become a landscaper. Imagining him in a cozy sweater, at some warm cafe with a cappuccino and sketchbook drawing beautiful gardens and decorated patios, just to turn them into reality.

You fully understand what you're doing is a dangerous game, you know this routine in and out. The wondering, the gawking, and imagining. You’d always romanticize and fill in gaps with romance, it’s what brought you to your current dilemma. Now you sit with a stranger, in a Chicago airport with him sleeping on your shoulder as you imagine yourself sitting across from him in coffee shops.

_______________________

“....Flight 213 to Clairemont airport is boarding at terminal D, gate 2….”

You shifted your head, eyes blinking open to the fluorescent lights above you.

“Last call for flight 213 to Clairemont airport is boarding at terminal D, gate 2….”

That's your fight, you sprung up, not realizing your head has been resting on a still-asleep Ben’s lap. His neck rolled back onto the edge of the uncomfy airport benches. You ruffled your hair, looked at your watch. You'd been asleep for maybe an hour, your eyes searched for your flight on the board. It was indeed boarding, finding Ben's shortly after. You would probably jump out of a plane right now if you missed it because you fell asleep.

Ben needs to see his family and if you're the cause of that not happening… you'd never forgive yourself. Your eye found the number 215, Still delayed, which is still unfortunate but good for now.

You wished you had time to bask in the innocence and calmness on Ben's face before having to wake him up, you were on a time schedule though.

Gently placing a hand on his shoulder, the fabric of his sweatshirt was way too inviting. “Ben, Ben, come on sleepyhead. Wake up, Ben,” you spoke softly, you saw his eyes begin to lull open.

“Anakin?”

Your eyebrows knotted, reeling back, “What? Ben, wake up. I have to go.”

“Anakin, i'm sorry.” his voice was rough from sleep, and sorrow filled. His voice almost cracked in his dreamlike state.

Looking at your watch again, You need to go, but you weren't inconsiderate enough to leave without saying something. Your hand grasped his shoulder and shook him gently, his eyes shot open and his breath caught up. For a moment, you wondered if you should mention the name, better not.

The life came back to Ben, frantically looking around to check where he was before his eyes found you, fully conscious this time. His name left his lips quietly.

“I have to go, they did the last call,” you babbled, beginning to gather the small amount of things you had out. Phone, charger, snacks… check, check, check.

Ben was shifting awake and to his feet above you, you noticed him peering at the flight plans as well. “Uh, do you need any help?” he came to your aid as you somewhat frantically stuffed and zipped your bag up.

You found yourself stuck in a gaze with him again, his eyebrows were slightly furrowed with sleep still lingering and he swallowed nervously. Suddenly, your mouth felt cotton dry.

“Don't forget what I told you, okay?”

Your chest feels heavy, a strange feeling creeps up your neck that makes your stomach feel uneasy. Reeling up and preparing for this to end, like some fucked up story or abruptly ended song. Slick palms grasp your backpack strap and suitcase handle, as you now stand face to face.

“I won't.” you swallowed, “thank you, Ben.”

Ben smiles, it's small but so genuine and so sweet that your teeth begin to ache.

You think it's appropriate to say goodbye now, but it feels wrong, so wrong. Maybe you’re selfish and the thought of saying bye to him despite the circumstances leaves a bad, yearning feeling in your mouth and doom deep in your chest.

“Good luck,” you decide, the implication doesn't hurt any less but it feels like you're letting yourself down easier.

“And to you too.” Ben nods.

You begin to turn and find your gate. It feels like your body hit a brick wall, your knees don't move except to let you turn around and look back.

One last look.

“Hey, Ben,” you say, and god, his eyes are piercing. Even with so many feet between you, this was a dangerous tightrope you were balancing on now. “You haven't failed anyone, and don't dig yourself a hole and give anyone a reason to think you have, yeah?”

“I promise.”

Then, you turn back around and prepare for the flight ahead.

Comment to be added to the tag list to be the first to hear when part 2 and 3 come out!!

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan my beloved #obi wan kenobi fic #obi wan x reader #obi wan star wars #star wars fic #fanfic

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morethanaloveinterest · 10 months ago

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An Outta Sight Look at Victoria Vinciguerra's Costumes in the Man from U.N.C.L.E.

The fashion in this movie continues to be amazing. Let's dig into what our villainess is wearing and it tells us about her.

(check out my review of Gaby's costumes here)

We meet Victoria Vinciguerra at a party she is hosting, which Napoleon Solo crashes to get close to her. The majority of Victoria's wonderful costumes in this movie are black and white, with gold accents, but this one has by far the most gold - even her sandals have it!

As an introduction to our villain, it's perfect. In a story where everyone has facades, with double agents and all, wearing an animal print is very appropriate. Is it a zebra pattern or a tiger? Is she the prey of super spy Solo or is she actually hunting him? A+ costume choice for this scene, no notes.

This also sets her apart from Gaby, our female hero. Victoria is far more done up - more makeup, dripping in accessories, complex pattern, there is nothing simple here. She is a fabulously wealthy woman and she is flaunting it.

As we'll see with the rest of her costumes, she's also clearly the one wearing the pants in the plots. Yeah, her husband may have inherited the business but she is definitely the one in charge at every point. While still looking fabulous.

Female representation: 10/10 Fantastic villain outfit, especially for a spy movie. Definitely set apart from the way villainesses are usually portrayed

Practicality: 10/10 It's obviously perfect for that context but I'm sure she could take care of anything that came up without breaking a sweat (or tripping over anything).

Both ladies wear their pajamas in this movie, and they couldn't be more different. Victoria continues to be the height of fashion, looking just as put together and intentional as she does in anything else she wears in this film. The geometric pattern on her robe is very fashionable and reinforces her black-and-white costuming. A little more gray here, perhaps begging the question of if she has been taken in by our charming spies (she has not)

Female representation: 10/10 I'm going to go off of the movie instead of this particular picture, lovely as it is. In the film, she wears this in a darkened room while behind her desk, on the phone. We do see her leave to go change, dramatically slamming the doors, but nothing else. Which makes it still one of the best filmed nightgown scenes I've come across - she continues to be gorgeous without catering to the male gaze (this isn't how women in spy movies are usually filmed, you know?)

Practicality: 9/10 Not sure they'd be the most comfortable pajamas but they're great for spending time in one's boudoir.

I wanted to include more detail, but couldn't in the distance shot. This is what she wears after hearing that someone has been snooping around, and she immediately goes to the hotel to investigate Solo. Her makeup is a bit less obvious than at the party, but she certainly has a full face. She even had time to accessorize before heading out. Her shoes might be gold, which is delightful.

The vest is clearly made of scales (alligator seems most likely to have been fashionable at the time, but it could be a kind of snake). Whatever the source, it is very appropriate for the villain of the story as she goes to investigate our hero with intent to kill. Before getting up to something a bit more entertaining.

Female representation: 10/10 For a snake-themed outfit our villainous lady wears to take out the hero, this is quite understated. Very focused on her own sense of fashion rather than the male gaze

Practicality: 10/10 One of the more practical things she wears in this movie, perfect for going to murder and/or sleep with a spy

I gotta be honest here, I'm not sure when she wears this (is it a deleted scene?). It's clearly in the lab, no doubt getting an update on what our spies have discovered. It's the least dressed-up we see her, while she still keeps to her color scheme.

Female representation: 10/10 Villain gets a report from her captive scientist wearing this? Perfection

Practicality: 10/10 It certainly rivals the last one in practicality, though I can't be sure what the whole ensemble looks like.

Absolutely show-stopping, I love how the costumes step up a notch for the climax (as does everything else). The clearly divided black and white is perfect for the way this scene plays out. Is she fooled by Solo or fooling him? She's worn pants in basically all of her scenes (other than her nightgown), but this one is definitely my favorite.

Female representation: 10/10 Our female villain poisons our spy hero in this outfit? Perfection once again

Practicality: 10/10 Fantastic choice for revealing your plans and taking down your nemesis

She wears this coat and scarf over her previous costume, while out and about to cause mischief. It fits her color scheme and style, but now that we all know she is the villain, the white is just an accent while black has taken over.

Female representation: 10/10 Again, for being the black costume our villainess wears in the climax, I can't think of anything more lovely and empowering. She's definitely in charge here.

Practicality: 9/10 I am sure she has underlings to grab things for her, but I don't feel like she could move her arms very much - something I consider important in a coat. Still, it's gorgeous.

Her final costume in the film, when she is escaping on a fishing boat. Shockingly, she seems to have put on an outfit that isn't black and white, with even some blue! Presumably she was trying not to attract too much attention as she escaped on a simple fishing boat, but she is still incredibly stylish with proper accessories.

Female representation: 10/10 Again, female villain getting her comeuppance at the end, dressed very comfortably, you gotta love it

Practicality: 10/10 I can't see the whole thing, but Victoria always has the right outfit for the occasion, so I'm sure this is perfect for her current plot.

Want to hear more of my thoughts about female characters and fashion? Check out my other costume reviews or my YouTube channel (episode on Gaby out now!)

#victoria vinciguerra #the man from uncle #the man from u.n.c.l.e.#costume reviews #costumes

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julietoon · 3 months ago

Note

Hello WCIF the green dress that your sim is wearing in your Fashion Street Sandals with Magic Bot feet. It's the green dress with the belt.

Hi - You can find it here

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athenasgotu · 1 year ago

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title: drunk in love (part 2)

pairings: college!ellie williams x female!reader

word count:

summary: after your recent encounter with ellie, you avoided yourself from her. a friend of yours throws a pool party, inviting ellie. what could happen now?

sfw/warnings: (minors!dni) swearing, drinking, smoking, inappropriate actions, sexual thoughts

a/n: finally finished part 2 !! there's more "spicy" things going on in this one.. (but there's no porn) still isn't recommended for younger readers !!

part 1 !! ⬇️

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

it's been a few weeks since your last moment with ellie. you had to leave after that, she touched your chin?! you thought she was going to kiss you right there.. but of course, wrong again. all you could think about is what it would be like to kiss her. her soft lips on yours. the aggression it could've been. the way it could've gone to kiss, to full on sex.

that's what's really twisted your mind. the feelings of lust, wanting ellie to kiss you. wanting her to do certain things to you. the feelings took over, it was a lot to take in.

what if you kissed her? what would happen then?

suddenly, you hear a knock on your door. you really hope it's ellie, you open the door and see your friend fiona.

"oh." you didn't mean to say this out loud, but you were a tad disappointed it wasn't ellie.

"hey! haven't seen you in a minute." fiona smiles, she puts her hand on her hip.

you smile back. "hey, whaddya need?" you chuckle nervously, trying to act like you weren't thinking the most unspeakable things.

"just wanted to let you know i'm having a pool party tonight at my parents house. i tried calling you yesterday, but you wouldn't answer."

yea, of course you didn't answer. you had so much going on in your mind.

"oh! yea, cool.. but i don't think i can go. i have to study and shit.."

fiona groans, she shakes your shoulders.

"c'mon!! you never do anything fun. plus, i'll be there.. some of your friends will be there-"

you stop, some of my friends? as in ellie? is ellie even my friend..? oh, shit.

"will ellie be there?"

nice going, dumbass.

"ellie? ellie williams? yea, of course." she says, she smiles and looks you up and down.

"why you askin'?" she giggles.

"i just- y'know i just wanna make sure- why does it matter?!" you exclaim. fiona laughs slightly, you look at her slightly irritated.

"chill, i was just asking." she gets a notification on her phone, she looks back at you.

"alright, i have to head out. see you there?"

you think for a moment. maybe you should go, you and ellie won't be alone but it will still be fun. you guys could get drunk, do stupid shit. whatever..

"yea, i will."

fiona smiles, she is just about to walk out.

"see you later." she waves, she walks from the door and you close the door.

you walk to your closet, looking for the best bikini you could wear. something ellie would like..

a couple of hours have passed, you had a pink bikini with some white sandals. it looked pretty cute, really cute. you put some of your cherry lipgloss on, puckering your lips a bit in the mirror.

you go and grab a white cover up, you put your hair up in a high bun a little messy just how you like it. you spray some strawberry scented perfume on yourself, just enough.

you walk out of your room and go to the elevator, you see several people that were clearly invited to the pool party. they all had their bathing suits on. you sigh and wait for the elevator to move down.

finally, the elevator makes it down. you walk to the parking lot and get into your car and begin to drive.

˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

eventually, you make it. you open the gate and see the glowing pool and all the people.

you grab your phone and take a quick picture for your Instagram.

damn.. it was so crazy. but you only tried to look for ellie. you walk over to a bench and sit down, you suddenly feel those same strong hands on your shoulder from behind, you feel that hot breath on your neck, slowly moving down your cover up off.

"need help with this?" she says, she rubs your shoulders slowly.

you look over, you see ellie with a sly smile on her face.

"shit- ellie.." she sighs and looks at her.

ellie smiles and pulls your cover up off of you, exposing your bikini.

she sits next to you and looks at your bikini.

"soo.. how you've been? y'know.. since our little moment.."

she smiles.

that damn smile, it always got you.

"fine. you?"

"great." she puts her arm around you.

you shiver a bit from the cold water from her skin hitting yours.

"you gonna sit here lookin' pretty or hop into the water?" she smirks.

should I? I mean.. what if something happens when i'm in the pool.

fuck it. i'd do anything for her.

"oh! totally yea." you smile at ellie, looking into her eyes.

she snickers and pulls your hand, she drags you to the pool and walk in with you.

as you two walk in she holds onto your waist gently.

"you good?" ellie asks.

you nod, the feeling of her hands on your body felt so good. you wanted her hands all over your body, even the sensitive areas..

"yea.."

you notice ellie leaning closer to you.

"strawberry?"

you tilt your head.

"what?"

"strawberry. the scent?"

oh fuck, i'm so stupid.

"oh, yea. its just perfume."

ellie leans even closer.

why is she getting so close? damn, i must look so red right now-

suddenly, her lips are on yours.

her chapped lips on your soft lips, the rough feeling felt nice.

she pulls away.

"cherry lipgloss."

you were blushing intensely.

"uh huh.."

what the fuck just happened..?

#ellie williams #wlw #lesbian #college!ellie williams #smut #modern!ellie williams #not for kids #fanfic #female!reader #fem!reader #lgbtqia

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queenofcandynsoda · 1 year ago

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Multiverse OC: Agnes Helvig

Agnes Helvig

Names: Real name is hidden away/[REDACTED], Agnes Glöckner (disliked), Agnes Helvig

Aliases: Xochitlicue (El Dorado), Sybella (Mesopotamian), Omarosa (Babylon), Dwura (Assyria), Onatah (Akkadian), Devorah (Old Hebrew), Wadjet (Ancient Egyptian), Hecate/Hekate (Greek), Trivia (Roman), Sassa (Old Norse), Gabija (Baltic), Avia Trivia (Sol Fertilis)

Titles: Mother of Witches and Warlocks, Giver of Magic, Goddess of Witchcraft, Ghost Goddess, Woman in the Crossroads, The One Who Can Not Be Judged, The One Who Protects, The White-Haired Seer, The Woman with Golden Eyes, Serpent Goddess, The First Witch, The Woman Who Wants to Be Forgotten, The Uncanny Crone (by the Church of Blood), The Mysterious Benefactress, The Fiery Maiden, The Ancient Virgin (can no longer use), The Creature that Won’t Die, Grandmother of the Ayran Race (disliked), Reborn Queen of the Great Earth, Stingy Bitch (by John Constantine)

Age: 100,000+ (Chronologically), Mid-20s (Physically)

Gender: Female

Height: 5’8” (173 cm)

Birthday: Unknown

Race: Half-Cosmic/Underworld Goddess and Half-Demon Goddess

Residence: El Dorado (partially, currently), Semi-nomadic, Buto, Egypt (formerly), Selinunte, Sicily, Italy (formerly), Viking era Denmark (formerly), Lithuanian countryside (formerly), Kutha (birthplace)

Relatives: Ereshkigal (Biological mother, deceased), Nergal (Biological father, estranged), Inanna (maternal aunt), Nergina Fritz (Half-sister), Aunt Sis Fritz (Step-mother), Nyx (adoptive mother), Nyx’s children [Aether, Hemera, Moros, Dolos, Thanatos, Hypnos, Oneiroi, Momus, Oizys, Charon, the Hesperides, The Fates [Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos], Nemesis, The Keres, Apate, Philotes, Geras, Eris, Amitola/Lucinda] (adoptive siblings), Twilight (adoptive niece by Amitola/Lucinda), Dr. Sigmund Glockner (Ex-husband, former captor), Xocoatl (Current Husband), Sehkmet, Bastet, Hathor, and Maat (foster sisters), Circe (adoptive daughter), Medea (adoptive daughter; disowned) Medea’s sons (adoptive grandchildren, deceased), Diedrich Glöckner (biological son, with Glockner), Malaea Koi (Granddaughter), The Cuckoos (Genetic Grandchildren), Tochtli (biological daughter, with Xocoatl)

Occupation: Goddess of Magic, Ghosts, Crossroads, the Moon, Travel, Mysteries, Hidden Passages, Fertility, Rebirth, and Gold (currently), Experiment (formerly), Goddess of Protection and Reunification (Egyptian, formerly), Goddess of Magic, Crossroads, and Ghosts (Greek/Roman, formerly), Virgin Goddess of Fire, Home, and Family (Baltic, formerly), Seer (Nordic, formerly)

Likes: Her Family, Xocoatl, Nyx, Offerings, Order, Rabbits, Gold, Reading new books, Modern Technology, Medicine, Kleicha, Chocolate, Tea, Traveling, The Underworld, Playing the Lyre, Animals, Dancing Dislikes: SIGMUND GLOCKER, National Unity Party, Witch Trials, Anyone who disrespects her, Mad Scientists, Being Trapped, Church of Blood, Grave Robbers, Gods’ Arrogance, Demons, Angels, John Constantine’s Antics, Forbidden Arts

Appearance: Often, Agnes is seen with waist-length golden hair and cyan eyes. Her skin appears silvery with a holographic shimmer. It is impossible to determine which race or ethnicity she is. Her eyes would glow golden whenever she used her magic. She has several surgical scars around her torso and upper legs from years of being the “wife” and test subject of Glockner. Those scars could not fade away regardless of what Agnes did. Sometimes, her eye colors vary from purple to red to green. She would have different hairstyles depending on the occasion.

Causal: Agnes currently wears a blue-purple sun dress with golden embroidery of the sun and moon. She also wears a pair of black sandals. Other times, she wears a purple short-sleeved blouse with dark blue high-rise jeans and a pair of black boots.

Young: As a child, Agnes would wear a black tunic with silver accents, given to her by Nyx.

El Dorado: While staying with Xocoatl in El Dorado, she wears a white tunic with blue and violet accents and a white skirt/loincloth. She also wears turquoise earrings, a pair of golden arm bands, gold bangles, a gold and turquoise necklace, and two gold rings on her left hand.

Mesopotamian: As Sybella, she wears a white tunic dress with a violet shawl around her. She would have a pair of gold earrings and a necklace.

Egyptian: As Wadjet, she wears a green regal sheath dress with a scale design and a red robe with feathers and hieroglyphic patterns depicting guardianship. She also has a royal blue blindfold that covers her eyes in a crisscrossed way. Her wings resemble a falcon’s and she has what seems like closed eyelids. Her jewelry consists of a golden collar, ornate bracelets, a pair of serpent anklets, and a golden crown that has the uraeus with the Sun on the center.

Hebrew: As Devorah, she wears a long blue tunic with a violet cloak. She also wears a white mitpaḥat, a pair of silver earrings, and wool sandals.

Greco-Roman: As Hecate, Agnes wore black undergarments with a purple cloak. It is attached together with silver ornaments. She is always barefoot. Her physical appearance was greatly altered during this time. She had three faces and six arms. Two of them held a torch in each hand as one held keys and another held a dagger. Behind her head, there is a strophalos.

Baltic: As Gabija, Agnes wore a traditional red Baltic dress with a white shirt and a pair of black shoes. Her necklace is silver and her dress has a fiery movement. Her necklace is actually a grass snake that wraps itself on her neck.

Nordic: As Sassa, Agnes wore a blue hangerok with yellow and white ornaments around it. She also wore a pair of brown leather boots. She often wears a shawl during the harsh winter. During this time, her hair was very long. This allows her to fuse her hair to the floor and the walls of her private longhouse to see the legends of the Nordic Gods without directly interacting with them.

Sol Fertilis: In Sol Fertilis, she dressed as a Gamma Plus. Her clothes are a purple bodice with a tiered skirt, a pair of purple heels, a purple mantilla, and a purple wedding ring. She also wears a golden necklace with an amethyst and a pair of golden earrings. The clothes are from Ivoire, which is a luxury clothing brand. Her hair is braided in a Minoan style and covered in pearls.

Pre-capture: In 1920s Norway, Agnes wears a long, simple white dress with a girdle of vines and flowers. Her hair is braided with lilies of the valley and leaves with a wreath of white water lilies. She is often mistaken as a Skogsrå.

Capture: After being captured, Agnes was forced to wear “Ostanized” conservative clothes. Usually, she had to wear a teal dress with black stockings and black low heels. Her physical appearance deteriorated heavily during this time. Her hair had become stringy, her eyes become glassy, her skin had begun to crack and pale, and appeared malnourished.

Tomb: After her false death, Agnes wore a royal blue court dress made of satin, adorned with golden embroidery. The bodice is fitted with a voluminous skirt, complemented by a matching dress. A mantua in the same hue and adorned with golden embroidery drapes over the gown. She also has black dress shoes that also have gold embroidery. Glockner had her wrapped in Germanic and Old Zandian runes to make sure that she would not be able to move. After years underground, the dress looks tattered.

[REDACTED]: In a certain form, her hair becomes white, while it is burning hot, as her eyes become completely black in the shade where light can not be reflected. It looks like black tears come out of her eyes. The ends of her mouth extend to her ears and fangs form on it. The scars around her torso form to become mouths and have sharp teeth there as well. A pair of falcon wings appear on her back as eyes appear on them. She gains four pairs of horns. Her feet turn into falcon talons. Agnes wears a long purple Mesopotamian dress, which exposes her stomach and legs, and a black shawl. The edges of her shawl have golden linings and onyx. Her nails become black and sharp as if there is poison coming from them. For jewelry, she has a golden necklace with a pendant that has her personal sigil, a pair of obsidian earrings, three golden armcuffs, and a gold bracelet with runes. Finally, she wears a gold crown with the symbols of the moon, including crescents and a full moon, with stars made of obsidian and a long gold chain mail covering the upper portion of her hair.

Personality: Agnes is an aloof, studious, and quiet woman who has years of knowledge and experience. She has shown to others that she is hands-off, considering she rarely, if ever, interferes with the affairs of mortals and it is not uncommon for her to ignore calls for her. This is not the case with her close friends and family. Agnes takes her long-standing position as the Goddess of Magic very seriously as she is why magic exists among mortals. She refuses to interfere or get involved with mortals’ affairs unless it is necessary, such as dealing with inter-dimensional beings, including demons, mortals tampering with the natural order, unauthorized resurrection, and dangerous warping of reality, among others. She is often annoyed at being worshiped since she wants to remain hidden, especially since the 20th century. At the same time, she does not prevent it. Agnes deeply loves Diedrich, despite him being the result of the brutality from Glockner, and deeply regrets not being there in his life. She also wants to be a caring grandmother to the Cuckoos. She is rather cautious towards angels and demons since they are naturally opposed to her. Despite her cautiousness about demons, she is willing to help cambions. She has severe distrust towards any scientist due to the trauma and torture she endured under Glockner. She particularly hates scientists who use their technology to abuse others and is willing to either kill or maim them for that. Agnes is very interested in modern technology as she tends to infuse her magic with her cell phone, TV, laptop, wifi router, etc. Since marrying Xocoatl, she has become happier and more open as she is taking steps to recover from the trauma. She is highly distrustful towards Nergal and does not believe he is capable of changing. However, she cares deeply about Nergina and Aunt Sis, being concerned about their well-being.

#agnes helvig #multiverse oc #multiverse #DC AU #Grimm Adventures of Billie & Manny AU #Grimm Adventures of Billie & Manny #Spy X Family AU #FOP AU #TND AU #Courage the Cowardly Girl AU #Danni Phantom AU #Hazbin Hotel AU #Gravity Falls AU #Sol Fertilis #AAnA AU

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simlvrr · 2 years ago

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All the cc my sims wear that were shown in my tiktok

makeup/skin: dreamgirl 3D lashes , crpticism kendall eyeshadow , kylie J skin overlay , simbience kissed freckles , DEWY GLOW LIP SET , northern siberia nose , Suppression Eyes by remussirion , moon liner

accessories: AKG headphones by issygoing , latte earings , strife septrum by pralinesims

everyday:

Heaven sent top by babytears

bella haddid jeans

aryana Sneakers by madlen

janick by dailylifesims

athletic:

Female Full Body Tights Athletic Outfits by Saliwa

aryana Sneakers by madlen

Marissa Hair by sunivaa

party:

Lulie Outfit by madlen

bohemian wedding sandals

Lunar Child Locs by ebonix

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isasantiago · 6 months ago

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INFORMATION & STATISTICS FOR PRINCESS ISABELLA SANTIAGO

"What is the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?" — John Green

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Full Name: Princess Isabella Araceli Santiago

Nickname(s)/Alias(es): Isa

Date of Birth: October 6th, 1993

Age: 31

Gender + Pronouns: Female, She/Her

Place of birth: Northknot, CA (Mermaid Kingdom)

Parents: King Alberto & Queen Isadora (†), Queen Ana (Stepmother)

Siblings: Prince Lucas (Older brother, †), Princess Catalina & Princess Emilia (Younger sisters)

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): Complex; She deeply loves her father and sisters but feels pressure to uphold her late brother’s legacy. She also harbors a lot of unresolved grief, which has caused tension, especially as her parents push her to bring Emilia home. Her relationship with her stepmother is somewhat distant, given her mother's death when she was young and she has a protective, though conflicted, bond with her younger siblings.

Pets: None

PHYSICAL:

Height: 5′ 2″ (157 cm)

Build: Petite and curvy

Species: Mermaid Princess (Heir)

Distinguishing Facial Features: High cheekbones, full lips and expressive, almond-shaped eyes

Hair Color: Black

Usual Hair Style: Straight & glossy or in soft waves sometimes adorned with subtle seashells, pearls, or flower crowns

Eye Color: Dark Brown

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birthmarks, scars): Medium to warm olive complexion

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): PTSD, Complicated Grief, Depression, Occasional Migraines

What do they consider their best feature?: Her long, thick, and shimmering hair

Worst they’ve ever been injured (what, how did it happen)?: It happened during one of her alcohol-fueled binges on the surface after Lucas’s death. While trying to escape the weight of her royal duties, Isa attended a wild party near a coastal cliff. Drunk and reckless, she ventured too close to the edge, losing her balance and falling several feet down onto sharp rocks below. The fall fractured her ribs and dislocated her shoulder, leaving her in agonizing pain. The physical injury became a harsh metaphor for how far she'd fallen emotionally, leaving her with scars she still feels when she moves too quickly or laughs too hard.

APPEARANCE:

Favorite outfit: A flowy, bohemian-style dress in soft whites or pastels, embroidered with flowers paired with delicate sandals or barefoot if near the ocean

Glasses? Contacts?: She wears glasses when doing seamstress work.

Personal Hygiene: Polished, clean, minimal but effective

Tattoos? Piercings?: Double ear piercings on each ear; one small, hidden tattoo that honors her brother

What does their voice sound like?: Her voice is soft, warm, and slightly husky from years of holding back her emotions, but it carries a regal edge

Accent?: Colombian

Unique mannerisms/physical habits: She has a habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when thinking deeply and rubbing her thumb over her ring when anxious. She also has a tendency to stand very still when observing others, giving her an air of quiet intensity

Left handed or right?: Right

Do they work out/exercise?: Yes but through swimming and yoga

BELIEFS & INTELLECT:

Known Languages: Spanish, English, Various Native Mermaid Languages, Can speak to/understand aquatic animals

Zodiac: Libra

Gifts/talents: Expert Seamstress; Exceptional Swimmer, Keen Fashion Sense, Very Good at Reading People

Religious stance: Very spiritual; Not deeply religious but respects the traditions of her people

Political stance: Progressive Traditionalist

Pet peeves: People who are overly loud or obnoxious, Inconsistent or messy work, Being told what to do, When others question her decisions, Disrespect or underestimation due to her appearance or status, Surface-level, shallow conversations

Optimist or pessimist: Somewhere in between; Practical and realistic but also harbors a secret hope for freedom and happiness; Can be pessimistic but there’s an underlying optimist in her

Extrovert or introvert: Extrovert

INTIMACY & RELATIONSHIPS:

Relationship status: In a relationship with Clarissa Gooding

Sexual orientation: Pansexual

Ideal mate/qualities they look for in a mate: Looks for someone who is strong yet empathetic, who can handle her royal obligations but also understands her need for freedom. She appreciates loyalty, honesty, and emotional depth; A partner who is both adventurous and responsible who will balance out her more reserved nature

Ever been in love?: Yes, once

What’s their love language?: Quality Time and Acts of Service

Most important person in their life?: Her late brother, Lucas, her younger sisters Cat & Em, her girlfriend, Clary

VOCATION:

Level of education: High School Diploma

Profession: Future Queen/Owner of Dazzling Moon Boutique

Past occupations: None

Passions: The Ocean, Fashion, Environmental Activism, Designing Clothes, Exploring, Traveling, Reading Historical Texts

Which is more important – money or doing something they love?: Doing something she loves

SECRETS:

Phobias: Has a fear of failing her kingdom and her family’s legacy, Claustrophobia

Life goals: To find balance between her royal duties and personal happiness

Greatest fears: Being trapped in a role she never truly wanted, leading her kingdom but losing herself in the process, The death or harm of any more family members

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her: One of Isa’s most embarrassing moments was during a public event during her rebellious years on the surface. At a fancy, high-society gala, she arrived visibly drunk, stumbling into a well-known politician and causing a scene. Though it was written off as youthful indiscretion, Isa still cringes at the memory, especially since it made headlines

Something they’ve never told anyone: Isa has never told anyone that she secretly envies her younger siblings for their continued freedom. Though she loves them dearly, a part of her resents being thrust into a role she wasn’t prepared for after Lucas's death

PREFERENCES:

Hobbies: Photography, Jewelry Making, Gardening

Favorite color: Purple or Yellow, hard toss up

Favorite smell: Fresh sea air mixed with jasmine

Favorite food: Oysters

Favorite book: Circe by Madeline Miller

Favorite movie: The Little Mermaid

Favorite song: Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish

Coffee or tea?: Herbal tea

Favorite type of weather: Sun showers, where the sun shines while rain softly falls

Most used word or phrase?: “Honestly?”

EXTRAS:

MBTI: ESTJ (The Executive) - Isabella’s sense of duty, responsibility, and loyalty to her kingdom align well with the ESTJ personality type. ESTJs are organized, decisive, and natural leaders, traits Isa has developed after stepping into her role as the future queen. Her strict adherence to rules, once her brother died, and her struggle with balancing personal feelings with duty align well with the ESTJ’s focus on order and structure. Additionally, her assertive and sometimes intimidating demeanor fits the commanding presence ESTJs often possess

Alignment: Lawful Neutral - Isa’s main focus is fulfilling her duties and upholding the laws of her kingdom, even when it conflicts with her personal desires. She follows the rules strictly and places the kingdom's needs over her own happiness, especially when trying to uphold her brother's legacy. Her decisions are primarily based on her sense of duty and loyalty, making Lawful Neutral the most fitting alignment. She is not driven by good or evil motives but by her role and responsibilities

Enneagram: Type 3 (The Achiever) - Isa is highly focused on success, duty, and maintaining her image as the perfect ruler for the kingdom, which aligns with the core motivations of a Type 3. Achievers are driven by the desire to be valuable, accomplished, and respected, which fits Isa’s focus on becoming the best possible ruler. The way she suppresses her emotions and buries her past life on the surface in order to fulfill her royal role also points to a Type 3’s fear of failure or being seen as inadequate

Celtic Tree: Willow - The Willow tree is associated with intuition, emotional intelligence, and adaptability. It thrives near water, which ties well with Isa’s mermaid heritage. Willow people are highly sensitive to their environment, and Isa’s emotional shifts after losing her brother and adapting back to surface life reflect this. The Willow tree also symbolizes healing and transformation, which aligns with Isa’s slow rediscovery of her softer side and her struggle to balance duty and personal desires

Temperament: Choleric-Melancholic - Isa’s leadership skills, assertiveness, and sense of responsibility align with a Choleric temperament. Her ability to step into the future queen role and become a strict rule follower after her brother’s death points to her decisive and goal-driven nature. Isa’s deeply emotional side, the grief she struggles with, and her need to honor her brother’s legacy reflect the Melancholic temperament. Her tendency to be introspective, moody, and deeply affected by loss showcases the emotional depth of this temperament

Hogwarts House: Slytherin - Isa’s ambition, cunning, and determination to find a way to balance her royal duties with her personal desires place her firmly in Slytherin. While she may not be driven by personal power, her focus on legacy, honor, and finding ways to make things work in her favor (without betraying her duties) are very Slytherin traits. She’s also willing to be manipulative or strict if it serves her goals

Element: Water - As a mermaid and someone deeply connected to the sea, Isa is naturally aligned with the water element. Water represents emotions, intuition, and fluidity, all of which are central to her character. Isa’s ability to be emotionally complex, nurturing at her core, yet also cold and distant at times, matches the water element’s ever-changing nature

#nktmisc #stats #statistics

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firestormmaidenanddragon · 6 months ago

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Oh, hey, it's a bunch of character head-canons I've forgotten. - (Part One? Master List?)

Even though they're not complicated to make, George struggles with instant-foods, like packet noodles with flavour packets.

The Arthur family line has freckles, with Skarloey, they are very faint, while Marie and Arthur Scarlet's are visible.

Like actual bats, the Vampir-Copil being bat faunus would likely have them hibernate or sleep longer in Winter periods.

My idea for Oz & Salem being at odds with each other in the Chibi sketches I did would have had a comedic reason we'd flashback to, like Ozpin forgetting tog et the chicken out the freezer

Because of how he was built, Oliver lacks an Aura of his own, unlike Penny who has some of Pietro's, and (RWBY) Dash who would have some of Ironwood's so Pietro was not straining his body.

Casper ends up with a Grimm dragon as a pet called Torch, likewise, his later younger sister Alice would get a Grimm house-cat, though if I was to play him, Hazel would have had a Grimm mouse called Buttons as company.

A quirk of Alice was her being unintentionally scary, like being caught saying she "can't to see you burn", only for it to be she's making toast or roasted marshmallows.

Jess & Shinobu don't like dogs much, Jess had a nasty scare as a child by an aggressive dog, while Shinobu is like Blake in that being a cat faunus, the reaction is more normal.

Casper & Veronica's daughter is called Victoria, but it's not know what she inherits from her father and his abilities.

Eventually, when working with the heroes, Casper would stop using his "human" appearance guise with blond hair and blue eyes, since the only reason to keep it up is to help get around places without questions of why he looks like that.

Sunny & Angel are supposed to have accents but I've never settled on which, at most, Sunny would have been Australian, while Angel was tied between French and German.

Sunny being barefoot most of the time is mostly due to where she was born and raised being a beach town where questions about a lack of shoes are less of a thing, though her schools had them required as part of the uniform, and didn't allow sandals for things like science or workshop classes where it'd be stupid-dangerous.

Linda is asthmatic, and used to wear braces around two years before she'd end up at Beacon.

Ichigo's designs are based on past lead Kamen Riders in that they're what they'd look like if you took them and made them into clothing pieces, so for his main look, he resembles Kamen Rider 1gou.

Casper would have maybe learned he is not Salem's first child at some point after finding a painting of his mother, Ozma, and their daughters, this would have likely played into his defection.

BluBerry was an android OC who I would have revived to be an assistant to Ironwood, they are effectively non-binary/genderfluid as they composed of the twin AIs, the male Blu, and the female Berry, I would have likely updated the spelling to be BlueBerry proper too.

Venus was originally a villainess and head-villain of her kind, but I ended up liking her being a kind motherly-type, so she was made good, and later, the mother to Casper & Alice in the Mythril universe.

Likewise, Chrome was intended as a dubious-evil character, but the idea with the Authors then became to have them be mostly neutral figures as Mythril's gods.

Had my story been done a little better and not been playing catch up, Oliver as part of Team Salem likely would see him beefing with Tyrian, though for Chibi sketches, it's more Oliver and Tyrian having comedic moments of trying to set the other up into being punished by Salem.

Being androids, Penny, Dash, Rusty, and Oliver can switch off their hearing and sight if they wish.

George's usual pairs of socks have bunnies on them.

In her younger years, Alice would have dressed up Salem and pretended to be a mini-me of her for teddy bear parties.

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myladybelle · 9 months ago

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𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter two

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.6k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, controlling mother, reader wears a dress and heels, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: reader wears a dress and has feminine style so i’m sorry if that doesn’t match your style!! i was debating leaving any clothing descriptions out but it really helped me with writing a character in juxtaposition to tashi, so i decided to do it 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘. 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐒, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔

“God, this house is huge,” you commented as you entered the venue of the party Adidas was throwing for Tashi.

Since it was practically a guarantee that she’d win the Junior US Open, Adidas was justified in going all-out for their rising star. The party took place outside, boasting a dancefloor, string lights, places for photo opportunities, and Tashi’s new trophy displayed for everyone to admire. As her best friend, you were undoubtedly biassed, but you thought Tashi deserved it. She was more committed to tennis than anyone you’d ever met.

Tashi laughed. “I know, right? Still smaller than yours, though.” When you shot her an unimpressed look, she grinned and wrapped her arms around your shoulder. “I’m kidding! Your house just looks bigger because it’s so empty and lifeless.”

“That house is anything but empty,” you disagreed. “It’s filled to the brim with my mother’s dreams and expectations for me.” Tashi snorted. “Don’t forget the linen closet that holds all my wasted potential.”

“Just a linen closet?”

“Don’t worry, it’s growing by the minute. Soon it’ll take up that whole damn mansion.”

Tashi grinned and shook her head. “Alright, let’s change the subject,” she decided. She knew you liked to joke about your poor relationship with your controlling mother, but she wanted you to let loose and have fun tonight. You had played such an incredible game that afternoon. Tashi hoped you would be in a good mood regardless of the berating your mother gave you when you lost. “You look unbelievable! I think you may be upstaging me at my own party.”

You wore a blush pink Blumarine mini dress that was stunning. It had a feminine silhouette made of a lightweight fabric, with dainty sheer cap sleeves and a delicate silver sequin pattern scattered across the bust. The skirt fell to mid-thigh and had a thigh slit with a white lace trim, which perfectly matched your white heeled Sam Edelman sandals. You had styled your hair in the way that always made you feel most confident and barely had any jewellery on, letting the dress speak for itself.

Chuckling, you motioned to Tashi’s gorgeous, shimmery dark blue dress and long locks. “T, you really don’t have to worry about me upstaging you,” you assured her. “I sincerely doubt anyone’s looking at me, and for good reason! You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

The sun and the moon. Tashi’s bright-coloured dress stood out and made a gorgeous contrast with her hair and skin, while your dress was the most vibrant thing about you. As always, she shined, and you were there to facilitate her glow; you were soft and gentle, and she was bold and captivating. Your dress walked the line between playful and elegant, whereas Tashi’s dress was sophisticated and gave her a striking impression. Every choice you made to style yourself always felt like you were standing in Tashi’s shadow. Not in a negative way, but that was the natural dynamic you fell into.

“You’re gorgeous too, Y/I,” Tashi insisted. “Now come on, we have some celebrating to do!”

After the expected socialising you always did at these events, the adults finally let you and Tashi have fun to commemorate your best friend’s first US Open win. When the DJ played Toxic by Britney Spears, Tashi dragged you to the checkerboard dance floor for some well-deserved dancing. Under the lights, you twirled each other around, your combined laughter echoing over the general noise of the party as your hips swayed to the rhythm of the music. You did your best to let go of the day’s anxiety, moving with carefree abandon and enjoying your time with your best friend.

Tashi beamed at you, noticing how genuine and relaxed your laughter and body seemed. You were usually tense and anxious, but you’d thrown caution to the wind and basked in the opportunity to have fun. Your face had heated up from the dancing, and your heartbeat was elevated, which made it look like you were soaring. As you swayed gracefully on the dance floor, Art and Patrick’s eyes followed your every move, captivated by your effortless beauty. Their hearts raced in unison, breaths quickening with admiration and longing. A magnetic pull tugged them towards you, allowing their gazes to linger on you like you were the moon in the night sky, bewitching and glowing.

Feeling eyes on you, you twirled and spotted two guys with their eyes glued to you and Tashi at one of the nearby round tables. They were unabashedly leering at you two with vacant, astonished eyes as you danced together. Pressing your lips together to suppress laughter, you leaned closer to Tashi and said, “We have an audience.”

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. She lifted her arms over her head as she danced, spinning in time with the music and taking the opportunity to look at the ogling boys. “My God, that’s the opposite of subtle,” Tashi commented, entertained by their stares. “Just ignore them.”

To egg the boys on, Tashi took your hand and pulled you closer as a Nelly song started playing. When she began shimmying her shoulders to entertain you, you laughed. You spun in a circle and shimmied with her, mirroring her moves. Unconstrained and without much care for how you looked, you closed your eyes and let the music take over. Your arms swayed freely above your head, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as your hips swayed and feet moved with the pulsating beat of the song. You were lost in a world where nothing else mattered but this joyous celebration of your friend’s success.

Not only that, but you believed you had just played your last major Open. Once you started college later that month, you’d be free.

Patrick and Art didn’t care if you had noticed them gawking.

Your beauty had them spellbound, and their eyes were enchanted, unable to look away even if they wanted to. The rhythmic beat of the music was synchronised with their hearts, pounding with every pulse as they yearned to dance beside you. Patrick sighed happily as the slinky material of your blush pink dress highlighted your figure as you moved, revealing the sheen of sweat on your collarbones and decolletage. When Tashi put her hands on your waist and pulled you close, it was almost too much for them.

“Oh my God,” Art whispered.

“Oy,” Patrick agreed, shaking his head as he smirked. Art may have been entranced from the moment you walked out onto the tennis court, but this was when Patrick decided he had to have you.

As the song faded into the next, you and Tashi were panting. You fanned your face as Tashi asked, “Drink time?” Nodding in agreement, you followed her off the dance floor to the table where you’d left your drinks earlier.

Art and Patrick’s heads followed you as you left, bodies stumbling after you when they realised this was their opportunity to talk to you. As you and Tashi sipped your fancy French orange soda, the guys watching you earlier approached.

“Hey!” the first one exclaimed. This boy had dark brown curly hair, a blue polo shirt, and a grin that looked like he meant trouble. “I’m Patrick Zweig.”

The blond in the pink button-up added, “Art Donaldson.”

Tashi smirked at the way they were fawning over the two of you. “I know who you are,” she admitted. Her gaze swept from Art to Patrick, adding, “You’re Fire and Ice, right?”

Art stared at her. “Oh my God,” he said in a low tone.

Patrick, smoother and less easily rattled by pretty girls, happily confirmed, “In the flesh.”

“Of course!” You tried not to laugh as you eyed Patrick and recognised him. He was the one with the… unique serve. “How could I forget? Nice game today.”

You sat on one of the orange wicker chairs, and Tashi followed suit, crossing one leg over the other. She looked up at the boys through her lashes, wondering, “Which one’s which?”

“What do you think?” Patrick challenged her.

As he and Tashi shared a loaded stare, you bit your lower lip, trying not to look as amused as you felt. Guys like Patrick came and hit on Tashi all the time; it wasn’t anything either of you hadn’t seen before. Like always, you sat on the sidelines and waited patiently for Tashi to reject whoever took up her time so the two of you could enjoy your evening. You tucked your right ankle behind your left and relaxed against your backrest, watching the events unfold.

“You were fucking incredible today,” Art complimented. The words practically stumbled from his lips as if he couldn’t help himself. The blond’s deep blue gaze flickered to you. His cheeks reddened when he met your eyes, causing you to tilt your head curiously. This was new. Guys barely gave you the time of day around Tashi, which was exactly how you liked it. Art’s blatant and visible adoration was different. “Both of you. I’ve never seen anyone serve like that before,” he added.

“Thanks,” you acknowledged, lips curving. You leaned forward, placing your hands on your bare thighs and smirking. “I did lose, though,” you pointed out, teasing Art. “Don’t you feel bad for me?”

Art stammered, trying to say something clever to match your energy, and Patrick watched curiously. You weren’t at all like he thought you would be. He assumed you would be timid compared to Tashi, but that wasn’t the case. You were definitely the more guarded of the two of you, wearing a mask at all times and only letting it slip when you looked at Tashi. Mysterious wasn’t quite the right word, but Patrick thought you were intriguing.

You decided to put Art out of his misery. “I’m just messing with you,” you promised, relaxing. The Coke bottle Art was clutching for dear life loosened in his hand. Your eyes on him made him all soft and gooey, and he nearly dropped the bottle.

“It really was amazing,” Art echoed eagerly. “I mean, it wasn’t even like tennis. It was an entirely different game.”

Tashi sipped her drink. “Thank you,” she replied. “You’re going to Stanford, right?”

“Yeah! How’d you know that?” Art asked.

“Um–” Tashi chuckled– “We just accepted our offers and they mentioned you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh!”

Patrick visibly deflated at the mention of college, which you clocked right away.

“I’m guessing you aren’t a future Cardinal?” you asked, allowing him to study your expression. The affectionate manner in which you discussed Stanford surprised him, given how insanely talented you and Tashi were.

“No, no–” Patrick shook his head– “I’m just–” he cut himself off. “You guys aren’t going pro? Why waste your time playing college tennis?”

Saving Tashi from having to explain her life decisions to a total stranger, her father walked over to get her attention. “Baby, I need to steal you for a second,” Mr Duncan interrupted. “Over at the trophies.”

“Uh, okay.” Tashi stood and looked down at where you were seated. “Are you good here?” she asked, girl code for Are these losers bothering you?

“I’m fine,” you promised. “Go look hot with your trophy, okay?”

Tashi chuckled. “You know I will.” She looked between Patrick and Art, watching with amusement as you sat there, oblivious to the two guys tripping over their feet to get your attention. It was like watching a game of tennis unfold in real time, except off the court, and you were the prize. “It was nice meeting you two,” Tashi said.

“If my mother asks where I am, tell her to follow the sound of disappointment,” you called as Tashi left to join her family. With the way her shoulders shook, you could tell she was laughing. Now that your comfort person was gone, you felt out of place. You cleared your throat, getting up from your chair. “Well, it was nice meeting you both,” you said in lieu of a farewell, setting your drink down and moving to make your escape.

“You know you’re better than all those girls playing college tennis, right?” Patrick interjected before you could leave.

You raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I don’t know that. I’ve never actually played any of them before. Guess I’ll find out soon enough, though.”

Patrick chuckled. “Oh, come on. Why put off going pro when you nearly won the Junior US Open?”

“Not that it’s any of your business but I’m not putting anything off. I’m not going pro,” you confessed.

“You’re kidding,” Art blurted. At your unimpressed gaze, he amended, “Sorry, I just mean that I’m surprised. You’re incredible, you could probably be the player of our generation if you wanted to.”

As sweet as the compliment was, the thought of you being the face of women’s tennis brought an unsettling discomfort to your stomach.

You raised a shoulder, shrugging. “That’s just it. I don’t want to.” The breeze ruffled the lightweight skirt of your dress and revealed more of your thighs. The boys stared, and you sighed. “Patrick and Art, was it?” They nodded, perking up at your remembrance of their names. “Your interest in my tennis career is both endearing and entertaining, and for that I thank you. But the player of our generation is right there, taking pictures with the trophy she won today.”

You all looked at Tashi. She was a natural in front of the camera, able to charm anyone in the vicinity with a pretty smile.

Art caught your hand before you could leave. “Hey, wait a second,” he implored.

You halted, turning and watching his eyes flicker down to your wrist, where a second friendship bracelet joined the one you’d been wearing throughout the US Open. This one said Tashi’s name and had the number one beside it, celebrating her victory. When he raised his head, you felt your breath hitch as you caught his gaze. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue – and slightly brown on his right eye – that seemed to see right through you. You felt your cheeks warm. The intensity of his vulnerable eyes made your stomach flutter nervously.

Art’s thumb brushed your wrist and sent shivers down your spine. “I like your bracelets,” he said, smiling. “Did you make them?”

“Uh, yeah. I make them for me and Tashi when we go to tournaments. Or for big events.”

“And she makes some for you? That’s nice.”

“Oh, no. Tashi doesn’t have the patience or desire to do much other than tennis, so I can never get her to sit down long enough to actually complete one.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So, nobody’s ever made you a bracelet before?”

“Nope,” you confirmed.

Art smiled. “Idiots,” he murmured. Your eyes widened in surprise. “Do you really have to go?”

Your growing desire to stay made it clear that you did. “I’ll be watching your match tomorrow,” you said, glancing between the boys and pulling your hand from Art’s gentle grip. “I can’t wait to see what Fire and Ice do when they’re up against each other. Though, I already have a pretty good idea.”

Patrick smirked. “Oh really?”

“Anyone who’s ever seen you play knows that you–” you looked at Patrick– “Are fire, and you–” you looked to Art– “Are ice.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You play impulsively and passionately. You express yourself through tennis, but not playing defensively enough can be your downfall,” you explained.

“It hasn’t been so far,” Patrick gloated.

“That’s because you play people like Art, who play it safe. That’s the only reason he’s never beaten you.” You looked between the pair of best friends. “I’m not your coach, so I’m not going to lecture you two. I’m just saying that you might consider learning from each other. It’s why your doubles matches are so electrifying, the combination works.” They both grinned broadly, focused on your praise. “I’m excited to see what happens tomorrow. But for now, I’ll say I enjoyed meeting you,” you said goodbye.

Patrick fell onto the seat Tashi had occupied, shaking his head disappointedly as you left them behind.

Art paced beside him, picking at the label of his Coke bottle. “Now what?” he asked.

“What do you mean? That was it,” Patrick retorted, dismayed.

“You don’t wanna stick around, try to talk to her again?”

Patrick frowned. “No, no, that’ll seem too desperate. We should just wait for the shuttle back to the hotel.”

“Yeah, sure,” Art agreed, gaze stuck on your retreating figure. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Patrick chimed, glancing up at his friend before dragging his eyes to where you approached the mansion. His lips were pursed in concentration, hooded eyes watching you like a hawk.

The two boys stayed rooted to the spot, their eyes fixed on you as you seamlessly weaved through the crowd. Smiling down at Patrick when he didn’t move, Art shook his head. Patrick wasn’t going anywhere without getting on your good side; that was clear.

You disappeared into the house for refuge from the people and noise. That was another reason you didn’t want to be the face of women’s tennis. You never quite felt like you fit in anywhere unless Tashi was by your side, and half of being a professional athlete was convincing the world that you belonged. After pretending to be the perfect daughter your mother wanted for eighteen years, you weren’t keen on doing it for the rest of your career to facilitate a dream that wasn’t yours.

You found the bathroom and locked the door behind you. Staring at your reflection, you meticulously adjusted your hair. Next, you smoothed the fabric of your dress, striving for an unattainable perfection that was expected from you since you were a little girl. Your eyes betrayed the sadness you always felt at tennis parties as you finished polishing your exterior. Each time you went to a party like this and put on the mask you wore for your career, you felt a piece of yourself slipping away.

“Wearing heels is like volunteering for a medieval torture device, but with more blisters,” you commented hours later when Tashi said her final goodbyes.

Your best friend laughed. “They sure do look good, though.”

The two of you stumbled down the stairs in the backyard, holding on to each other and giggling as you tried to make it back to the car so you could take your heels off.

“Carry me,” you whined jokingly, draping yourself onto Tashi’s shoulder.

“No, carry me!”

Two voices interrupted your banter.

“Hey!”

“Hi!”

It was Art and Patrick, lounging on a sofa and grinning at you like they couldn’t believe they got to see you again. Seeing Patrick made you want to laugh again – given your mother’s strong distaste for his unusual serve – and you averted your eyes to suppress a giggle.

Tashi answered for you both, “Hi.” She laughed a little, steering you towards them. “You guys are still here.”

“Great party!” Art enthusiastically replied.

“Thank you. Um, don’t you guys have a final? Shouldn’t you be, like, um, preparing or something?”

“God, I can’t wear these shoes any longer,” you mumbled beside her, dropping unceremoniously into the chair beside the boys and leaning down to take off your white heels.

Art and Patrick watched you distractedly before realising Tashi had asked them a question.

“Oh, it’s just the Juniors–”

Art was interrupted by Patrick. “I think we both know how it’s gonna go,” Patrick commented.

Amused, Tashi chuckled. “Okay, well, um, it’s cool that you stayed.”

You hummed in agreement, picking up your shoes and standing beside Tashi again. “Very cool,” you echoed her.

Art stood with you, subconsciously mirroring your body language. “Yeah!” His response was overly loud and too enthusiastic for your plain comment, but he couldn’t help but look at you like you hung the stars in the sky. “I actually wanted to ask you about your serve–”

Patrick interjected, “Hey, do you smoke?”

You grimaced. “Cigarettes?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Do you?”

That was how the four of you ended up at the beach at the end of a long night. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the shore lulled you into a state of happy exhaustion, each gentle breeze whispering a well-deserved rest.

“This place is ridiculous, isn’t it?” Patrick mused as you circled the house to get to the private beach.

“What do you mean?” Tashi exclaimed. “What do you mean? It’s nice!”

“It’s like a castle. Like, they wanna be feudal lords or something.”

“Oh, and what does your parents’ place look like?” Patrick remained silent. “Exactly!” Tashi cried triumphantly.

“Not like this.”

“No, it’s bigger,” Art teased.

“No! Well, I mean, yeah, technically it is,” Patrick yielded, glancing up at the mansion. The disdain in his voice and face were familiar to you.

“God, I hate big houses like this,” you mused. The breeze ruffled your hair as you gazed up at the huge house. Intrigued, Patrick looked at you and nearly sighed in delight. You were so angelic, bathed in moonlight. It was almost as if it radiated from your skin; you were the personification of a lunar glow. “Everything inside is absolutely perfect, but nobody really lives there. They just exist. Lifeless and isolated.”

“Like owning an antique chair that’s too fragile for anyone to sit on,” Patrick commented, grinning as you met his eyes. His lake-blue eyes held a depth of emotion and character that surprised you, revealing layers of his inner world without words. While Art’s blue eyes were filled with adoration, Patrick’s showed a flicker of his true self.

“Or a grand piano some famous musician once played, so now it just sits there, untouched. Even though it was made to be used, not admired,” you added, a sad ache filling your chest as you thought of your own home.

Trying to lighten the mood, Patrick asked, “What do your parents do to get a huge, lifeless house of their own?”

You chuckled like he was joking. Art and Patrick shared a confused glance before looking to Tashi for help. “You seriously don’t know?” she wondered, wide-eyed as she curved an eyebrow. “Y/N’s mom is Irina Madden. She has eleven grand slam titles from the 70s.”

Art gasped. “Are you serious? Irina Madden’s your mom?!”

“She sure is. Why? Do you want to trade?” you replied.

Patrick nearly snorted at that, all too familiar with overbearing rich mothers. “So that explains the whole Stanford thing,” he deduced as you arrived at the beach and sat down. “Good old mommy issues.”

“It takes one to know one,” you reply without any real bite. Art and Patrick chortled and lit their cigarettes, not arguing with that.

Coming to your defence, Tashi pointed out, “You know, they offer classes in college. Y/N’s the smartest person I know, she was always going to go to college and major in something difficult and thought-provoking,” your best friend mused. She smiled at you. You reached over and squeezed her hand, grateful for her constant encouragement.

“If your mom’s Irina Madden, can’t she just pay for Stanford?” Patrick observed. “Why get a tennis scholarship if you don’t even want to play anymore?”

You glanced at Patrick and tried not to let your eyes wander too much. He seemed too cocky and confident to be your type earlier, but you liked that his questions challenged you. He wasn’t going easy on you, and for some reason, that excited you. Patrick’s intense eyes, filled with a curiosity that bordered on relentlessness, made you nervous in an unfamiliar way. You liked that he never held back. It stirred something exhilarating in you.

“I like earning my place and taking responsibility for my future,” you confessed. Your hands itched to do something to settle your nerves, so you fiddled with your friendship bracelets. “If my mom just buys my way into everything then it’s too easy. Even though I don’t want to go pro, my hard work is what made me a good tennis player. I earned my spot at Stanford, but that’s the last thing I want to use my skills for. No more Opens, no more international tournaments. I’m done.” Patrick nodded, satisfied with your honesty. “What about you? When are you going pro?”

He took a drag from his cigarette. “As soon as I can,” Patrick confirmed. “Hitting a ball with a racket is a great way to avoid having a job.”

Art shook his head, leaning back and disapproving of his best friend’s perspective.

“Well, that’s also your problem,” Tashi argued. She leaned back on her hands and looked at Patrick, meeting his blue-eyed gaze. “‘Cause you think that tennis is about expressing yourself, doing your thing. That’s why you still have that serve.”

You giggled at that, finally letting yourself release the laughter you were holding in all night long. Art and Patrick couldn’t resist smiling as your joy filled the air. Your happiness was contagious and addictive, eliciting their own chuckles.

“What, you don’t like my serve?” Patrick asked you, throwing his hands out like he was offended.

“Are you kidding? It’s the only reason I know who you are! You’re on my mother’s blacklist because of it. I have no idea how your coaches never gave you shit and forced that out of you.”

With a knowing smirk, Patrick observed you. Away from the party, you were unguarded and open, something he was immediately drawn to. Beneath the jokes and playful facade, you spoke your mind freely, especially with Tashi around.

“You know, I really appreciate this new honestly behind your witty exterior,” Patrick commented happily. “But you never answered my question.”

Your lips curved, and your eyes shone. “I like it,” you admitted reluctantly.

Tashi and Art groaned at that, complaining about what an absurd atrocity Patrick’s serve was. “His ego really doesn’t need any more inflating,” Art added, dodging Patrick when he reached over to smack his arm.

“I’m just saying, it brings something interesting to the game,” you defended yourself. “Tennis is so traditional and rigid. It’s called a ‘gentleman’s game,’ which just emphasises what an elitist sport it is. I like that you’re putting your own spin on it,” you added. “Tennis isn’t a sport where people take those kinds of risks often and it’s exciting when people do.”

Patrick hung on your every word, captivated by the melody of your voice and feeling a rush of excitement course through him. His cheeks flushed, and he wished you would always be there, talking to him, looking at him; your attention made Patrick feel alive in a way he had never experienced before.

“Well, it works,” Patrick sidestepped, a little overwhelmed by your compliment.

Hiding her smile, Tashi looked away before she ruined the moment. “Yeah, but you’re not a tennis player. You don’t know what tennis is,” she argued.

“What is it?”

“It’s a relationship,” Tashi declared. You grinned. Tennis, and what it really took to be a great player, was one of the many things nobody communicated as well as your best friend.

Patrick motioned between you and Tashi. “Is that what you two had today?”

“It is, actually,” she agreed, nodding. “And not just today, but everyday, and every time we play.”

“It makes our friendship stronger,” you added, bumping shoulders with Tashi affectionately.

“In those one and a half hours, there were so many moments we were actually playing tennis, and we understood each other completely. So did everyone watching.” Tashi smiled at you, catching your eyes. “It was like we were in love. Or like we didn’t exist. We went somewhere really beautiful together.”

“You screamed,” Art pointed out. You watched curiously as he and Tashi shared an emotional look. They seemed to connect on the same level you and Tashi did, viewing tennis as more than a game or a way to avoid life’s responsibilities. “During match point, when you won. I’ve never heard anything like it before,” he added.

“Y/N’s a real tennis player. It’s easy to get swept away when playing with her.”

Art set his gaze on you. The breeze ruffled his blond hair, and he was effortlessly handsome. “If you understand tennis so well, I don’t see how you can quit,” he admitted.

You let your eyes drag across his face, the sharp slope of his jaw and the unruly curls framing his forehead. And those eyes, open and honest, made your breath catch. “I don’t see how I can keep going like this,” you replied. “Tennis demands everything from you. You need guts and heart and you can’t hold back, not even a little bit. That’s a lot to ask of yourself when it’s somebody else’s dream for you.”

Art smiled sympathetically, understanding the price to be paid if you wanted to make it as a professional. “But you love it so much,” he whispered. “How are you ever going to give it up?”

“Y/N’s always going to return to tennis,” Tashi agreed with Art. “She knows what real tennis is. You can’t just leave it behind once you’ve really felt it. Even if she tries, I don’t think she can ever let it go.”

That was your fear about playing tennis at Stanford.

Sighing, you tried to explain yourself. “I’ve never gotten the chance to actually figure out what I want to do. I do love tennis, and I think quitting will be the hardest thing I’ll ever do, but I have to do it.” You cleared your throat, looking at the city lights in the distance. “My existence came about because my mother wanted a protégé to beat her grand slam record. That way, her tennis career is extended through mine; she’ll be immortalised, and her place in the tennis world will live on. But I want to be appreciated for more than the capacity of my body. I want to be admired for my mind.”

Patrick, with his cigarette long forgotten, nodded encouragingly. “I see that for you.”

You met his deep blue-green eyes and felt a flutter in your chest. “Yeah?” Patrick opened his mouth to reply when you heard the quiet beep of your phone. You cursed, panicking as you grabbed it from the sand beside you. “Missed call from my mother,” you told Tashi with wide eyes.

She took your arm and reassured you, “Okay, time to go.”

“Are you in trouble?” Art asked, concerned.

You laughed, getting up and brushing the sand from your dress. “The only thing scarier than a missed call from my mother is an actual conversation with her,” you joked, letting him know it would be fine. “That being said, I’m afraid I’m going to have to get going.”

Tashi joined you, picking up her black heeled sandals. “I should go before my dad comes looking for me,” she added, linking arms with you. This was one of the most fascinating evenings Tashi had ever experienced. Usually, when guys threw themselves at the both of you, you would roll your eyes and brush them off, assuming they were there for her. Today, Patrick and Art actually managed to catch your attention. “We’ll see you at school, Art.” Tashi waved.

“Wait, are you on Facebook?” Patrick asked before you could leave.

“What?”

“He’s asking for your numbers,” Art explained. His hand fell limp, placed on the armrest attached to the beach chair as he smirked charmingly at you and Tashi. “And so am I.” Patrick grinned impishly.

“You both want our numbers?” Tashi echoed, amused.

“Very much so, yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Turning her head to look at you, Tashi was a little speechless. You’d entertained several guys at parties before. While they were all looking to flirt with the number one junior girls’ player, none had been shameless enough to simultaneously hit on both of you. Putting her free hand on her hip, Tashi said, “Okay, well, we aren’t homewreckers.”

“We don’t live together,” Art replied easily.

Patrick joined in on the joke, “It’s an open relationship.”

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend,” the blond accused his best friend.

“I do not. Hey, come hang out with us later,” Patrick eagerly invited you both. “They put you up at the hotel in Flushing, right? We’re in Room 206.”

“Want us to come tuck you in?” Tashi mocked.

“What, do you need a bedtime story and a bath, too?” you quipped.

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Patrick teased you. “But I just meant we can keep talking.” He eyed you with a new fire in his eyes, burning into your gaze like the desire in his bloodstream. “About tennis.”

You raised your eyebrows knowingly. “Is that what we’ve been talking about?” you wondered sarcastically, earning an eye-crinkling, audacious smile from Patrick.

“Good night,” Tashi said, effectively ending the conversation.

“We have beer,” Patrick called in a melodic tone as you walked away, earning laughter from you and Tashi.

“Okay,” Tashi replied sarcastically. Once they were out of earshot, your best friend snickered. “God, they want you so bad. I think they may have been drooling.”

“Oh, shut up,” you exclaimed. “They want you just as badly!”

“Do you honestly believe that?” Tashi wondered. She was in disbelief that you couldn’t see how hard the boys worked for your approval. “Patrick was practically eating out of your hand. You have those guys wrapped around your finger, Y/I!”

“Absolutely not,” you denied. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, T, but nobody ever has eyes for me when you’re around. And that’s okay, I’m not exactly looking for a guy to parade around as eye candy.”

Tashi sighed. A smirk appeared on her lips as she recalled Patrick’s invitation. “Maybe we’ll just have to go to their room and ask them.”

You laughed hard, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes. “There’s no way I’m going anywhere near their room! Not tonight, not ever.”

Oh, how wrong you were.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: idk if you guys are into fashion and know the iconic blumarine dress from 2004 that i’m talking about but just in case you don’t, here it is!! also if anyone is interested in being tagged in future chapters, please let me know in a comment or in my ask box 🩷

#challengers #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #challengers fanfiction #mike faist x reader #josh o connor x reader #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig imagine #fic: guilty as sin?

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