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chubby-bun-bun · 7 months ago

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untitled (part 1)

You help out an injured crow. It seems to be a bit of a strange crow, though.

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, still linkon city but mc is not a hunter, basically an alternate universe, minor character deaths, mc has a distinct backstory and personality, slow burn, hurt/comfort, you’re lowkey a disney princess witch character who attracts crows 🐦‍⬛✨💅

314.27.

You exhale slowly. Barely enough to cover food for the next two weeks, until your next paycheck. That nasty cold last week really gutted this month’s budget.

With a heavy heart, you retrieve your card from the ATM and start your usual trek toward the city park, stopping by the familiar food cart that sells peanuts at a good price. (Yes, a questionable purchase, considering your financial situation. No, you will not acknowledge said questionable purchase.)

Linkon City in mid-December is bone-chillingly cold, blanketed in powdery snow—but that’s never stopped you from your daily visit to the park. The freezing temperatures tend to drive most people away, leaving the usually lively space quiet. You, however, can’t resist coming to see your friends.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Speak of the devil. Well, devils.

A giddy smile tugs at your lips, and the exhaustion from the day evaporates.

“Hi!” you call out to the murder of crows circling above. Their midnight feathers gleam against the brilliant pink, orange, and purple hues of the winter sunset. You reach into the inside pocket of your weathered but ever-loyal overcoat and grab a handful of peanuts, tossing them onto the snow-free patches of ground.

The crows descend immediately, squabbling as they pick at the treats.

Moving carefully so you don’t spook them, you settle onto a nearby bench. A few of the bolder ones flutter down to join you, perching on the bench as their beady eyes lock on your face. Beaks held high, they wait expectantly, clearly hoping for more. You huff a soft laugh and oblige, tossing another handful.

Your peculiar friendship with these crows began a few years ago. The day of your family’s funeral.

A drunk twenty-year-old behind the wheel of his rich businessman father’s SUV, barreling down the highway at four times the speed limit. Your mother, father, and younger brother, on their way to your college graduation. A tragic case of wrong place, wrong time.

You don’t remember much after that. Everything that followed was all a blur. The driver didn’t really face any consequences, thanks to their family’s influence. Their lawyer presented you with a pitiful settlement offer (or, in hindsight, maybe you were more or less threatened into accepting it). Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of hopelessness at the time, or the suspicion that your lawyer might have been paid off by the driver’s family, but you ended up agreeing to settle.

It didn’t matter anyway. Your family was dead.

The funeral was a simple event. Some extended family came to offer their support and condolences. Once the day ended and everyone went home, however, you were left alone in your family’s house.

You don’t remember much, but you do remember standing in the middle of your living room, a growing tightness in your chest slowly overtaking you, as if your heart was being squeezed from the inside. The walls of the room seemed to close in around you, and suddenly it was impossible to breathe. Somehow, you ended up bolting out the door—leaving it wide open behind you—and ran. You didn’t know where you were going, but you eventually found yourself here, at this very park, sitting on this very bench.

A single crow had perched nearby, watching you silently. Your hand brushed against your coat pocket, and you found some leftover peanut shells from the funeral’s snack offerings. You absentmindedly tossed them toward the crow, and it hopped down to peck at them. There was something oddly comforting in the way it ate, its sharp black eyes darting back toward you as if to say thank you.

The next day, you returned. One crow turned into three, then six. Slowly, more joined, until it seemed like the entire murder looked forward to your daily visits and peanut offerings.

A sudden, loud thump behind you pulls you from your thoughts. You instinctively turn toward the sound, only to find… nothing. Frowning, you scan the area, glancing left and right, until your eyes land on a crow lying on the ground directly behind your bench.

You gasp and quickly stand, rushing over to it.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, crouching down and scanning it for signs of injury. It looks like it fell straight out of the sky.

The crow caws at you—loudly. Unlike the murder behind you, its caw is sharper, more jarring. It grates against your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Its eyes seem to gleam red when the light catches them at certain angles, similar to how a cat’s eyes flash in the dark.

Then your gaze drops to its left wing, which is bent unnaturally.

“Did you hurt yourself?” you murmur, leaning closer to examine it. The injury doesn’t look like a typical fracture. The way the wing bends reminds you more of a mechanical part with a screw loose than a broken bone.

It caws again, louder this time, as if trying to get your attention.

You glance up at the sky and realize it’s grown darker. Heavy clouds swirl above, signaling an impending snowfall. Behind you, the other crows begin to disperse, their farewell squawks echoing as they take flight.

Looking back down at the injured crow, you watch as it tries to take off, only to crash back onto the ground with its unusable wing.

“Um, would you like to stay with me until your wing feels better?” you ask hesitantly.

The crow tilts its head to the side, almost as if it understands you. You miss the subtle garnet glow in its eyes as you carefully scoop it into your arms, cradling it gently to avoid jostling its injured wing.

“I’ll help you out until you’re better,” you say softly, already walking toward home. “I don’t have much, but you can have the rest of the peanuts I bought earlier.”

The crow doesn’t resist, settling into your arms. Its body relaxes against you, and you tighten your hold to shield it from the cold winter air.

You know your groceries won’t stretch far for the rest of the month, but your conscience won’t let you leave an injured animal out in the snow. Hugging the crow a little closer, you feel a small smile tug at your lips when it starts to coo softly.

You don’t notice the faint whirring sound beneath its gentle cooing, like the hum of tiny mechanical gears.

note: not sure where I’m headed with this tbh, but it’s kinda like an alternate universe of the game’s main story. still set in linkon and the concept of evols still exist, but mc is basically an average citizen. (lowkey gonna treat this whole thing as a massive projection of recent irl feelings teehee.) we’ll see how this goes!

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

#ori.writes #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylus fluff #sylus hurt/comfort #sylus comfort #sylus angst

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pawstriez · 1 year ago

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. ༉‧₊ 𝐀 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄

✧ synopsis : after almost a decade of a healthy marriage, four kids, and a stressful bakery opening, you and toji have learned to take your alone time very seriously.

✧ tags : firefighter! toji + baker! reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, blk fem reader ofc, mentions of alcohol, public sex ?? in the car, mentions of vaginal penetration, cowgirl, pet names like bby, love, pretty, mama bc yall already know etc, excuse any errors. i wrote this in a few different povs at first so — 𝟓.𝟖𝐊 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 smiles as he pulls into his driveway, the familiar cacophony of squeals and thuds greeting him before he’d even opened the door - the kiddos must’ve been riding the after dinner sugar high. cheerfully shaking his head, he braced himself for the chaos and noise that awaited inside your now shared, cozy little place the two of you have grown to call home.

it’d been nearly six years since that fateful summer when you’d quite literally swept into his life like a swirl of sunshine and baked goods. six years of dizzying ups and downs, laughter and tears, the most intense love he’d ever known to face. sometimes it still didn’t feel real, even now - this life you’d built from the spark of simple flirting over sweets n’ crème brulee.

so much had happened in that span of adventures : you, graduating at the top of your culinary class, your desserts and pastries that you’d stressed so hard about being the toast of the competition circuit. toji retiring as lieutenant of the fire department after over a decade of service, not daring to miss out on any more milestones as the two of you started your family. not to mention the whirlwind of wedding plans, and then the magical day itself where you vowed forever to each other in front of family and friends.

then the true blessings had come along, one right after the other - megumi, who was still adjusting to the new family dynamic of it all, but was yet so proud of his father. little rascally rose, a firecracker just like her mama with the same bright eyes and full curls. goofy, tender-hearted kenji who practically worshipped his big brother and sister, wanting nothing more than to mimic their every move and be just like his papa. and finally malachai, the happy surprise baby who seemed to have inherited the best of both his parents’ feisty personalities.

toji wouldn’t trade this beautiful chaos for anything in the world. but he’d be lying if he said the constant juggling act of family life wasn’t difficult - for the both of you. it was rare for you guys to get a real moment alone together, just the two of you. your intimacy had cooled down amidst all the lovely distractions, as had the simple art of conversation beyond trading information about grocery lists and pediatrician appointments.

date nights had become a long forgotten luxury, almost seemingly impossible to coordinate when your trusted babysitters were your siblings with families of their own. but tonight, uncle satoru had stepped up and volunteered his services, giving toji and you a well overdue opportunity to reconnect.

toji unbuckles his seatbelt and exited the truck, tamping down a flutter of nerves. what if the easy rhythm and sizzling chemistry you’d once shared was gone for good? a victim of sleep deprivation and chicken nugget overdoses? what if it was too late to rekindle that spark?

pushing open the front door, he was immediately swamped by a tiny army of squirming, chattering bodies. “papa, papa, papa!” rose seized his hand and tugged insistently. “you gotta’ see the cool fort we built! kenji made it super big this time!”

“we’ll show ya, dad!” kenji crowed, already streaking towards the living room, malachai hot on his heels with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“hold up there, you lil’ tornados,” toji called in vain, being unceremoniously dragged by his giggling daughter into the chaos. every available pillow, cushion, and blanket had been appropriated to create an elaborate tent city surrounded by toys and stuffed animals . . and gojo sat smack in the middle of it all, long legs splayed out as he played some kind of intricate make believe game with the two boys.

“baby, you’re home!” you swept in from the kitchen, wisps of hair escaping your messy bun and face flushed from exertion. you were wearing a cute pink sundress that struck a nostalgic chord in toji’s memory - you’ve had it for years, one of his favorite things to slowly peel off of your shoulders after a night out to be exact. “thank goodness. i was startin’ to think i’d have to call backup.”

you stand on your tippy toes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, and just like that, his weariness evaporated as if by magic. your familiar floral scent, your soft warmth, the kids’ laughter surrounding him - this moment of serenipity in the midst of routinely chaos bringing a lump to his throat.

“not a chance,” he rumbled, sliding an arm around your waist. “i wouldn’t miss this for the world.” downy goosebumps erupted down your arms at his words, flustering deeply. awe, his voice still got you going after all this time. good to know. very good to know. “y’all holdin’ down the fort?”

“y’know how it is,” you reply with a gentle squeeze of his hand, watching in fond exasperation as rose ordered poor gojo to lie down so kenji could perform his ‘very important surgery.’ “satoru took his role a lil’ too seriously this time and got lost in their games.”

you stood together watching for a few moments, the kids pausing just long enough to acknowledge toji’s presence again before diving back into their shenanigans. it was all so beautifully vibrant and alive, the little people you created and who brought such joy, such richness and meaning to your lives. but still . . . toji felt the undeniable tug of wanting you all to himself. just for a few hours at least. he wanted to bask in your undivided attention. to remember what it felt like to not share you with anyone else.

you must have picked up on his restlessness, your eyelids drifting shut as he stroked the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. “soon as we get back, m’ cravin’ some peace n’ quiet. maybe a hot soak in the tub after all this madness.” your tone was light and casual, but the smoldering undertone was unmistakable.

toji found himself swallowing reflexively as his skin prickled with awakening interest. “is that a promise, mama?” he murmured gruffly, not even trying to hide the roughness in his voice.

you peeked up at him through long lashes, a smile curving on your lips. “mm . . . you should know this by now. m’ a girl who keeps her promises.” burying any further suggestive replies, you cleared your throat and turned to gojo, who’d been buried under a pile of stuffed teddy bears. “alright babies, mama n’ daddy gotta’ go for a bit. gumi’s at a friend’s place, and there’s dinner in the fridge if you guys get hungry — so pretty please be good for your uncle gojo, y’hear?”

a chorus of whines follow after your words, but the kids were quickly distracted again by the siren song of more roughhousing. rose blew toji an exaggerated kiss while kenji and malachai paid both of you absolutely no mind whatsoever, already wrestling in a tangle of small limbs. gojo simply shot you a weary thumbs up from beneath his plush prison, glasses askew and hair wild as toji fought the urge to chuckle, “have fun you two. keep me posted, and please for the love of god - quit knockin’ her up, toji. i’m being attacked by three little rascals and it’s just absolutely absurd,” he jokes.

“i don’t make promises i can’t keep, satoru.”

you fished your purse and sweater from the hall closet while toji hovered close, drinking in every detail of you. suddenly he was struck by the profound urge to pull you in close and just breathe nothing but you, to lose himself in the familiar softness and strength of your embrace. but he restrained himself with an effort. all too soon they’d be able to indulge that craving for closeness, he reminded himself as you linked your fingers through his.

with a final wave to the kids and fond shake of his head at gojo’s predicament, toji guided you to the car. the simple act of opening your door and helping you in was enough to set his pulse racing, anticipation crackling in the air as your fingers tangled briefly together. electric from even the most innocent of contact.

by the time he’d slid behind the wheel, he felt ten years younger, energized by the promise of this evening alone with the woman he loved. as toji pulled out of the driveway, you were already reaching for the radio to cue up one of your old playlists, humming along contentedly as warm twilight spilled through the windows. toji cuts you an affectionate glance and reaches over to squeeze your knee - a brief, cherished moment before the magic began.

he couldn’t wait to see where it all would lead.

“so where we headed, hot stuff?” you asked, eyes sparkling with mischief as she toyed with the ends of her hair. “hopefully somewhere without a soft play area and a kids meal if y’know what i mean.”

toji snorted, distracted for a second by the way the skirt of her sundress rode up her thighs as she shifted in the passenger seat. “nah, no funzones tonight. but i can think of a few things i’d like to play with though.”

his suggestive drawl was rewarded with a scandalized laugh and playful swat to his shoulder. “you’re so gross, babe.” your eyes twinkle with amusement before flickering to the darkening sky outside. “seriously though . . . surprise me? i wanna’ be wooed. s’ been too long since you’ve had the chance to take me out. we used to do it all the time.”

kissing away the pout on your lips and squeezing your knee again, toji grinned crookedly. “i know, baby. tonight will be one to remember - i swear.”

true to his word, he bypassed all the usual dining spots they frequented as a family, instead guiding you to a cozy trattoria tucked away on a quiet cobblestone street you didn’t even know existed. he pulled up in front and turned to gauge your reaction, smile widening at the look of surprise and delight on your lovely face.

“bambolino’s?” you exclaimed, craning your neck to peer through the warmly lit windows. “toji, this place is famous! i swear geto raves about their stuffed shells every time he comes over . . like they’re life changing or something!”

“nothin’s better than your cookin’ so we’ll see. m’ a tough crowd to please.” chuckling, he cut the engine and climbed out to open your door, and you hopped out with a charming little shimmy of your hips, curls bouncing around your shoulders now. toji quite literally had to bite back a groan as images of sweeping you up onto the hood and hiking that dress up around your waist flooded his mind unbidden.

jesus, dude. maybe he felt a little too hot n’ bothered. this was a night to reconnect emotionally, not just physically. ‘keep it together, man,’ he mumbles to himself.

threading your arm through his, you allowed him to lead you to the heavy oak door. “well well, aren’t you just the sweetest.”

toji leaned over to murmur in her ear, voice low and intimate. “like i said . . . a night to remember. and m’ just gettin’ started, lovely.” he felt you shiver and had to quickly resist the urge to press an open mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot behind you ear — the spot he knew drove you crazy. but he reined himself in, offering you his arm instead. you slanted him an arch look from beneath your lashes as you took his elbow, well aware of the charged energy in the room. “you’re such smooth talker,” you teased. “but m’ callin’ you out - you gotta’ keep deliverin’ now.”

the inside of the restaurant was every bit as quaint and charming as the exterior, all warm golden lighting and rustic decor like something plucked from a cozy little italian village. your table of choice nestled in a babylon themed area, made for discreet intimacy. along with linen napkins and sparkling wine already waiting along with a single garden rose in a low vase.

as toji held out your chair for you, you leaned up to brush a soft kiss to his cheek. “this lovely, t,” you murmured, fingers trailing over the pristine white tablecloth. “really, baby . . . jus’ lovely.”

he hummed, momentarily distracted by the alluring fragrance of your signature perfume mixed with the lingering scent of baked goodies in your hair from a hectic day’s work at the bakery. “you deserve it,” he rumbled once he’d found his voice again. “. . . i know how crazy swamped you been with the kids and workin’ on side projects for the shop. tonight is strictly about you, mama. no responsibilities, no worries. just you n’ me enjoyin’ each other. like we used to do.”

your smile softened at the corners as you regarded him with open adoration. “when did all your charm come back?” you teased gently, though . . that tone was genuine. “feels like we haven’t had a moment alone in ages. hard to remember the last time you wooed me like this.”

“tonight’s special. couldn’t let another moment go by without remindin’ you exactly why you chose to put up with me.”

your expression turned impish once more. “coulda’ fooled me - i seem to recall it was you who was pushin’ lil’ ol’ me away, no?”

he formed his features into his best look of faux offense, tone full of lofty dignity. “can a man not get nervous anymore? you were stunning i was terrified — as megumi would say, your aura was just . . .” beneath the table, you could start to feel him sliding his foot forward to glide his ankle over yours, naughtiness giving him away even before your muffled squeak of surprise. toji just grinned that stupid grin at you innocently, as though not at all aware of the toe he was trailing up the delicate skin of your inner calf, “out of this world, sweetheart.”

you had to clear your throat before replying, voice husky with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “oh shut up. jus’ admit you loved me before you even knew it yet.” but despite the humor, you lashes had lowered invitingly as you let your calves part further, granting him unrestricted access.

his gaze snagged on the glimpse of your skin revealed as his foot inched higher and higher to skim the sensitive crease behind your knee. already, his blood was pounding with renewed interest, awakened by the heady combination of your pheromones and just being within your space. hmph. it was like suddenly the intimate, flickering candles and red wine he'd scoffed at earlier as a cheesy cliche seemed perfectly fitting, matching the frisson of sexual heat enkindling within him.

you spent the first part of dinner treading familiar ground - teasing n’ flirting, punctuated by conversations and easy silences that felt almost novel in your peacefulness these days. there was an ease to it, a bond between you both that couldn’t be so easily broken by the stress of soccer practices, ballet recitals or piles of laundry.

an intimacy beyond the aspects of physical that toji clung to . . . even as his vixen urges stirred elsewhere.

once appetizers had been polished off and the main courses brought out, toji leaned back in his chair and leveled you with a heavy lidded stare. slowly, he scooped up his cloth napkin and tossed it onto the table as though throwing down a gauntlet. your eyebrows rose in polite question even as a smirk tugged at the corners of your lips.

“y’know . .” toji began, voice pitched low and rough like buttered rum. “you look absolutely stunning tonight, yn. i couldn’t be more proud of the woman you are n’ i jus’ uh . .” he pauses for a moment. wow, even after six years you still found a way to steal the words right out of his mouth, “i jus’ love you — you’re the mother of my children, my heart, my everyth - ”

your breath caught audibly, lashes fluttering as you struggled not to squirm under the potent weight of his stare. still, you rallied with a sassy arch of one brow. “if we weren’t already married, i’d say you were attempting at proposing to me right now, toji.”

“aye, m’ tryin’ t’be sentimental here, lady,” toji chuckled, the sound impossibly intimate amidst the hushed ambiance of the cozy trattoria. reaching across the table, he traced a feather-light path along your forearm with the very tips of his fingers, feeling the fine hairs there rise in gooseflesh, “y’know i’d marry you a thousand times over.”

the sleek black car purred through the dim streets, a monotonous swish of the windshield wipers being the only sound breaking the heavy silence within. in the passenger seat, you gazed out the rain streaked window, city lights smearing across your face in streaks of red and gold and neon blue. the night had been magical - champagne and oysters at bambolino’s, after that there was slow dancing cheek to cheek to smoky jazz at the club down the street, and last but not least — chocolate lava cake shared and savored at the tiny candle lit dessert boutique. all the romance and luxury toji knew his beautiful wife deserved.

but now, cocooned together in the warm confines of the car, the mood had shifted into something . . . more carnal. not sure how it couldn’t have become carnal with toji’s eyes constantly flicking away from the road to steal glimpses of you. in the dim glow of the dash, he drank in the way your clingy pink dress embraced every mouthwatering curve you had, the deep v neckline offering a tantalizing view of your collarbones. and oh, the silky chestnut curls tumbled over your bare shoulders, toji’s fingers itched to suken into them, to pull her close and breathe in the familiar sweet vanilla of her shampoo as he cruised.

he inhaled subtly, your delicate floral perfume underlaid with the warm, sleep-rumpled scent of your skin filling his head with sense memories. lazy sunlit mornings tangled in egyptian cotton sheets, your hair spilled across the pillow. sweaty afternoons grappling on the living room rug like lovestruck college kids. languid twilight baths with your slippery curves pressed back against his chest. he shifted in his seat as his blood began to simmer.

as if she could read his increasingly lurid thoughts, yn turned to meet his gaze. in the shadows, her eyes glittered like black diamonds, dark and fathomless, brimming with wicked promises. slowly, deliberately, she dragged her pink tongue across her bottom lip, leaving the glossed flesh glistening temptingly. toji swallowed hard.

suddenly, the air of the car felt suffocating, the rain misted air unbearably thick and hot. toji cranked the ac, but it did little to cool his overheated skin. he stared deadahead at the surging blades, trying to ignore the rising pressure in his groin.

without a word, you lifted a hand from your lap and slid it across the center console. toji sucked in a sharp breath as your palm skated up his thigh to rest just south of dangerous territory. even through the crisp fabric of his tailored slacks, her touch burned like a brand. as your nimble fingers began to trace idle whorls and spirals, you notice toji’s hands flex around the steering wheel.

“you better get us home safe, mr. we have kids to feed,” you purred, your dulcet voice flooding the charged air between them. “wouldn’t wanna’ have an accident now, would we?” your tone was pure filthy innuendo.

toji risked a glance sideways and instantly regretted it. you looked like a temptation, the old school femme fatale, all dangerous curves and scarlet lips and come-hither eyes. he could practically hear the harps and horns of the kill bill sirens blaring in his brain as he dragged his gaze forward again, locking it on the taillights winking mockingly through the rain smeared glass.

it would be so easy to pull the car over, to say fuck it to propriety and yank you into his lap. to ruck that sinful dress up around your waist and lose himself in your pussy until the windows were disgustingly fogged. so easy to let the inferno building in his veins consume you both right there in the goddamn car.

but toji prided himself on his discipline, his ironclad restraint. you couldn’t be a firefighter without grit, without the ability to stay focused and clear headed no matter what temptations beckoned. he knew that all too well. so he kept his ass planted firmly in the leather seat, even as his body screamed for more of his wife’s wicked touch.

even if his cock throbbed persistently against his fly, inflamed and aching.

you, however, seemed to have no such compunctions about maintaining composure. heedless of toji’s grip on the wheel, you unbuckled your seatbelt and twisted in your seat to face him. in a move that nearly short circuited his brain, you drew one endless leg up onto the seat, making the hem of your dress ride up to reveal the lacy edge of a sheer white thigh high.

toji’s mouth went dust dry. “what’re you doin’?”

“gettin’ comfortable,” you replied airly, but the devilish quirk of your painted lips gave away the game. slowly, you trailed a fingertip along the inside of your thigh, the back of your hand just barely grazing the tent in toji’s slacks as you did so — making him hiss out a breath between his teeth.

“quit playin’ wit’ me, yeah?”

you hummed, unconcerned, and continued her leisurely exploration, tracing idle patterns on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. “i’d rather you play with somethin’ else — i mean, you said it yourself.”

toji’s foot pressed down on the accelerator as if by it’s own volition, the car surging forward through the fuzzy soft darkness. toji's heart beat in time, a primal drum urging him to get the fuck home, where he could strip his vixen of a wife bare and remind you where teasin’ got you.

remind you how good he could make you burn.

your throaty chuckle broke him from his reverie. he glanced over to see you still caressing your own thighs, a wry twist to your lips. “you’re thinkin’ about fuckin’ me, aren’t you?” you mused casually, as if remarking on the weather. “how bad you wanna’ pull this car over, bend me over the hood n’ fuck me like i know you want to.”

liquid heat rolled down toji’s spine to pool in his groin, his cock jerking ravenously in the confines of his straining zipper. “goddammit,” he bit out, knuckles gone bloodless on the steering wheel.

you bit your lip on a smirk, shaky satisfaction in your exhale. “c’mon, daddy,” you coaxed, voice husky and sex-soaked. “i can feel you thinkin’ about it . . . those big hands spreading me open jus’ f’you?”

toji couldn't choke back his groan, pressure building to a rolling boil in his veins. his whole world narrowed down to the flex of his thighs, the strain of keeping the car on the road, and the siren song of your body, your scent, your dirty fuckin’ mouth.

“i’ve been so wet all night, t . .” you continued blithely, as if remarking on the weather. “since the second you walked in from work.” you reached over to smooth a proprietary hand along his thigh, thumb still skating dangerously close to his crotch. “i jus’ wanted to drop to my knees and worship you with my mouth right then n’ there.”

toji nearly swallowed his tongue, vivid images of your plush lips stretching around his cock flooding his brain. “c’mon, baby . .”

“ — but i was such a good girl,” you singsonged. “i was patient. i kept my hands to myself through dinner, even though all i could think about was how good you’d feel inside me.” your fingers creep higher to graze his zipper, “how deep i could take this big dick in my pretty little cunt.”

“don’t make me stop this car n’ —“

“pull over,” you murmured, voice molten and dark with promise. “anywhere. i don’t give a fuck - jus’ fuck me, toji. please . . s’ been too fuckin’ long.”

your words shot through him like an electric charge, heat searing down his spine to pool gravid and pulsing in his groin. “shit’,” he bit out, dizzy, nearly delirious with the force of his want. “ well, i know better than to argue with you. go ahead n’ tell me where, baby.”

“over there,” you pointed through the smeared windshield at an empty parking lot on the right, a black gulf set back from the glistening street. “that lot. pull in.” nearly shaking with the effort of holding himself in check, toji wrenched the wheel to the right, tires juddering over wet asphalt as he whipped into the vacant lot. the moment he threw the car into park, you were scrambling into his lap, sinuous as a snake, that tight dress rucking up around your hips completely now.

toji groaned gutturally as the heat of you settled over him, the damp crotch of your panties grinding right against his aching cock. you were like a furnace through the thin satin, searing him, branding him. he bucked helplessly under the pressure, too far gone for finesse.

“shit,” panted against the shell of his ear, nipping at the sensitive skin. your little hands scrabbling at his belt, desperate, graceless. “wan’ you s’bad. been drippin’ — it hurts, daddy . .”

toji made a wounded sound as you finally freed his straining erection, wrapping slim fingers around the thick root and pumping once, slowly. you let out a broken moan at the heavy heat of him pulsing in your grip, the way he jerked and kicked against the palm, already leaking from the flushed tip.

“look at you,” you purred, running a thumb through the slippery bead of precum. you brought the digit to your mouth, sucking it clean with a low hum that vibrated straight through him. “mm, so fuckin’ hard f’me.” toji’s hands flew to your hips, gripping bruisingly tight, a drowning man clutching a lifeline. the flimsy lace of your panties was no barrier - he ripped them aside, baring the slick folds of your cunt to the humid air. need pounded behind his eyes, turned his blood to quicksilver, his bones to molten steel.

“i missed you, mama,” he rasped, throat tight, voice scraped raw. “missed you so much.” his calloused hands roam your tummy, waist, and then chest — stopping when his palms grope the full plumpness of your titties, “awe baby . . they’re so heavy. have they gotten bigger?” the casual rubbing is soon interrupted when he pulls them out from their comfortable position in your sundress, your breasts flopping out in the prettiest way.

nipples hard n’ ready to just be absolutely tended to.

“i think so,” you reply, running your hands up and down his chest, “ever since i had rose . . they’ve gotten more n’ more swollen.” it was true. that girl had been your most painful birth ever — and keep in mind, this was coming from a mother of four. your back ached, you felt uncomfortable everywhere, and your tits well . . . let’s just say it felt like carrying around bags of sand attached to your sore chest.

but you’d do it again. anything for your sweet baby girl.

“do they hurt?”

“a little bit,” and on your word, toji leans forward, taking one of your exposed nipples into his mouth as he teased the other with his fingers. you could only moan as he sucked softly, almost as if he were trying to pry somethin’ out of em’, “aah — mmph! s’ sensitive, daddy . . so sensitive.”

with a needy cry, you wasted to time to pull your panties to the side and tap the tip of him against your slit, “put it in, t . . please,” you don’t even wait for his approval to notch the broad head of his cock against your opening as he worked. he didn’t mind - not one bit. if anything, he was more eager than you. you then wrap around him, gently sinking down, sheathing him in tight, and clinging on. his head cracked back against the headrest after letting go of your nipple with a pop! - fireworks exploding behind his eyes as your silky walls enveloped him, gripped him, fluttered sweetly around his aching length like you’d been waiting for his return.

“oh my god,” you whimpered, lip caught harshly between your teeth. you looked nearly pained, brow pinched, lashes fluttering as you fought to adjust to the invasion. after all, it’s been a while. “i missed you stretchin’ me out, daddy . . missed y’re dick s-so much.”

toji panted shallowly through his nose, every tendon in his body pulled bowstring tight as he fought the feral urge to surge up into you, to seize and take and claim. his fingers flexed convulsively on your hips, blunt nails biting into the plump flesh of your ass.

“i know, i know. i feel you mama. m’ so sorry, daddy’s been neglectin’ this pussy, huh? keep makin’ yourself f-feel good,” he encouraged gutturally, thumbs sweeping over the delicate skin of her inner thighs, smearing her arousal into the creases. “mm, tryin’ to take it all i see . . always so eager to make me proud, ain’t ya’?”

with a keening mewl as a reply, you began to move, rocking shallowly, finding a rhythm. your hands braced on his broad shoulders, using the leverage to grind down, to swivel your hips in maddening figure eights. pleasure sparkled up toji’s spine, gathered in his heavy balls, pulling them up tight and throbbing against his body.

“s-shit, yeah,” he hissed, head swimming, drowning in sensation. “that pussy’s fuckin’ good, yn — always so fuckin’ good. ride that dick jus’ like that.”

you made a desperate sound, head lolling on your neck, lush mouth falling open. each drag of your warm walls had his nerve endings sparking, a livewire of ecstasy. he could feel every clench, every ripple of your ass around him, could feel you growing wetter, slicker, easing the way for faster, harder thrusts.

soon enough you were bouncing feverishly in his lap, shameless, transported. your nails bit into his shoulders through his shirt as you slammed yourself down, the wet smack of sticky flesh and her breathless cries fogging the windows. each downstroke punched the breath from his lungs, until he was dizzy with it, drunk on the feel of you, the sweat and sex musk and some dark energy radiating off of you.

“c’mon,” he growled, palming your ass, spreading you open lewdly so he could watch himself disappear into your gleaming folds, over n’ over, creamy n’ noisy. “gonna’ nut on this dick, hm? gonna’ soak daddy with this greedy lil’ cunt? my greedy fuckin’ cunt — all mine, isn’t it? say that shit.”

“y-yess, s’ all yours, d-daddy,” you panted, back arching sharply as his pelvis pressed just right against your swollen clit. that and the feeling of his hardened head nuzzling against your gummy cervix was just enough to — “m’ close . . m’ so close, baby!” he could feel you starting to tighten, starting to talk and pulse around his hammering cock. with a choked off curse, he gripped the globes of your ass and slammed you down, grinding his hips in deep, filthy circles that had your voice breaking on a sob.

“cum on that dick,” he commanded, holding her steady even as she thrashed and writhed, impaled to the root on his steel-hard length. “give it to daddy — m-make a mess on me, nasty fuckin’ slut.”

he punctuated the words with one brutal thrust, and you had no choice but to cum with a ragged wail, clenching down on him so tight he lost his vision. your cunt rippled and gushed, rhythmic waves gracefully and sloppily milking his pulsing cock as ecstasy whited out behind your eyes.

“fuck, fuck, baby, i can’t — m’ bout to cum, m’ cummin’ - aw fuck!” he choked out, and then his own orgasm was crashing through him, a tidal wave of rapture searing through his veins. he spurted long and hard, painting your trembling walls with scorching ropes of cum that had you shuddering through the aftershocks.

for long moments they stayed locked together, panting into the thick air, pulses gradually slowing. finally you shifted with a shuddery exhale, and toji groaned low in his chest as he slipped free of you in a hot gush. she collapsed bonelessly against his chest, sweat cooling on your skin, looking thoroughly debauched.

toji caught your face between his palms, tipped it up to meet her blissed-out gaze. “holy fuck i love you,” he rasped, thumbs sweeping over your tear stained cheeks, “so fuckin’ much, man - fuck.”

“me too . . l-love you too, babe.” you finished, voice a satisfied husk. a slow grin spread over your face, catlike and smug. “i can’t believe you fucked me in a parking lot.”

“you didn’t give me much choice,” he growled playfully, nipping at your jaw once, twice, three times. “my lil’ cum bunny jus’ couldn’t wait till’ we got home.”

you shivered, squirming against the twitch of renewed interest between his legs. “guess we better head back then,” you murmured. “round two in our nice comfy bed sounds pretty perfect right about now.”

toji made a low sound of agreement, already envisioning peeling her out of that sinful dress and worshipping every inch of her properly. “i can make a thirty minute drive a fifteen — that work for you?”

“y’know you didn’t have to ask that.” you clambered off his lap and they hastily rearranged your clothing, giggling like you were being caught by some mall cop patrolling the area. and then, toji reversed, pulled back onto the glistening streets, one hand resting possessively high on your thigh as the lights of the city streaked by.

soon you were pulling into your familiar driveway. toji killed the engine and dashed around to open your door, ever the gentleman as usual even after tiring you and himself out so thoroughly. hand in hand, giddy and eager, you made you way up the front walk, your heels clicking on the wet concrete.

the door swung open on a scene of perfect domestic tranquility. there on the oversized couch lay satoru, sprawled out and snoring softly, the little ones curled up safe and sound on his chest. the sight filling toji’s heart with indescribable warmth.

gingerly, you both crept closer, not wanting to wake your peaceful babies. toji gazed down at their somber faces, so innocent in sleep, and felt his throat tighten with emotion. you then settled against his side and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“we made some damn cute kids,” you whispered with a contented sigh.

“absolutely we did,” toji agreed gruffly. he turned and pressed a kiss to your hair, soft and sweet. “i love our little family so much. and you . . i say it all the time, but god, i love you more than anything, yn. i wouldn’t have them without you.”

you tilted your face up to his, eyes liquid and luminous in the low light. “take me to bed n’ show me just how much you love me, lieutenant,” you murmured against his lips.

grinning, toji swept her into a bridal carry, careful not to jostle satoru and the kids. “roger that,” he whispered back playfully. “let’s go complete operation ‘welcome home.’”

and with that, he carried his gorgeous, giggling wife down the hall to their bedroom, ready to spend the rest of the night making good on the promise that had been building between them all evening long — a promise of passion, devotion, and a love that could set the whole world on fire.

#🎀 — www.satorubiwrites.com #i luv them so dearly #toji x black reader #toji smut #toji x female reader #jjk x poc!reader #toji x black y/n #toji fushiguro #toji #toji x reader #toji x fem! reader #toji x you

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anonniemousefics · 2 months ago

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One thing that was on my Six of Crows spin-off wishlist was a Kanej equivalent to the Wesper scene where they’re waking up together and Kaz knocks on the door and tells them to get downstairs. “Wait but the touch aversion and trauma” — I know, I know, hear me out.

The scene opens with Kaz and Inej waking up in Kaz’s bed, fully clothed, on top of the blankets, six inches apart. Their hair’s barely mussed — they’ve clearly done nothing but sleep as close as they can manage, which is to say their knees haven’t even touched. But there’s a sweetness as they slowly blink awake and see the other and take in the fact that it’s morning and they’ve done it, they’ve spent the night together and it was nice. “Are you okay?” he murmurs to her. Inej nods, still sleepy. “You?” she checks. He nods. They link pinkies in the space between the pillows.

Then there comes the raucous pounding on the door and they both startle. Jesper’s voice follows, shouting for Kaz. Inej is already out of bed and bolting for the open window before Kaz can barely say “Wait—” Now he’s annoyed and grumpy as he angrily limps for the door and yanks it open. “What,” he barks at Jesper.

“It’s Inej.” Jesper’s breathless and panicked. “Her room’s empty. No one saw her get home last night. We need to—”

“I’m right here.”

Jesper yelps in fright as Inej appears right behind him, only slightly out of breath.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” he complains, clutching his chest. “We need a better system.”

Meanwhile, Kaz’s eyes are saucers, his eyebrows raised as he stares at her, the question in his mind so clearly written on his face: how did you do that?!

But Inej just looks smug as her glance flicks between the two of them.

“Breakfast at the Kooperom?” she asks lightly on her way to the stairs.

“Yes.” Kaz looks practically smitten as she leaves. Jesper stares at him like he’s sprouted tentacles.

“What was that?” Jesper wants to know. Kaz’s expression immediately falls back into his usual death scowl.

“Knock on my door like that again and I’ll plaster my walls with your innards,” he says before slamming the door in an amused Jesper’s face.

#fandom stuff #six of crows #six of crows spin off #mourning what could have been #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x inej #jesper fahey

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evellynssocbrainrot · 10 months ago

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My favorite thing in the whole Grishaverse is pre-Six of Crows Kanej. Just thinking about the two of them forming a partnership, gradually becoming best friends, going on jobs together, training together, fighting together, spying together, lying on their bellies next to each other, scheming together in Kaz's office, gossiping about Ketterdam and the latest murder mysteries in town, solving and sussing out secrets, stealing stuff, buying stuff to eat occasionally, eating it together, sometimes sharing it with a bottle of whiskey or what not, killing together, killing for each other, watching over each other, seeing sunrises and sunsets together, bickering with each other, sometimes having coffee in the morning, a tired Inej falling asleep in Kaz's bed, a tired Kaz falling asleep at his desk and Inej putting a blanket on him, sometimes one cleaning and bandaging wounds that the other can't reach, and over the course of this, gradually building trust and emotional intimacy, and, as a result, ultimately falling in love with each other.

#six of crows #grishaverse #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kanej #crooked kingdom

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motorsportbarbie13 · 3 months ago

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Hurricane - Part Six

{Liam smirks as he watches Max slide the reformer bench back and forth experimentally. “I still don’t know how you got him to agree this, Emma. He hates doing these kinds of things for content.” “It’s because he’s fucking obsessed with her.” Lando crows, smug grin back on his face as he baits Emma on purpose. She gasps, smacking Lando’s bicep as hard as she can. Lando yelps loudly, “Jesus Christ, woman! You have an arm on you.” “Because I do pilates three times a week, you asshole!” “You’re going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong though? We can all see it. He’s down bad for you, miss ‘I’m wearing this dress for him and he won’t pay any attention to me.”}

warnings/notes: no warnings on this one. as always, big thanks to @lestapiastrisgirl for keeping me from walking into traffic and listening to me beat a dead horse for being in my flop era with this story. pairing: max verstappen x emma meyer (female OC) word count: 4.3k

hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

The jet engine hummed steadily, creating a blanket of white noise that settled over the elegantly decorated cabin of Max’s private jet. Towards the back of the plane, Emma sat curled up in one of the captain’s chairs, decidedly removed from the rest of the chaos that played out in the front of the cabin. She had chosen the spot in the back of the plane, as far away from Max as she could manage, on purpose. The pre-weekend notes and schedules on her laptop screen blurred into meaningless lines as she stared, unseeing, at a spot unseen in front of her, replaying the events of the night before with relentless, agonizing clarity.

She still couldn’t believe she had slept with Max last night. Well, not slept with Max in the colloquial of course, she corrected herself mentally, but the distinction felt flimsy and paper thin against the truth of the overwhelming intimacy of what had happened last night. The memory of waking up to the soft dawn light, the lingering warmth of Max’s body haunted her even now. The almost unbearable sense of peace that had settled over her as she had laid there, listening to the steady, even breathing of a sleeping Max, nearly lulling her back to sleep.

It had all been too much for her.

Too real.

So she had ran.

A shiver totally unrelated to the cool cabin air, fluttered down her pine. It wasn’t just the physical closeness that had her utterly distracted this morning, although the memory of Max’s arm pulling her close as she had slipped into bed in an attempt to calm her anxieties, sent a treacherous flutter through her stomach. It was the vulnerability she’d shown him, the quiet strength with which he’d held her as the storm had blown through the city center. He hadn’t dismissed her fear, hadn’t minimized her feelings. Max had simply been there, a steady, grounding presence in the face of her overwhelming anxiety.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? That was what had sent her spiraling into this terrifying cortex of confusion and panic. She wasn’t used to that kind of…care. That kind of soft, tender concern to ensure that she was okay instead of just brushing off her feelings as ‘too much’ was something that she was completely unaccustomed to. Her parents, with their detached disinterest and thinly veiled disappointment, had taught her that love was conditional, a fragile thing that was easily broken by the simplest mistakes. Even her past, (always very brief) relationships had been characterized by a cautious distance, a preemptive retreat before what she knew would be an inevitable rejection.

Max was different though. She felt that in her bones, even if she didn’t want to fully admit it to herself. He’d shown her a depth of kindness and understanding she’d never experienced before, behavior she couldn’t come close to being able to process. He was her boss after all and she was desperately trying to remain professional. She valued her job, her independence, the freedom that she had and if they crossed the line that had come so perilously close to smashing the night before, all that would be in jeopardy.

Emma knew, deep down, that Max had feelings for her. How could she not know? With the way he looked at her, the almost possessive protectiveness he’d displayed several times over the course of the time they’d spent together, albeit relatively short. The lingering touches, the way his voice softened when he said her name, the way he watched her for hours on end while she sat in his apartment playing the piano at night.

It was all there.

Undeniable.

And Emma?

There were feelings there for her too. How could there not be? They were all tangled up in a fascinatingly confusing blanket of attraction, admiration and a distinct sense of belonging. Like her soul was content when she was around him. Those feelings had become crystal clear last night when she had fallen soundly asleep to the sounds of a thunderstorm, tucked neatly into his side, the steady beat of his heart the thing that calmed her to sleep.

But Emma didn’t trust it. She couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust herself. Her past had taught her that she was unlovable. Unworthy. Her own parents, the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, couldn’t manage it why would someone who didn’t have to love her, choose to love her? Why would someone as successful and confident and strong choose her?

And if he chose her now, what’s to say he wouldn’t change his mind in a week? Six months? A year? And then where would she be? Without a job, right back at square one where she’d been when Max had first found her. Except then, she’d have no one else to come save her.

So Emma had decided in that early morning light, as Max had wrapped his arm around her middle so tightly her chest ached with the comfort of it, that retreating was the safest thing to do. It was safer to hide behind the walls of professionalism, to focus on her job and to keep Max at arms length.

It was easier this way.

Simpler.

Safer.

While Emma sat alone in the back of the plane, an island of quiet indifference to the chaos that was taking place near the front of the cabin, Max pretended that what was happening didn’t bother him. He tried to lose himself in the incessant chatter that was the lethally annoying combination of Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz, but even the mindless prattle about which golf course in Miami was the best couldn’t distract him from what had happened last night.

At first, when he woke to his alarm this morning, Max had thought it had all been a dream. The way that he had woken up to the storm and found Emma baking in his kitchen to sooth her anxiety, the way they had nearly kissed, lips barely touching in the lightest touch imaginable, the way he’d felt Emma relax into his arms and finally, finally he’d felt the way her breath had steadied against him.

It all seemed like some distant dream that he’s made up but when he woke up that morning, there were signs that he hadn’t conjured up the fantasy out of thin air. The way he wasn’t in his normal spot in the middle of the bed, the rumpled second pillow that was usually untouched, the smell of Emma’s cinnamon and vanilla perfume that lingered on his sheets. It was going to be hell washing them now, he realized. He didn’t want to lose that smell.

He’d woken up alone and stumbled into the kitchen, calling out her name to a silent apartment. For a brief, horrifying moment Max had thought Emma had packed a bag and left him completely. He’d found a note on the counter though, handwritten in her loopy, feminine half cursive, half printing handwriting, just as the anxiety of the possibility had clawed at his throat.

Went out to do some last minute errands before the flight this morning. Made some breakfast sandwiches for you, they’re in the fridge. Be back soon. ~ Em

As relieved as Max was that she hadn’t skipped town, the fact that she hadn’t even woken him up to tell him she was leaving grated at him. She’d been back with barely enough time to spare before they’d had to leave for Nice and with them driving with Lando and Carlos to the private airfield, there had been no time to talk.

Now on the plane, the silence that stretched between them was thick and tangible, a weight pressing down onto Max’s chest so heavily he was fighting to breathe. He kept stealing glances of Emma in his peripheral vision, not wanting to blatantly swivel his head towards her in an obvious way. She was practically curled in on herself, her gaze fixed on the laptop nestled in her lap, a wall of professional composure firmly held in place. Sure, it was Emma but it wasn’t his Emma. It wasn’t the Emma who leaned into their flirty banter, who knew exactly how to push his buttons to get him to do the exact thing he didn’t want to agree to, who knew how to soothe his frayed nerves during a difficult season full of challenges. She had become his comfort without him even realizing it and now that she’d distanced herself, Max was spinning wildly, desperate to be back into her gravitational pull.

Had he misread everything? Had the intimacy of her agreeing to try to fall asleep in his bed been a desperate attempt to do something to assuage her anxiety, only to seem too wrong in the morning light? Had he been so desperate in his desire to protect and be with her that it had colored his perception of everything? The thought sent a cold wave of dread through him. He’d never been good at this, at reading other people’s intentions and emotions but he had thought he’d gotten it right with Emma. Thought he’d read her correctly but as he sat pretending to listen to Lando and Carlos argue about the merits of using a 9 iron in the middle of a fairway, Max was beginning to question everything.

He felt Lando’s gaze on him suddenly, as if he was just realizing Max wasn’t all there in the conversation. A steady, knowing look lingered just a moment too long, like Lando was seeing the distress on his friend’s face for the first time that day. Max offered him a tight smile, hoping to throw him off the scent of his brooding. He didn’t want to get into this now, not with Emma just a few feet away and within earshot. He knew Lando meant well, but it just wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have at the moment.

Max was too trapped in his own head. A whirlwind of ‘what if I just…’ and ‘did I cross a line?’. He replayed the near-kiss over and over in his head, the fleeting brush of their lips, the way Emma had jumped back when the thunderclap had shook the entire building. Had he ruined everything but suggesting she sleep with him? He hadn’t meant for it to come across as anything but a genuine desire to make her feel better. Maybe it had been too far and she had felt forced into it. But at the same time, he knew what he had felt when she had slipped between his sheets. The way Emma had looked like she belonged there all along. The way that she had melted into him when he laid down beside her. He had been hesitant at first, not wanting to make her uncomfortable but it had been Emma that had shifted closer to him after a few moments. When he had taken the risk and wrapped his arm around her middle, she had leaned into him then and he thought it was okay. Thought it was what she wanted.

As he watched her far away stare pretend to focus on the laptop in front of her though, Max wasn’t so sure of anything any more.

Chaos seemed to be the order of the day Thursday morning. PR interns fluttered around the sleek, modern pilates studio, setting up various cameras, making sure the drivers were properly mic’d up, and getting some behind-the-scenes photos to share to various social media channels. Emma stood quietly in the corner as her now-favorite intern Laurie clipped a mic discreetly to her navy athletic crop top.

She wasn’t quite sure how she had ended up here, getting ready to be featured in a F1 video featuring the drivers from Red Bull, Racing Bulls and McLaren but, here she was. Sure, it had been her suggestion in the first place but the suggestion had been more of an off-handed remark while she’d been sitting in hospitality one way back in Japan after watching Max and Yuki film an even sillier video. Emma had thought it would be a fun way to showcase the drivers’ athletic abilities beyond the confines of the cockpit.

And then the media team at the F1 HQ had picked up on the idea and suggested that they turn it into a special feature video with three teams. It had been natural to pair Red Bull up with Racing Bulls, of course but the suggestion to add McLaren had been Emma’s idea, wanting to give Lando a little payback for teasing her relentlessly after she missed her pilates class after their night out the week before.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks this is going to be difficult.” Lando crowed from where he sat on one of the reformers, sliding idly back and forth on the padded bench.

Emma raised a brow at the smugness in his voice, “Have you ever done this kind of pilates?”

To his right, Liam chuckles. “Have you seen his lack of flexibility? There’s no way he’s going to make it through the entire class.”

Lando stood, frown on his face and hands on his hips, “What are you talking about? You’ve never done this stuff either.”

Liam shook his head, “No, but Hannah has been doing it for years. I did a class with her while I was in LA during the winter break. It’s no joke.”

Lando’s frown deepened as he seemed to second guess his enthusiasm. Before he can form a smart remark, Max and Yuki walk into the room, matching in their coordinated Red Bull athletic wear.

Liam smirks as he watches Max slide the reformer bench back and forth experimentally. “I still don’t know how you got him to agree this, Emma. He hates doing these kinds of things for content.”

“It’s because he’s fucking obsessed with her.” Lando crows, smug grin back on his face as he baits Emma on purpose. She gasps, smacking Lando’s bicep as hard as she can. Lando yelps loudly, “Jesus Christ, woman! You have an arm on you.”

“Because I do pilates three times a week, you asshole!”

“You’re going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong though? We can all see it. He’s down bad for you, miss ‘I’m wearing this dress for him and he won’t pay any attention to me.”

Liam does a poor job of hiding his laugh behind a cough. Emma goes scarlet but recovers quickly, turning up her nose at the British driver. “Don’t be mean, I’ll tell the instructor to make the class more advanced just for you.”

Lando grins but there’s a definite touch of fear in his eye, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, Papaya Boy.” She hisses, wicked grin winking over at him.

Before Lando has a chance to make a retort, Max walks over to where the three are standing in the middle of the studio. Max runs his hand through his hair, eyes bouncing nervously between Emma, Liam, and Lando. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He asks. “Alone?”

Max looked a little worse for wear, Emma notices for the first time that morning. It wasn’t anything alarming, nothing that anyone else would’ve probably picked up on, but she knew. His eyes were just a bit red-rimmed, skin a touch paler than usual. It was like he hadn’t slept well the night before. Emma worried at the corner of her lip, conceded that his distress was because of her. She was supposed to make his life easier as his assistant. If she kept causing him problems, it wouldn’t be long until he let her go, Emma was sure of it.

Lando’s brows lift but he just smirks, memory of Emma’s threats curbing any smart ass remark he might want to make. Max looks pointedly at Liam and Lando, as if to say ‘get lost, you two’. Liam is the first to make a move, tugging on Lando’s elbow to give the pair some privacy.

Max shifts his weight as he searches for the words he wanted, his eyes darting everywhere but on Emma. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I can tell them you’re not feeling well or something.”

Emma’s gaze softens slightly at his unexpected concern, warmth blooming in her chest briefly before she quickly smothers it. They hadn’t said much to each other during the drive from the airfield to the hotel last night and she had stayed in her room until the very last minute this morning, preventing any awkward attempts Max might make at bringing up what had happened back in Monaco during the storm.

“I’m okay, really.” She says, but Max clocks how her voice lacks it’s usual playful edge.

Something inside him squeezes at how differently she’s treating him, the sudden distance a painful reminder that he crossed a line the night before and made her feel uncomfortable. He wanted to apologize for everything, for doing something that made her pull away but Max just hadn’t had the chance. Now wasn’t the time, not in the middle of all of this chaos going on around them. He didn’t want to push her away further so Max knew he had to bide his time. It was just too bad patience had never been his strong suit.

“Besides,” She continues, pulling Max’s attention away from his anxiety spiral. He lifts his eyes to look at Emma and his heart stutters. “I was the one who suggested this entire thing, got you all into this. I should at least participate, right?” She shrugs awkwardly, her movements stiff and automatic, nothing like how he’s used to her behaving around him.

The truth was though, the thought of being in such close proximity to Max, of the potential for accidental touches and shared glances, was making her stomach churn with a maddening mix of anticipation and anxiety. She craved his eyes on her, craved the way Max looked at her like she was someone special, someone that mattered. But she didn’t trust herself around him, didn’t want to ruin this opportunity he’d given her, didn’t want to lose him as a friend in her life because she’d come to rely on him even in such a short time.

“I guess someone needs to make sure Lando doesn’t actually break the equipment.” Max teases gently, hoping they can slide back into the easy banter that he’d come to expect from his interactions with Emma.

A wry smile touches her lips as she nods, “I do have a way with the little gremlin, don’t I?”

Max opens his mouth to respond but at that moment, Lucy, the PR person running the shoot steps into the room and calls for everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone, settle in, please!” Lucy calls as the camera crew slides into place around the studio, the camera lights flickering on. They had shot the intro earlier in the day when they had first arrived outside the studio with Emma being plopped right in the middle of the six drivers next to the instructor. She’d been nervous but hadn’t had to do anything other than stand there so it hadn’t been all that bad.

“Chloe here is going to guide you through a typical beginners class…”

“Beginner?” Lando scoffs from where he’s sitting on his chosen reformer. “We’re all professional athletes here, and Emma does this like it’s her job too. You can challenge us, Chloe.”

Emma chuckles, shaking her head. They truly had no idea what they were into. Chloe looks from Lando to Emma, whom she knows is a reformer regular. Lifting a brow in silent question, Emma answers it with a subtle nod of her own. This was going to be so fun.

“You heard him, Lando wants to be challenged.” Emma desperately hoped the cameras were rolling to capture those famous last words.

“I would just like the record to formally reflect that it is Lando and only Lando requesting to be challenged.” Liam mutters with a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Liam.” Emma claps him on the shoulder, struggling to hide the laughter in her voice, “If it’s to difficult for you, you can take a break. Chloe can show you some modified moves.”

Liam frowned at the chorus of chuckles that rippled through the room from the other drivers. “I didn’t say that I’d need help, I could totally keep up with an advanced class too.”

“Oh this is not going to end well.” Oscar mumbles.

“This is going to be so much fun.” Emma practically giggles.

“Okay, I think the cameras are all set up and ready to go.” Chloe’s eyes flick to Lucy, who gives her a nod, before she turns her attention to Emma. “Since you’re the most experienced, why don’t you take this reformer up in the front so you can demonstrate if needed.”

Emma nods, moving gracefully to the reformer Chloe had pointed to. She adjusts the straps with an easy confidence that does’t go unnoticed by the drivers, particularly Lando, who’s earlier confidence and bravado seems to be waning. Max follows her, choosing a reformer a few down from hers, gaze lingering on the effortless way she moves.

Chloe switches on some soft music, waiting to get the go ahead from the sound guys standing at the edge of the room. Once the mic’s adjust, Chloe begins. “We’re going to start with a simple foot press…”

The first bit of the class starts out deceptively easy. The drivers, encouraged by their competitive natures and a healthy dose of huge ego, all look relatively confident for the first few exercises. Lando in particular, starts hamming it up for the camera, exaggerating his movements and murmuring things like ‘see, this isn’t so hard.’ And ‘God, I wish she’d challenge us.’

Mumblings that don’t go unnoticed by Chloe.

As the class progresses, the smugness begins to fade. The controlled movements and emphasis on core strength prove to be far more challenging than anyone (anyone other than Emma, that is) initially anticipated. Yuki lets out a series of increasingly strained grunts, his earlier enthusiasm replaced by a pained grimace. Even Max, whose physical conditioning is usually top tier, is visibly working hard.

The only one who seems to be handling the class well enough to keep up with Chloe’s pace is Emma. She moves through the class with fluid grace that speaks of someone who has spent a significant amount of time perfecting the flow of the class and getting the most out of the equipment. She occasionally offers a quiet word of encouragement to Liam or a helpful adjustment cue to Oscar, her natural easy highlighting the drivers’ comparative awkwardness.

Lando, mid-attempt at a particularly challenging hamstring curl, lets out a groan that’s only half-acted. “Jesus.” He pants, face flushing a bright shade of crimson. “I might have underestimated this a little.” He glances over at Emma, who is doing the same move effortlessly, slight smile on her lips as she listens to the boys struggle. “How are you having such an easy time with this?” He groans.

Emma takes a deep breath before flicking her eyes to Lando in the mirror. “I’m not having an easy time, I’m just not being a whiney baby about it.”

Max snorts a laugh from his spot on the reformer and Emma grins under his attention.

“Okay, that was mean.” Lando whines.

“She wasn’t wrong though.” Max teases breathlessly. He wasn’t going to admit it but he was having issues keeping up too. This class was much harder than he had anticipated but he’d never say anything of the sort out loud. He’d managed to muscle through the most of the class simply by watching Emma. He allowed her to take up all the space in his head so he couldn’t focus on how badly his muscles were burning. It was a pretty good coping mechanism, if he was being honest.

Yuki, attempting a side plank on the reformer, wobbles precariously before collapsing in a dramatic fashion, “My core is dead.” He looks over at Emma, who is again, holding the position with perfect form, a serene expression on her face. “You are an actual machine.”

Despite his own struggles, Max can’t help the small smile that plays on his lips as he continues to watch Emma. Her quiet strength and effortless grace in this new environment is yet another facet of her that he finds himself magnetically drawn to. The contrast between her ease and the drivers’ comical struggles is proving to be the hilarious content the PR was hoping for when this idea was approved by the teams. For Max, however, it’s also a reminder of the determination and strength that lies beneath Emma’s seemingly calm and unassuming exterior.

The way that Lando is looking at her as she wraps up the cool-down moves Chloe is walking them through as the class winds down, doesn’t go unnoticed either. A familiar flicker of possessiveness stirs within him, a subtle reminder of the complicated feelings churning beneath the surface of their professional relationship that will need to be sorted out sooner rather than later.

YouTube Comments

User029 I love how Lando went from ‘this is easy’ to ‘someone put me out of my misery SO QUICK >>>user009 he was so cocky…and for WHAT >>>user111 and Emma reading him for FILTH calling him a whiney baby User444 I fear I am Stan now >>>user000 she put those boys to SHAME >>>User232 and those shy little looks at Max??? WE SEE YOU TWO User4333 I am OBSESSED with the way Max watches Emma. >>>user199 he is so smitten with her, its so cute to watch >>>user0054 its weird to look at your employee like that though >>>user423 not everyone is Christian Horner… >>>user9928 they’re obviously friends outside of work User566 I love a good workplace romance trope User888 I am DYING at how Emma put them all to shame User722 I have not laughed that hard in so long. Whoever came up with this idea needs a raise

#max verstappen #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #mv33 fanfic #mv1 fanfiction

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 1 year ago

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Grishaverse knitting update

I FINISHED THE SIX OF CROWS BLANKET

Okay maybe ‘finished’ is a strong word; all the ends need weaving in (there are so many of them 😭) and I haven’t bought anything to back it with yet but I CAST IT OFF THIS EVENING I’m calling it finished I’m taking the win

The lighting in the photo really isn’t great but here she is in all her glory:

I’m so freaking happy with it

I know a few people asked about the pattern but I don’t have a written one as I just drew up a chart myself and went for it (my second fair isle project ever, and the first was a bauble. I was not ready for this but man I’m glad I just decided to jump I to the deep end because I am obsessed with the result), however I did put up a screenshot of the drawing I used to make my chart a little while ago and if anyone would like me to repost that with my grid superimposed over it and to explain how I did it and what size yarn and needles and everything I used then let me know and I will try to create an explanatory post

I AM SO EXCITED

In other grishaverse knitting news: I haven’t worked on the Kefta in ages tbh but I think I have one sleeve to go before the embroidery I just hate sleeves lol so I’ve been procrastinating and also just generally busy to be fair, and also did I tell y’all I knitted Wylan’s toy crow? I can’t remember, but yeah in my collection of toy crows of the Crows I now have Jesper and Wylan and they sit on my shelf together looking so damn cute. Jesper has a lil hat that he wears at a fun angle and Wylan has lil goggles on his head and a bomb tucked under his wing hehe

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loungemermaid · 4 months ago

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Things I’ve just chosen to believe:

Katniss goes grey young. By her mid twenties she has strands, by mid thirties there’s streaks, and by her forties she’s salt and pepper. Peeta doesn’t look like he’s going grey because he’s blond, and to be fair it takes a little longer, he starts later, but one morning it’s like his hair went white overnight.

Katniss never stops delighting over new food. The food obsession from her younger self, when she was starving, is permanent. She acquires a lot of tastes, especially spice and herbs, but she can’t ever get over unsweet tea and black coffee. Whenever she makes iced tea she has to make two pitchers.

Peeta hates cooking on an electric stove and throws theirs out for a coal one. It’s what he’s used to, he knows how it works, and damn it, he don’t wanna learn anything else. He still, until the day he dies, spends hours cleaning and polishing it, every week.

Speaking of, they both live to be insanely old. Into triple digits. (This is not impossible, most of my family considers “dying young” to be 75). They meet their great great grandchildren. They get wonderful healthcare. That and Katniss’s herbs ensure a long, sweet, happy life. Haymitch does too. He thought he’d die at 40. He meets the grandkids. Katniss and Peeta’s, not just his. (The new liver buys him decades. So does him not putting said new liver through the wringer.)

Even though Katniss greys earlier, Peeta wrinkles quicker. Because he’s white. And very pale. And doesn’t wear sunscreen until his twenties. That’s okay, Katniss thinks his crow’s feet are sexy.

Peeta finds a stray cat while Buttercup is still alive. A girl cat, fluffy and black. Then there’s kittens. And after that, there’s almost always kittens around. Yes, the kittens do try and fuck with Haymitch’s geese. They only ever try that once though. Very little makes Haymitch laugh near as hard as seein’ a six week old kitten ballsy enough to try and pounce a gosling before mama or daddy goose swoop down and bite the shit out of them. It happens every year. And he always loves it.

Haymitch talks about his ma sewing and patchworking his clothes when he was younger, and Katniss gets inspired. She hated knitting, but she’s fantastic at quilting. Her first ones are pretty simple, nothing fancy, but she saves every single scrap. Not because they have to, because she wants to. Because all of them have so little material things left. So, a scrap from a favorite shirt. Another bit from some extra soft blankets that finally bit the dust. Baby clothes. Hair ribbons. Apron strings. She turns it all into beautifully patterned quilts, with small running stitches and (ethically harvested) goose down for batting. She has trunkfulls, gives away the ones mostly made with bought fabric to anyone who wants or needs one. The ones with special fabric she never parts with.

#mer.txt #everlark #and Haymitch #sappy headcanon time because I’m writing again #yay!

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dissociativewriter · 2 months ago

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It’s just a game, right?

Pairing: Reader x LADS Boys

wc: 3.6k

cw: this is a crack fic, tension, bickering, dramatics, proposed murder, mentions of prostitution, you can tell my Sylus bias; not proofread

Synopsis: You invited your five close friends over for a game of Clue. Sure, you were nervous, but how bad could it be?

author’s note: inspired by @alynnia ‘s reblog on this post! Kinda went off the rails but i still think it’s funny. When Sylus was talking about his job as a fruit vendor and mentions how popular the pomegranates are, i almost had him say it was dragonfruit instead, but i wanted to lean into his (albeit minor) pomegranate symbolism. Also im sorry but there’s not much Xavier :( I wasn’t sure how to write him so he’s asleep a lot

tag list: @p4r4dx

Boxes shifted precariously as you carefully pulled Clue from the very middle of the pile. Board games swayed threateningly as you halted your movements, Clue half-out in this impromptu game of jenga. Holding the box triumphantly in both hands, you used your hip to shut the cabinet door, moving forward into the living room.

You dropped it on the coffee table before leaving to get more snacks from the kitchen. Stopping to check the time, you made a mental checklist as you noted you had only thirty minutes until your guests would arrive (if they were on time, that is). You had to put the snacks out, make everything cozy for game night, and shove the growing laundry pile into the closet, hidden away from sight, along with other unsightly or embarrassing things you’d removed from your home.

Of course, you wouldn’t put it past your guests to snoop around anyway.

You set out small bowls of chips, crackers, popcorn, cookies, and chocolates. You only hoped they wouldn’t run out in the first ten minutes. Centering the game’s board in the center with the various bowls around it, you set out all of the little things. The pile of cards (un-shuffled right now. Knowing your guests, they’d want to see you deal them to know you didn’t cheat) off to the side, the small character pieces in their rightful places, and the tiny revolver, rope, lead pipe, wrench, knife, and candlestick placed in various rooms on the board. You grinned proudly at you work, enjoying the aesthetic placement of everything on the table.

Swiftly picking up your laundry as you entered the bedroom, you unceremoniously dumped the pile in your closet along with any other skeletons you didn’t want them seeing. Next, you grabbed a couple fluffy blankets and plucked six plushies off your bed: Pinecone Bear, Bunbun, Happy Snowman, Artsy Birb, Grumpy Crow, and Sunny Apple. You arranged them in a neat pile on the table next to your front door, making sure each was visible.

You took one final look at your living room, tossing a blanket here, fluffing a pillow there. Overall, it had all the coziness you’d wanted. You dimmed the lights, keeping only a couple lamps around the coffee table. Moving the box away from the setup, you jolted as you realized the detective notebooks had been forgotten. You quickly grabbed six, tossing them onto the table, as you rushed to the kitchen, digging through your aptly named ‘junk drawer’ for six pens, pencils, hell, even chalk would do.

Grasping the sixth pencil (luckily, you hadn’t had to resort to chalk), you nearly dropped it as knock sounded on your front door. You tossed the pencils on the coffee table before smoothing out your shirt. You had one last look on the mirror, trying to make sure you looked casual but still put together, and opened the door.

Immediately craning your neck to meet piercing crimson eyes, you grinned as you welcomed him in.

He merely raised an eyebrow. “Eager, much?”

“And a bit nervous,” you sighed as you ran a hand through your hair. “I don’t know if everyone’s going to get along. I’m just hoping the night doesn’t end with me cleaning blood out of my carpet.”

He huffed out a laugh. “As if I would leave a mess for you to clean. You should know I work neatly and efficiently, sweetie.” He took a step forward, intending to move from your entryway to your living room before you placed a hand on his chest. He looked down at you expectantly.

“Before you go,” you pointed to the entryway table, “pick a plushie.”

He chuckled. “Truly, you know how to give your guests a… luxurious experience.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Just pick one, Sylus.” He grinned at you before turning to the plushies.

You watched expectantly as attentive eyes scanned over each plushie. You had an idea, of course, which one he’d pick, but now it was just a matter of seeing if you were right. You internally pumped your fist as Sylus picked up Grumpy Crow, a similar expression on his face.

“I suppose this one will suffice.”

“You sound so grumpy about it, but I see the way you’re holding him close.” You smiled knowingly before turning to walk into the living room. He followed close behind, turning Grumpy Crow over in his hands.

“It’s a he?” Sylus looked between you and the crow incredulously.

“Well, it’s not a she,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You motioned to what you had set up for the game, a grin of pride on your face. “Here, you can sit wherever. I have snacks here and there’s drinks in the fridge.”

Sylus looked around. “It’s very… cozy. I take it I’m the first to arrive?” He looked back to you.

“You were ten minutes early,” you shrugged.

“It’s more polite to show up a few minutes early than late.”

As if on cue, a practiced knock met the door.

You quickly went to answer the door, leaving Sylus to his own devices. Opening the door, his eyes met yours briefly before beginning a methodical sweep over your apartment.

“I apologize,” he began, “if I’ve caught you in the middle of something. I wanted to make sure I was on time—” His eyes landed on Sylus looking increasingly out of place amidst fluffy blankets and fairy lights. Sylus met his gaze with a wolfish grin. “I see you already have a guest.” He eyed Sylus up and down.

Sylus rose, taking quick strides towards the door. “Yes, I’m Sylus. I assume you’re Doctor Zayne?”

Zayne swiftly adjusted his glasses before offering his hand to Sylus to shake. “Good evening, Sylus. Just Zayne will do, though. No need for honorifics outside of the office.” He offered a polite smile.

You watched, shifting on your feet, as the men stood in your entryway, sizing each other up. Though you were relieved things seemed to be going smoothly right now, you knew it could only go downhill from here given the three remaining guests. “Oh, Zayne!” He tore his gaze away from Sylus to meet your excited expression. “Before we go sit down, pick a plushie.” You motioned with a flourish to the small table beside you.

Zayne only stared at you blankly. “That’s childish,” he said bluntly.

“Now, now, doctor. If our hostess requires us to pick a plushie, I don’t see why we should deny her.” Sylus hadn’t lost his grin as he tapped his finger against his temple.

Zayne glanced between you and Sylus before sighing and grabbing Happy Snowman. He raised an eyebrow. “Satisfied?”

You nodded in approval. “Very.”

The men took seats opposite each other, and an almost-comfortable silence took over. You sat on the edge of your couch, ready to open the door.

“I understand you have a very impressive resume, Zayne,” Sylus said as he crossed his legs.

“I try.” He nodded curtly.

“So humble.” Sylus raised an eyebrow.

“I see no point in focusing on past accomplishments,” Zayne explained icily, “When there is still much to do.”

“I’m surprised you were able to make it, Zayne,” you interrupted, nervous of the rising tensions. You wanted to stop before Sylus goaded Zayne into losing his composure. It was hard enough to get Zayne to agree to join this game night, you weren’t about to let him leave before it even started. “I feel like I haven’t been able to see you much lately.”

“Greyson and Yvonne informed me I needed to ‘interact with more people outside of work.’ When you proposed a game of Clue with your friends, I felt compelled to agree.”

“Well, I know I’m quite honored that you can find the time to entertain an evening with the likes of our dear hostess’s friends and I.” Crimson eyes bore into hazel ones.

Before you could redirect the conversation, there was another knock.

“Hey, pip-squeak!” Sylus didn’t miss the doctor’s rigid posture as the recognition of the nickname, or his white knuckles as he clutched Happy Snowman tighter.

Sylus shifted closer to Zayne. “I take it you don’t like this next guest,” he whispered.

“It’s a childish prejudice,” Zayne dismissed quickly, though his eyes were trained on you as you welcomed Caleb inside.

“You seem to think a lot of things childish,” Sylus murmured. “That doesn’t render them meaningless, though.”

Zayne stared at Sylus before they both turned as Caleb entered, Sunny Apple in hand. His smile tightened as he recognized Zayne, his eyes lingering before sparing a glance to Sylus who was now sprawled across a portion of the couch.

“Sylus, Zayne, this is Caleb.” You weakly motioned to Caleb, already wincing at the thick tension. Sylus raised his chin, crimson eyes glinting with mischief.

“Ah, if it isn’t the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet. Tell me, how does one become a Colonel so young?” His head dipped down slightly as a smirk played on his lips.

At the mention of the Fleet, Caleb’s posture straightened, his smile dropping as he observed the leader of Onychinus. “Strength, precision, and loyalty,” he listed off firmly. “My various accomplishments helped me to achieve my rank in the Fleet.”

“Oh? Are you certain it wasn’t higher powers coming into play?” He cocked his head.

As Caleb took a step forward, you suddenly jumped in. “Sylus, why don’t you help me bring some drinks in? What does everyone want?” Ignoring Caleb’s glare towards Sylus and quickly noting everyone’s requests, you dragged Sylus behind you into the kitchen, noticing he was all too eager to receive your inevitable scolding.

“What is your problem?” you hissed as you pulled glasses out of your cabinet.

Sylus leaned leisurely against the counter, taking the glasses as you handed them to him. “I was merely making conversation. I’m just trying to get to know your friends, sweetie.” His smirk grew wide.

“You’re goading them on and you know it.” You narrowed your eyes at him before sighing. “Why can’t you just behave?”

“I’m only trying to make out what kind of people you make friends with,” he explained. “Since I’m one of them, I think I have at least some reason to be concerned. But if it really is that important to you,” his voice softened, “I’ll play nice, kitten.”

Your shoulders relaxed. “Thank goodness.”

“So long as they do, too,” he added as he followed you out of the kitchen, drinks in hand.

Back in the living room, Caleb and Zayne were sat in chairs opposite each other, a tense silence filling in the air. You set the drinks down on the table, Sylus close behind, as you frantically searched for something to say.

Luckily, you were spared the pain as the fourth knock of the night sounded.

As you turned to the door, Caleb asked, “Pip-squeak, how many people did you say would be comin’ over?”

“Five altogether,” you answered. “So after this, there will only be one left.”

With your back to the men, Zayne’s face broke into a small grin at Caleb’s grimace. “Are you alright, Caleb?” he asked, his brows drawing together in faux concern. “You look ill.”

“Perhaps that’s just how he looks,” Sylus drawled.

Shooting Sylus (another) glare, Caleb answered through gritted teeth, “I’m fine.”

As the group listened to the “Hey there, cutie. Did you miss me?” coming from the door, Zayne ducked his head to hide his smile as Caleb’s jaw clenched tightly.

The men observed the mop of purple hair following behind you, evidently unamused. “Zayne, Sylus, Caleb.” You pointed each of them out. “This is Rafayel.” Rafayel greeted them noticeably less excitedly than he’d greeted you, though his charm was still undeniable. He put more of his focus onto Artsy Birb as you left to get him a drink.

“So, Rafayel. What is it that you do?” Sylus asked.

Rafayel shrugged. “I guess I’m what you call an artist.”

Sylus nodded, opening his mouth to speak again when Caleb broke in. “Sylus,” he turned his head to meet crimson eyes, hands clenched to fists on his thighs. “You’re interrogating everyone else, but haven’t said anything about yourself. What is it that you do?”

Sylus waved his hand carelessly as if he were waving off the question. “I suppose you could say I’m a fruit vendor.”

“Oh? Are you very successful?” Zayne asked carefully.

“Somewhat. Our pomegranates are specifically quite popular.” He smirked.

Caleb muttered, “I never cared for pomegranate.”

Sylus eyes landed on the plushie in Caleb’s lap. “Yes, well, I never cared for apples.”

You watched from the sidelines with arms crossed as Caleb stiffened, shifting in his seat like he was about to storm over to Sylus. As if sensing your impending panic, Rafayel spoke up.

“Cutie, where’s your last guest? If he takes any longer, he’ll be late, jellyfishes will be walkin’ naked, sea turtles will be climbing trees, sharks will be eating grass for free!”

You shook your head as a grin made its way onto your face, Rafayel’s own expression mirroring your own once he caught sight of it.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon, Raf, but…” You pulled out your phone. “Maybe I should call him. Just to make sure everything’s alright.”

Caleb stood then, putting his hand on your back to push you towards the couch. “He’ll be fine on his own, pips. We could just get started without him.” In Caleb’s mind, the less men there, the better.

Much to his chagrin, however, the fifth and final knock on the door of the night happened just as you were about to take your seat. You quickly stood, rushing to the door, leaving Caleb to mourn the loss of your warmth next to him.

The artist’s eyes focused on the Colonel, sharp, cold, and calculating now that his source of light had left for the door. “Eager, much?” He offered a charming smile that contrasted his eyes.

Violet eyes met his own. “What do you mean?”

The smile dropped, just slightly. “I understand a Colonel being territorial, but she isn’t yours.”

Sylus sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, I agree.” He looked around at the men gathered around the coffee table, with a quick glance towards the final man still at the door. “As far as I can tell, we’re all protective over her. It’s not our place to dictate what she can or can’t do, no matter how we feel about it. This evening is clearly important to her, so I propose we all do our best to tolerate each other. At least so her night isn’t ruined.” Sylus leaned back in his chair.

Zayne nodded. “Nicely put. I will be polite so long as the rest of you are as well.” He observed each man, his gaze lingering on Caleb just a beat longer.

“Alright, alright,” Rafayel sighed. “I wouldn’t want to make her sad.”

Caleb scoffed. “How noble, Sylus. Telling us to play nice when you’re the one that’s been egging us on.”

“Surely you can understand sizing up a stranger, Colonel.” Sylus shrugged.

“Hello,” a soft voice broke through, “care to introduce me to everyone?”

The group looked up as you introduced Xavier, each man equally untrusting of his saccharine blue eyes. He moved to sit next to Sylus as you sat between Zayne and Rafayel.

You clapped your hands together. “So, are you guys ready to play?”

After mutual nods and agreements, Sylus began to lean forward. “I can shuffle the cards, if you’d like.”

“No!” You said, a little too fast. Laughing nervously, you picked up the deck of cards. “Zayne, why don’t you shuffle instead?”

He raised an eyebrow, but took the deck from your hands with no complaints. As he dealt the cards, the rest took the opportunity to stake their claims on the characters.

Sylus wordlessly took the red game piece, holding it tightly as he lounged back against his armchair.

“Wait. Did you just take Miss Scarlett?” Rafayel looked between Sylus and the board with widened eyes. Sylus only offered a nod. “No, no, no, no. I play Miss Scarlett. Not you. Me. Hand her over.” Rafayel held his hand out expectantly, bearing a striking resemblance to a petulant child.

Sylus hummed, pretending to turn the matter over. “No.”

Rafayel shot up out of his seat. “Why not? Why should it matter? Can’t you just let me have this?”

“Somethin’ tells me this is about more than a game piece,” Caleb chuckled.

“Oh, aren’t you one to talk!” Rafayel whirled on him. “Weren’t you just—”

“Raf, why don’t you just pick another character?” Your soft voice interrupted him, and all his fire was put out as he met your pleading eyes.

He sat down quietly, picking up Mrs Peacock. “Fine. I guess I don’t need to play as Miss Scarlett,” he grumbled.

Sylus remained silent, with only an amused smile on his face. Caleb reached forward, plucking Colonel Mustard from the table.

“I’m a Colonel, so I’ll play the Colonel,” he explained simply.

Zayne took Professor Plum. “I was not aware we were aiming for realism.”

Sylus barked out a laugh. “I can supply a dead body for realism,” his eyes landed on Caleb, “but then we’ll be down a player.”

Jolted awake from the ongoing shenanigans, Xavier glanced up around the group, silently grabbing Mrs White before sinking back into the couch with Bunbun held close to his chest.

Caleb met Sylus’s taunting look with his own hard gaze. “You do realize that if we’re keeping with realism, it implies that you’d be a prostitute?”

When met with silence, a triumphant smile made its way onto Caleb’s face, only to be washed away with Sylus’s noncommittal shrug. “I could do it.”

You shook your head as Caleb scoffed. “Let’s just fill in the notes from our cards,” you sighed, taking the remaining Mr Green into your hand.

Silence filled the room with only the rustling of paper and scratching of pencils.

“Sylus,” Zayne’s calculated voice suddenly broke through the silence. “Stop looking at Xavier’s cards while he’s practically falling asleep.”

Sylus smirked. “So attentive, doctor.”

Zayne was the one to sigh again, rubbing his temples as if he were already tired of this group. “Xavier, switch places with Caleb.”

Both men listened to the doctor and wordlessly switched positions.

Finally, the group settled into a comfortable rhythm as the game progressed.

You smiled to yourself as you noticed each of their guards lowering throughout the evening. The conversation became easy, banter filling the silence.

Nearly a half hour later, tension, albeit playful, filled the room as Sylus took his turn, guessing, “Mrs Peacock with the knife in the ballroom.”

For the second time that evening, Rafayel shot up out of his seat. “You think it’s me? You’ve barely even written anything down!” He motioned wildly as his voice rose in pitch. “Now you’re accusing me? Why don’t you trust me?”

Sylus ignored him as he asked each person if they could tell him he was wrong, only to be met with no’s all across the board. Not that he was surprised, of course.

He smugly picked up the ‘confidential’ file from the center of the board, pulling each card out with a flourish.

Mrs Peacock.

Knife.

Ballroom.

Rafayel shrieked, moving to the corner to hug his knees to his chest.

Caleb tossed his cards down on the table. “Damn! I was so close, I just didn’t have the room.”

“I was going to guess that on my next turn,” Zayne said.

Xavier rubbed his eyes, nearly falling asleep again when he realized it wasn’t his turn. “Oh…” he said softly. “The game’s over?”

After the outrage died down, and a few more playful (or what you wanted to believe was playful) jabs were made, the men filtered out of your apartment. United only by their truce to behave for you, they’d managed to get along without any bloodshed.

Sylus was the final one to leave, lingering in the doorway as the two of you made idle chatter.

“See? The night has ended and you aren’t left to clean any blood from your carpet.” He smirked down at you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered. “You kept your promise. Don’t think I didn’t notice you purposefully annoying each of them, though.” You narrowed your eyes.

His smile grew fond. “Well, it seems you’ve caught me,” he said softly. “Perhaps we could do this again. The evening was… tolerable.”

Your eyes light up. “So you did enjoy yourself!”

Sylus glanced away from you, avoiding eye contact. “I dislike the Colonel. The doctor was nice. The hunter and the artist were a bit unusual, but tolerable nonetheless,” he said swiftly. He looked into your eyes again, curiously flitting through them. “One question, sweetie. Why the plushies?”

“Just an experiment.” You waved a hand. “I just wanted to see something.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow. “Did we satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “You all picked the ones I thought you would. It makes sense, really.”

He chuckled. “Are you implying I bear a resemblance to Grumpy Crow?”

You cocked your head. “Are you really trying to see you don’t?”

Sylus paused for a moment, contemplating. “Touché.” An alert on his phone brought you both out of your banter. Checking it, he sighed. “Sorry, kitten. Looks like I’ve got a meeting to get to. See you later.” He gave a brief wave goodbye as he ducked out the door.

“Bye, Sy,” you said, shutting the door behind him. Though your relief for the end of the night was tangible, it really wasn’t so bad.

Maybe another game night wasn’t a bad idea.

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