#we all wanting to see the boos show up

[pianokantzart]

[petrichoraline]

I hate that I was kinda worried about what people on here were gonna say about the finale as if ultimately my own feelings about it are what should matter most to me. catching myself going "oh theyre not gonna like that" multiple times during the episode was so tiring and for whatt

[carcarrot]

must a movie be good. is it not enough for it to be mildly interesting and watchable only on the strength of the one guy youre watching it for

[medicinemane]

There's honestly... just so many people, just so so so so so many people in this world where I'm like... aren't you people tired of this fucking... you know, I was going to call them clowns but that's really disrespectful to clowns, these people could never get their face on an egg...

Anyway, aren't you tired of this childish jackass? Don't you just want to ignore them and never have to hear about them again? If we just ignored them they legitimately would go away... don't you want that?

And this applies to... just ungodly amounts of people, from jake paul to even elon musk (just... don't touch his shit, he'll run out of money eventually with how bad he is with it), to just... name an annoying famous person and you'll name someone I've literally forgotten right now that I could never have to hear about again if people would just ignore them (unless they committed crimes, investigators are welcome to pay attention while gathering a case)

Yet the answer's always "no, we're paying so much attention to them!" and I'm just like... why? Why would you watch jake paul box? I heard about that and was like "he's still doing that shit?", and yet I guess it made a lot of money yet again and it's just like... ignore him

These people could go away, and yet

[todayisafridaynight]

Oh yeah also to be exact for stream purposes, average playtime from all 60 reviews is 10-12 hours, but total range is 8-15, double for a 100% playthrough. You do have to progress in the side content to progress in the main story (complete x missions/get x points/get to x rank type of deal), and you'll probably want to progress in the side content to level up since it's money-based and that's the fastest way to make money. I'm pretty sure the variance comes from getting sucked into the side content (probably not likely for your playstyle) or having trouble with the bosses at a lower level (they're apparently pretty hard this time).

It also looks like the Infinite Wealth demo is split into two (an adventure mode with the extra cutscenes and another one that's basically the demo we've seen around). Adventure mode Allegedly doesn't have proper saves at the time of writing (this was an annoyance for one reviewer so I assume it's long enough to warrant that), so it's worth taking that into account too. Anyway that's about it lol don't quote me on any of this because my brain just shut off after a certain point <3

OK BET TYSM CHAMP YOURE A LIFESAVER soooooo doing Quick Maths in my brain i might divide the stream up in two if i start playing at 4:30PM and i plan to marathon it.

ill take a break 3:45 - 5:45 saturday morning since that's a part of my regular routine and ill feel weird if i dip on it. I Dont Need Sleep but god forbid i skip out on all That apparently. plus it's a good break period to get exercise in and move around LMAO

going from 4:30PM -> 3:45AM's like.....10~11 hours... so that's about halfway through the game if i get entranced by side content... if we do somehow finish it all in one shot then we can just do the IW stuff after my routine.. epic.. it prob wont be any longer than an hour if that so stream- AUSPICIOUSLY THINKING- should wrap up around 7~9AM saturday.

[teddybear-zero]

as bad of an experience i had interacting with other atinys and arena staff at the Ateez concert i went to, it was so heartening to see how respectful and loving everyone was to Ateez themselves.

i really, really hope that i see carats giving Seventeen the same amount of love and respect on the upcoming tour

[tojbnuy]

mini part 4 for gojo day 🧁 next part will probably be the finale. thank you for showing best friend toru so much love even tho he is fairly toxic. art by @ _3aem on twt!! part one part two part three

warnings: a very vague birthday bj, some feelings? MDNI

birthdayboybestfriend!satoru who waits with his phone in his hand ignoring all his other messages and skipping to your contact because he knows you’ll say it at bang on midnight. he is then smiling so hard at his phone suguru actually gets worried.

bestfriend!satoru who obviously has party of the century going on at his place. being the star boy he is, he is soaking up the attention. however he has been dyingggg for your arrival, he makes sure to tell every girl that approaches him that he is booked and busy for today.

bestfriend!satoru who tackles you into a massive hug when he sees you and picks you up just to make sure everyone else sees this. you’re wearing white (his favourite) and he knows for a fact you did that on purpose.

bestfriend!satoru who disregards everyone else’s presents for the time being so he can give you and your presents his full attention. unfortunately he is nosy and had scrolled through your google tab last week so he already knew what two of them were going to be.

bestfriend!satoru who (staying true to character) asks you for a birthday kiss. ‘can i have my last present now baby?’ and then he’s pressed up against you and his familiar taste is all you can take in. ‘toru people can see us’ ‘let them see baby’

bestfriend!satoru who wraps your ponytail around his fist whilst you’re talking. sometimes even pulling you back a bit so he can take a long inhale at your neck.

bestfriend!satoru who is actually very annoyed that he got a hot tub because now there were multiple gawking at you. suguru even wolf whistles at you at one point just to rile him up and he got a mouthful of tub water because of it.

bestfriend!satoru who catches you whispering to suguru and finds he definitely does not like the look of that. you had a worried expression which he made a mental note of to ask suguru about later.

bestfriend!satoru who casually gropes at your chest. (you allow him of course) (however you put an end to it when his fingers start to creep into the material of the lace covering your breasts.) (there were simply too many people present but satoru was content with just holding your tit) (stressball >__<)

bestfriend!satoru who makes his closest friends go round the tub and say what they like about him most. suguru is the only one who gives him a slightly heartfelt message, sukuna calls him ugly, toji calls him an airhead, nanami says he is ‘special’ (whatever that means?), shoko says he makes her want to smoke. and then it’s your turn and gojo actually tears up at your beautiful words. your voice and your eyes staring only ever at him saying that he is your person and you really do think he the strongest individual you know. (then he grabs your face and kisses you and the crowd boos until he stops)

bestfriend!satoru who is dead set on you staying with him for the night. ‘you’re not gonna cuddle your best friend on his birthday?’ and how could you everrrr say no to that.

bestfriend!satoru who has his head on your chest, you hands running through his hair and scratching at your scalp. his thighs are covering yours and he lazily kisses at your collarbone. the tension in the room is thick. you can both feel it. it was simply a game of who would move first. satoru knew you wouldn’t, always the more timid and shy one of the two so he took it upon himself to drag his fingers across the waistband of your shorts. ‘wait toru we can’t i’m, i’m your friend?’ god you were too sweet for this earth. ‘it’s okay baby. we don’t have to, but no one’s gonna know. just us.’ and he litters even more feather light kisses to the spot right below your ear until you were letting out soft little sighs. ‘then. then i want to do it, yk since it’s your birthday.’ he knew you weren’t the most conventional best friends but this, this was further than anything you’d ever done before. and he was on cloud nine.

bestfriend!satoru who was now realizing that he had never experienced true joy before this moment. before he had felt your velvet soft lips wrapped around his tip. your tongue licking at his crown so softly, so sweetly. he’s always been a moaner but now he had no shame in the sounds that were leaving him. ‘that’s it baby, just like that. that’s my girl’.

bestfriend!satoru who was a head pusher. he let you set the pace in the beginning but he was growing desperate, something he hadn’t experienced before. your little mewls as he holds you in place right at the base of his dick. your nose nestled against the faint hairs there, and your tears dropping directly into his skin. he had given you the chance to move but being the amazing best friend that you were you swallowed everything he gave you, even opened wide and let him take a look, that to make sure. ‘fuck baby that was the best gift ever’

bestfriend!satoru who snores like a truck directly into your ears and grinds his hips into your thighs whilst he sleeps.

taglist : @haruhatake @moncher-ire @startwithrecords @ranatherealestsigma @chjinua @sukuxna0 @suechii @whozeurdaddy @purp1eha1o @greensunflowerjuna @jjkysnk @tibibibi123 @missthatgirl @macchiatoast @adanfore @namjooningera @jaeminsmilk @tojicvmslut @hachichann

[no-144444]

the grid: No Nut November!

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Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Arthur LeClerc.

thank you to the person that requested this!!!

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Oscar Piastri: wouldn’t do it. 

Even if every driver on the grid was offering 1,000€ each as a prize, he was not giving up fucking you for an entire month. 

Even though he looks like a sweetie pie he would absolutely be a freak in the sheets and he was not about to give up the only way he actually gets his frustration out (aka fucking you). 

Everyone kind of boos him for it but then half way through the month he gets to be smug while they’re all miserable and complaining, because he can fuck his girlfriend whenever he wants. 

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Lando Norris: would try, but definitely fail. 

He wouldn’t care about the prize, he’d just have such a ‘how hard can it be?’ attitude. 

Newsflash: extremely. 

You would not make it easy for him either; wearing the sluttiest clothes, basically giving him fuck me eyes all the time, enjoying it when you see him get hot and bothered. 

He snaps on his birthday, and fucks you for hours straight. You can barely walk the next day. 

He decides to own up and pay his part of the bet with no shame, he has a hot girlfriend and he likes fucking her, sue him! 

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Lewis Hamilton: wouldn’t even try

He’s uninterested in the things most of the grid do in their spare time, and he knows they’re uninterested in him too. They don't need to know about his sex life, but what people can guess is that it is very much alive. 

I mean… you two had a baby literally 8 months after your wedding, to the day. 

The other 3 kids don't exactly help his case… 

He’d say yes, just so he could be added to the group chat and he would tell you who is winning and losing.

He’d lose on the first day with no shame. Everyone knows he's just here for the public shaming of others. 

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George Russell: would win

Not saying he’s not a freak in the sheets, but he would set up the entire thing (group chat, the money pool, etc.) and he cannot be seen lacking. 

Even if it wasn’t his idea, he still needed to win. 

You do make the entire month absolute torture though. 

Matching sets, showing as much skin as possible, everything. 

Even walking around the apartment naked. 

But somehow, he doesn’t budge. 

At the end of the month he does fuck you for ages, and you literally cant get out of bed, let alone follow him to a race. He tells the media you’re sick and all of the drivers have the dirtiest laughs as he explains. Despite every question, they keep their mouths shut. 

George did announce that he won at the end, much to your chagrin. 

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Alex Albon: he’d last a while

 He would honestly be pretty good. 

He kind of breaks the rules, he constantly gives you oral and jerking himself off, but it wasn’t specifically stated in the rules (apart from the name… but whatever)

He makes it like halfway through the month until a particularly bad race result. 

He fucks you all night. 

When you both get to the paddock in the morning, George pays him a visit to collect the money like the smug bastard he is. 

He heard you two last night. 

He was 4 doors down. 

Oops. 

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Franco Colapinto: he’s the one who accidentally tells the press. 

We all know Franco is awful at keeping his mouth shut, and in an interview he somehow lets it slip that he needed to find George to give him money. 

They ask him what for. 

He says ‘the bet’ and explains that they’re doing NNN this year and that he lost. 

It was worth it though, you two hadn’t seen each other in months (you were busy in uni, he was busy at races) and he just had to have you. 

He made it like a quarter of the way into the month. 

He didn't really care. 

The drivers honestly just found it funny that he told the media. 

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Logan Sargeant: would make it most of the way, but just fall short by like 4 days.

He had done so well, ignoring all of your sexual advances for the majority of the month…

Then he got drunk. 

Drunk Logan and drunk you? Yeah, you’re fucking. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, and he paid the price. 

He paid up sheepishly the next day, George looked at him with the smuggest smile ever. 

Logan didn’t even care. He fucked you twice as much as before. 

He has to make up for lost time, right? 

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Daniel Riccardo: he would lose immediately.

This man is a 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀 

He would kind of do the same thing as Lewis, pay to just watch the rest of them loose. 

He does last a little bit longer though (in their eyes).

 He doesn’t pay up until the second week even though he’s been fucking you the entire time. 

He has absolutely no shame about it either. 

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Liam Lawson: he would almost win.

He's such a cutie. I think he’d somehow abstain for a while. 

He’d get to around the 26th, and then give up. 

The month was torture though. 

You literally would beg him every night, and he would just have to say no. 

You were impressed at how long he lasted. 

But then he gave in after he scored points in mexico...

Yuki ratted him out to George, he was very embarrassed.

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Charles LeClerc: he would lose immediately.

Charles is an idiot. 

He would lose the first day by accident, and then try to pretend that it doesn't count until George actually comes knocking on his drivers room door looking for the money. 

He heard you, of course. 

Charles reluctantly watches the rest of the month play out, bitter that his own forgetfulness took him out so early. 

He vows to win next year. 

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Carlos Sainz: wouldn’t do it. 

He’s not giving up fucking you for a month. No way. 

He also wouldn’t be interested in the sex lives of others enough to even pay into it like Lewis. 

His sex life is his own, and as much as he loves healthy competition, this is a race he’s happy to lose. 

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Max Verstappen: would be a huge bitch all month.

Dude is like a moody teenager when he’s not getting it. 

Daniel persuades him to do it and he makes it a few days in.

Literally turns into the biggest moody bitch ever.

By the 8th day everyone is begging you to just fuck him so he’ll stop being such a cunt to them.

You do. 

He pays up and spends the rest of the month fucking you. 

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Paul Aron: he would almost win.

He would last pretty long. Like maybe more than half the month

Despite his playboy facade, he’s actually more into cuddles and shit like that. 

 But after a bad race…

Yeah, he pays up with zero shame. 

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Arthur LeClerc: he would lose, in two ways. 

Y’know how quickly Charles lost, yeah he’d be worse.

He wouldn’t forget, he’d just think that he can get away with fucking you all month but of course, that doesn’t happen.

George comes knocking after Charles tells him he can hear you two.

You are deeply embarrassed that your boyfriend's brother heard you two having sex, and you impose a ban for the rest of the month. 

You say it’ll help you both be more aware of when and where you’re doing it, and how to not get caught by his brother again. 

He curses out his brother the next time he sees him.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[dorothylarouge]

US Presidents as Dril Tweets

George Washington: another day volunteering at the betsy ross museum. everyone keeps asking me if they can fuck the flag. buddy, they wont even let me fuck it

John Adams: "ah boo hoo hoo i want to post Foul comments to content leaders" Fat Chance, Dimwit. I will annihilate you under bulwark of the Law and God.

Thomas Jefferson: Q: If your post was proven by a counsil of wise men to be racist, or bullshit, would you bar it from the record? A: I do not delete my posts

James Madison: (sniffing a crumpled up one dollar bill i found on the floor of a dog kennel) ah.. thats greenbacks baby

James Monroe: for decades i have traversed the unforgiving mountains and rivers of south america, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fabled "ass downloader"

John Quincy Adams: "This Whole Thing Smacks Of Gender," i holler as i overturn my uncle's barbeque grill and turn the 4th of July into the 4th of Shit

Andrew Jackson: handing Faves over to my enemies is FRAUD !! base, contemptible FRAUD!

Martin Van Buren: Food $200

Data $150

Rent $800

Candles $3,600

Utility $150

someone who is good at the economy please help me budget this. my family is dying

William Henry Harrison: (spends all of 7 seconds skimming some blog posts) yep. just as i knew all along. having pnuamonia is good

John Tyler: fuck "jokes". everything i tweet is real. raw insight without the horse shit. no, i will NOT follow trolls. twitter dot com. i live for this

James K. Polk: thhere is no such thing as charisma, and art is fake. the only metrics by which we must determine the worth of a man are Strength and Wisdom

Zachary Taylor: the doctor reveals my blood pressure is 420 over 69. i hoot & holler outta the building while a bunch of losers tell me that im dying

Millard Fillmore: trying to heal..... please donate to my go fund me... $10 will make me less racist... $100 will make me extremely less racist...thank you...

Franklin Pierce: blocked. blocked. blocked. youre all blocked. none of you are free of sin

James Buchanan: #NationalGirlfriendDay please cherish your gal's.. in honor of us, the single Boys who must sacrifice all companionship to #CarryTheBrand...

Abraham Lincoln: unloading an entire belt of ammo at me with a minigun or some such device will now get you "Blocked"

Andrew Johnson: who the fuck is scraeming "LOG OFF" at my house. show yourself, coward. i will never log off

Ulysses S. Grant: i regret being tasked the emotional burden of maintaining the final bastion of morality and Nice manners in this endless ocean of human SHIT

Rutherford B. Hayes: using the toilet when i hear Our national anthem start to play. i do what i must. i stand tall in complete agony; as shit runs down my leg,

James A. Garfield: too much truth in such little time. feeling the heat cominh down to silence me... signing off........ for now

Chester A. Arthur: i WILL wise the fuck up. i WILL super charge my content for 2017. i WILL get blue check mark

Grover Cleveland: the way i see it, people who come on here and submit content that is not up to par, could possibly be considered the "Villains" of this site

Benjamin Harrison: i help every body, im not racist, i keep myself nice, and when i ask for a single re-tweet in return i am told to fuck off, fuck myself, etc

William McKinley: boy oh boy do i love purchasing large amounnts of Fool's Gold. wait a minute... fools gold fucking sucks. this stuff is no good..!! Fuck !!!

Theodore Roosevelt: IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL

William H. Taft: ah.. the perfect Souffle! cant wait to dig in to t(*EVERY PIPE IN MY HOUSE EXPLODES AT THE SAME TIME, COVERING ME IN SHIT AND BOILING WATER*

Woodrow Wilson: the conflicted supersoldier stares over the horizon as he smokes a cigarette. "war is the most fucked up thing ever." he takes a sip of beer

Warren G. Harding: somebody please Bribe me

Calvin Coolidge: aggressively joyless oaf hhere. painfully obnoxious respect demander checkign in. extremely dim witted frowning man looking for pals

Herbert Hoover: it is really quite astonishing that I have yet to win The Lottery, given how good I am at selecting six numbers and saying them out loud

Franklin D. Roosevelt: ive never heard of this “europe” but it sounds like a big bunch of shit to me

Harry Truman: everybody wants to be the guy to write the tweet that solves racism once and for all because it would look good as hell on a resume

Dwight D. Eisenhower: my "F*&k It!! Let's Go Golfin" t-shirt maintains a tenacious stranglehold on my life. after 1,125 days of Golf my body is twisted, deformed

John F. Kennedy: when you do sutuff like... shoot my jaw clean off of my face with a sniper rifle, it mostly reflects poorly on your self

Lyndon B. Johnson: incredibly handsome , charismatic famous boy credited with ending income inequality after saying that slumlords should be called "dumblords"

Richard Nixon: i attribute the complete failure of my brand to the actions of detractors, oor my “trolls”, as it were, as well as my own constant fuckups

Gerald Ford: shutting computer down until the shitty moods & attitudes can fuck off., if you need me ill be on my other computer, sititng 60° to my right

Jimmy Carter: i warnned you all that bad things would happen if you kept letting your wives wear jeans. AND NOW LOOK! the damn gas prices are up again

Ronald Reagan: spend a lot of time thinking about how sometimes even war criminals can be heroes sometimes... Dont like it? Click the unfollow buttobn

George H.W. Bush: just thought off an idea i believe to be bad ass. lets find the address of the leader of isis, and mail him/ her pieces of our SHIT

Bill Clinton: were at the point now, that when i offer to impregnate my girl followers, people assume my motives are sexual. disgusting, grow the fuck up,

George W. Bush: friday night gathering up together a big pile of things i like to respect (flags, crucifixes ,etc) and just roll around in it ,give kisses,

Barack Obama: my IQ has increased 10 points ever since i stopped tollerating people mucking about, on the time line

Donald Trump: THERAPIST: your problem is, that youre perfect, and everyone is jealous of your good posts, and that makes you rightfully upset.

ME: I agree

Joe Biden: I will shut the fuck up , IF , it will restore the Harmony. I will get on my knees like a dog and make that sacrifice, for the sake of Calm

[boowritess]

part 1 hehe

notsobaddasssoldier!reader that is so incredibly under prepared for everything. and the 141 really do forget that you're actually still very green - very new to this life.

especially with things like interrogation.

for once, price is putting you on the sideline BUT you have to interogate the person they have captive for valuable information.

they'll give you whatever things you need in order to pry out any sort of information from the captive. they don't even second guess you asking for a guitar. they get one then they continue on with the mission while you interrogate the person.

their expectation may have been very high. they were betting on all the little fun bloody pain you could potentially do to the captive. seriously,

"knife, they're a knife person" *ghost*

"definitely not. fire. they're definitely using a blowtorch on em as we speak." *soap*

"sod of the both of ya - waterboarding. for sure." *gaz*

"choking." *price shrugs*

obviously, they were excited to come back and see who was right...

it really humbled them to see they were all wrong.

"please make them stop. i'll tell you whatever you want"

*captive yelling that can be barely heard over reader.*

"AHHHHHHHHHH *strum strum* AHHHHHH AHHHHHHH *strum strum* AHHHHHH-"

*reader who is loudly strumming the guitar out of tune, screaming in the captives' face over and over again.*

the guys don't know if they should be impressed or concerned. they were gone for nearly 5 hours.

5 hours you had been screaming in the captives' face 'playing' the guitar.

later on you get a lesson from ghost about what interrogations are supposed to be like - it ends with you vomiting and price patting your back and gaz holding a bucket to your mouth.

"what did you think was gonna happen when ghost showed ye what to do?" *soap*

"i don't know... go boo?" *scarred reader*

yeah... you're not allowed to do interrogations anymore or be involved in interrogations- you are also most definitely not allowed to talk to captives or guard them because -

"why're you doing this?" *captive*

"honest to god, i ain't got much goin' for me and i had hella stu-"

*reader's mouth suddenly gets covered, gaz looking at you like an idiot*

"hm? what is your little task force plan, huh? go on and blow the place?" *captive*

"well actually no. they plan too-" *your mouth gets covered just in time and you're getting dragged out the room by a very frustrated price*

you very much get ANOTHER lesson about what NOT TO DO when in the same room as a captive - it's pointless though because you're still not ever allowed in the same room alone with a captive.

HAHAHA

i can't stop thinking of reader who is watching a captive be interrogated for information by getting choked and reader just piping up like

"i don't think they can breathe..."

*ghost, long exhale, continues choking captive*

"that's the point, kid" *price*

"oh..."

*they continue choking the captive, waiting for them to crack-*

"if they can't breathe how are they going to talk-?"

"out." *ghost snaps pointing at the door.*

maybe they do give you a second shot at attempting to interrogate the captive. the 'correct' way this time, though. giving you ALL the necessary tools...

and you are ready, you're pumped. you can do it. you're not going to vomit - you're going to do it right.

you grab the pliers and walk towards the captive who is obviously panicked, very much expecting you to do your worse. which you are.

you grab their mouth and force their mouth open, ready to pull their teeth out - sucking a deep breath in as the captive starts to cry and beg.

but then you start to cry and beg.

"please just tell me the information i don't wanna do this"

"you don't have too!" *captive, crying and begging too*

"i do! i'm sorry..."

"no." *captive*

"yes."

"no" *captive starts screaming, making you start screaming as you pull on their tooth both of you staring at eachother and screaming your heads off.*

"I'M SORRY!"

"STOP!" *captive*

"I CAN'T!" *pulls tooth with pliers* "EW EW EW EW-"

you don't even do it right. you're pulling at their tooth with pliers and you're not strong enough so you're awkwardly just tugging the captives head. but the both of you are too busy screaming and begging to notice...

but you actually manage to successfully get the information - you're still not allowed to do interrogations... only being the very last option.

it does mean that you have to go on missions... even if you're useless omg idea?

*gasp* someone claims reader is a traitor - oop?

more parts, perhaps?

a/n: wrote this while trying to work through an anxiety/panic attack !! xx honestly tho these would be my genuine reaction. btw drink water and try sleep cause i can't xx

[alexiroflife]

"drunk wishes"

[part 2]

fluff, clingy gojo, friends in love

high school!gojo satoru x reader

Synopsis: years ago, satoru's habit of drinking on school nights constantly led him to ask for you, desperate for your company. of course, you couldn't blame his constant need for you on anything but the alcohol... right?

to sum it up: seventeen year old satoru was a clingy drunk & suguru and shoko always left him for you to take care of

WC: 5,665

Warning(s): alcohol use

The second your phone rang, screen lighting up to reveal the group picture of you, Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko squeezed into frame, you knew that the book you were currently halfway through would have to wait.

With a sigh, you tossed the book to the side and picked up the group call, dreading whatever was about to greet you next.

Shoko’s contact bubble was blank, for she was likely asleep at this hour. Satoru was the first to stick his head into the camera, followed by a pending bubble from Geto that eventually revealed his exasperated expression.

“(Y/n)!” Satoru slurred, grinning cheerfully into the phone. His snowy hair and bright eyes peering over round glasses were the only thing in frame as he stared intently down at his screen. The scene behind him was dark. It looked like he was standing outside somewhere, and it took you a few seconds to notice that Geto’s background resembled the very same place. “Where’re youuuuu?” 

You pursed your lips in amusement, entirely too familiar with this situation. “Hi, Toru. How are you feeling?”

“Amazing, now that I get’to see y’er pretty face,” he grinned, his persistent flirting doing very little to surprise you. “D’you know that new bar down the street does’t ID check?!”

“No, I didn’t know that. You had some fun there, huh?”

“S’much fun,” he sighed, words blurring into each other. “But then I got bored, s’we went to th’ store ‘nd got snacks. Isn’t that right, Sugu-boo?”

His phone shook with the wobbling of his feet, revealing his black haired best friend standing close by as he turned to look over his shoulder at him. 

You held back your laugh, glancing at the time to see that it was nearly two in the morning. Not only that, but the three of you in addition to Shoko had class in about six hours. Why the hell those two were out this late, you had no idea, but you couldn’t have said that you were surprised. After all, they did this at least three times a week, per Satoru’s influence, of course. 

Suguru shook his head with a tired exhale, holding the camera down. “He’s driving me insane,” he grumbled, brows angled with irritation.

You were quick to move from your bed and shuffle across your dorm to grab a sweatshirt. You already knew where this call was leading. “What the hell are you guys even doing?” you asked. “You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah, we do,” Suguru hissed, turning to eye a babbling Satoru. You could see the black haired boy’s eye twitch. “But someone dragged me out of bed because he didn’t want to be out alone.”

“Figures,” you laugh. “Where are you now?”

“The convenience store around the corner,” he answered. “We’re literally five minutes away, but Satoru said he wasn’t going to walk any further unless you were here.”

The said boy raised his phone up over his head, the camera peering down at the two tall men from a high angle. Satoru’s eyes went wide and mouth gaped in childlike awe, as if he were showing you some whimsical discovery through the lens of his camera. He dangled a small bag in his free hand, showing off his haul. 

“Look, (Y/n)! C’me see what we got you ‘nd Shokoooo! Suguru, sh-show her y’re stuff,” he urged, a lazy smirk dancing across his face. He nudged Suguru in his chest, the contents of the strongest student’s bag knocking against his best friend repeatedly. A vein bulged in Suguru’s forehead. His bedtime was supposed to be two hours ago, and he was steadily growing more agitated. 

“I’m gonna kill him, (Y/n). Please come take him off my hands.” 

“What about me, huh? I could’ve been asleep, you know. Or studying, like how you two are supposed to.”

“Oh, shut up. I know you weren’t doing anything important.”

You glared at him through your screen. “This is how you treat me, huh? The designated walker for when you get tired.”

“You know how it goes,” Suguru smirked lightly. “Satoru’s needy.”

“(Y/n),” he groaned. “Sugu doesn't love me anymore, s’you have to come take care of me the way- y’know how-to- how you always do,” the blue eyed seventeen year old droned on dramatically. “Pleeeaaaaaase, I miss youuu-”

His singing was disrupted with the tumble of his phone from his hand to the ground, the device hitting the pavement with a smack. His screen went black after landing face first and you watched Geto look down at Satoru boredly, for he had likely been expecting just that to happen. 

Satoru gasped loudly, bending over to retrieve his phone clumsily. Suguru panned his camera to show the sight to you, the white haired boy’s long legs spread stiffly as he leaned from his torso to pick up his phone. “(Y/n)! NOO! M’so sorry!” he cried out.

There was shuffling on his end and a dizzy spin of the camera before Satoru’s face came back into view in his small FaceTime square. “I didn’t mean’ta drop you, pretty, don’t be mad,” he whined. 

You shook your head, swiping your dorm key from your desk and heading to your door. “I’m on my way, Suguru,” you said, ignoring Satoru’s drunk babbling. 

“Please hurry, I can't take much more of this.”

You were quick to rush out of your dorm when you ended the call, cutting off whatever sweet talk your intoxicated friend was about to pull out next and the agitated ‘Shut the fuck up!’ that boomed from Suguru.

You knew this routine like the back of your hand. Either Satoru, Shoko, or Suguru would call you or the group chat, depending on who was out on a given night, to ask you to come over and babysit drunk Satoru, who had always found himself pleading for you the moment liquor settled into his system. 

Though Satoru was the strongest sorcerer and overall person you had ever met, his tolerance for alcohol was painfully low, which you all supposed was why he liked to drink so much. Satoru was so used to being the best at everything, to not having to struggle or experience every day pressures and trials of weakness that the rest of you had to endure. 

Nothing in his life posed a challenge for him, so when he stole a moment to find something that lowered his inhibitions and eased him into a state of malfunction and playful instability, it was like taking a break, a breath of fresh air after having been submerged underwater. He liked the way alcohol buzzed through his brain, melted through his bloodstream, and dumbed him down to a simple, wasted mess. 

It reminded him that he was still flesh and bone in a world that raised him up as a god. 

So he went out and drank quite a bit, and you, naturally, were his caretaker during those frequent times. 

You never thought Satoru meant anything by his clinginess toward you. After all, he was Satoru Gojo. He was fawned over by all women, and as one of his closest friends, you had witnessed his constant indulgence in their infatuation over him. 

Satoru never acted beyond his captivating smiles and provocative words. It was all a game to him, something to keep him entertained and to raise his already astronomically large ego. 

Therefore, when he called you over and over, told you that you were gorgeous, and blabbered about how much he loved to have you by his side, you thought nothing of it. Satoru was your friend, and you would look after him over and over again solely because of that fact. 

The four of you were bonded, closer than anyone else on your campus. You may have been a bit too cliquey for others’ taste, but you all loved each other dearly, and that’s all you assumed Satoru’s drunk words were: love for a friend being portrayed incorrectly due to the alcohol. 

And boy, did you love Satoru dearly, as much as you loved Shoko and Suguru. You loved him so much that you’d rub his back every time he’d throw up into your toilet and bring him fresh clothes for the morning every time he was too hungover to make it back to his dorm. 

You loved him so much that you’d take care of him as long as he allowed you, as long as when you were sober and he was intoxicated, he needed you in a way he would never need you when his mind was clear and alert. You loved him so much that no matter how each compliment and loving gaze he tossed your way in the midst of his drunken stupors sent butterflies swirling through your tummy, you’d allow yourself to bury your feelings deep down.

After all, the sun would always rise and the haziness of his eyes would always disappear, and he would always have to go back to being Satoru Gojo. The strongest who needed no one.

You arrived outside the convenient store a few minutes later, approaching your two friends slowly. The 24-hour convenience store sign provided the only source of light amidst the darkness and buzzed softly over the boys’ heads. 

Suguru was leaning beside the store entrance against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes closed, and head resting against the brick. Satoru was sitting on the curb with his legs splayed out before him and his bag to the side, humming some song loudly to himself. 

He was quick to catch sight of you once you stepped into his vision. His face lit up and he jumped to his feet, stumbling to the side before rushing over to you sloppily. He clung to you immediately, long arms circling around yours from the side and pulling you to his chest. He leaned his head atop yours, his glasses crashing against your forehead painfully.

“Finally, y’took forever,” he moaned, leaving you very little room to breathe. You huffed, clenching your jaw and craning your neck out to try to find some space for oxygen. You patted his arm with your hand stiffly, unable to move much more than that.

“I know, I know. Five minutes was just so long,” you agreed sarcastically, to which Satoru nodded aggressively.

“Way too long.”

Suguru pushed himself off of the wall when he heard your voice, opening his eyes and sauntering tiredly over to the two of you. You looked up at him from where you stood, trapped, and you could see a smugness dancing in his fatigued eyes despite his agitation. “Don’t look at me like that, dick,” you seethed. “Your lazy ass couldn’t walk him back?”

“I told you, he wanted to see you,” he shrugged. “Besides, you and I both know it’s physically impossible to get Satoru to do something he doesn’t want to do. He’s such a big baby.”

He eyed the blue eyed sorcerer who poked out his tongue childishly, tugging you closer into him. 

“Just tell m’you hate me, Sugu,” Satoru frowned. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The dark haired student leaned down to grab Satoru’s bag and hand it to you. “Here. I’m walking in this direction,” he pointed behind him.

You scrunched your brows. “That’s gonna add like fifteen minutes to a two second walk,” you pointed out.

“If it means peace and quiet, so be it,” he sighed. 

“Awee, tired a’me already?” Satoru giggled, raising an arm to poke Suguru’s stiff shoulder. 

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “Good night, you too. Be safe and text me when you’re in. And for the love of god, get this idiot to sleep when you get back,” the seventeen year old sweatdropped.

“You say that like it’ll be easy,” you seethed. 

“Mhm.”

With that, Suguru turned over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you and Satoru alone once again. 

“God, he’so moody,” Satoru chuckled. “W’don’t need ‘im anyway. Got all I need right’here.”

“He’s your best friend, Toru. You’ll always need him.”

“Mmmaybe, but dn’t tell ‘im that. It’ll go to his big head.”

You laughed.

“Alright, Toru, come on,” you nudged yourself away from his embrace. He released you, but was quick to sling his arm over your shoulders as you guided him around with your hand on his back. He leaned slightly over you, causing you to trip under his weight. He was so tall and heavy, draping himself comfortably over your figure. He already had absolutely no concept of personal space, but it was so much worse when he was under the influence. “Okay, yeah, one step at a time. Let’s get you home,” you guided sweetly.

“‘Kay,” he mumbled. “Mmm, some ramen would b’good right now, don’t y’think?” he murmured. “Should’make some when we- when we get back.”

“Sure. Okay. We can make some ramen,” you lied. You silently prayed he’d forget the suggestion once he was in his dorm. 

Satoru spent the entire walk yapping, swaying back and for and bringing you along with him. He’d almost made the two of you fall about ten times, and what was meant to be a quick walk lasted double the original time. You were sure that Suguru had already made it back to his dorm by the rate the two of you were moving.

The sight of Satoru’s dorm room was like seeing the gates of heaven open before you. You exhaled in relief when you approached his door, which was irresponsibly unlocked. The guy had been out for hours and hadn’t even bothered to secure his room. 

You shoved the door open, pulling Satoru in with you. He removed his arm from around you after what felt like hours and stumbled forward, falling face first on his carpet. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath after setting his bag to the side, for you knew that you would not be getting to bed soon simply from that action alone.

Satoru groaned, turning his head to the side to breathe. His glasses had risen up over his forehead crookedly, revealing his glassy ocean eyes and snow white lashes fluttering sleepily over them. “I could sleep right’here,” he mumbled, limbs spread out like a starfish.

You shook your head and closed his door behind him. You pulled out your phone quickly, pulling up Suguru’s contact and snapping a picture of the ridiculous sight before you. You sent it along with a message letting him know that the two of you made it safe.

Seconds later, Suguru responded with a ‘yeah, good luck with that.’

You put your phone on the dresser, crouching down over him. “Well too bad you’re not going to,” you said. You grabbed his arm and tugged at it. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you on the bed.”

“Why?” he pouted, closing his eyes and poking out his glossy bottom lip. 

“Because you’ll regret it in the morning when you wake up with an aching back.”

“But I don’t wanna get up,” he groaned, allowing his body to go limp as you mustered up all your strength to pull at him. You grunted, tugging him backward as best as you could. 

“Don’t make this so difficult,” you groaned. “Get up!”

“Noooooo,” he whined. 

“What the hell have you been eating?!” you asked breathlessly. “You weigh like two hundred pounds!”

“Maybe y’re jus’ weak,” he snickered to himself, and you almost dropped his hand and walked out of his room. 

“Maybe I should just beat your ass,” you grumbled. 

He turned to smirk at you, eyes glinting with hazy mischief. “Try it. I won’t go easy on you.”

You couldn’t help the blush that fought its way to your cheeks under his gaze. Even drunk, he knew how to get under your skin.

“Shut up,” you grumbled and he laughed. 

You tried again, yanking his arm, but to no avail. He wouldn’t budge. 

“Ugh! Satoru!” you shouted in frustration. “I can’t stand it when you get like this.”

The Gojo’s smile fell, brows curving in distaste. “Who the hell’s Satoru?” he frowned.

You blinked, lowered his arm and leaning down by his side. “What?”

“Y’call me Toru. What happened’ta Toru?” he repeated, childishly, eyes gleaming with impatience. 

“Yeah, well, when you’re not pissing me off, you’re Toru” you tilted your head to look him in his eyes. “Why?”

He groaned loudly, his dramatics so boisterous that they could probably wake up the rest of the hall. You cocked a brow, releasing his arm as he shifted around, twisting himself onto his back and flopping about. “Why d’you do this t’me,” he complained, lifting his arms up and into the air.

You sighed. “What are you on about, drama queen?”

“Pick m’up.”

“Oh, now you wanna get up, huh?”

“If’t means ’m Toru again, yes,” he pouted again. “Pick m’up,” he demanded once more.

You scoffed a laugh, standing to your feet and leaning over him. “So dramatic,” you said as you grasped his outstretched hands, leaning back to pull him up. He assisted you this time, bringing himself to a seated position before you helped him onto his feet. He stumbled again and you held onto his hands, leading him over to the edge of his bed.

“F’ryou,” he responded, plopping down onto his comforter. He leaned over unstably and you caught his head, guiding him back upright. He hummed softly, leaning into the warmth of your palm, eyes half lidded. “Thank you.”

“I got you, Toru,” you smiled, bending down to tug his shoes off. When you did, you missed the wide beam that stretched across his face at the sound of his nickname rolling from your lips. 

After setting his shoes at his door, you went to move about his space familiarly, walking over to his bottom dresser drawers and pulling out an old tee and sweatpants. 

Satura watched you lazily, eyes dragging along your figure as you so carefully picked out his clothes. He could feel his heart thrumming in his chest like a rhythm, his flushed cheeks growing warmer simply from the sight of you.

You walked back over to him, clothes folded over your arm. He smiled up at you in a daze, appearing like a giddy school boy sitting there patiently for you. You gave him a strange look, placing his clothes next to him on the bed and removing his glasses from his head, setting aside on his lamp lit nightstand. 

When you turned back to him, his eyes hadn’t left you. His pupils were blown wide and his lips stretched into a dumb grin. He spread his legs out and leaned back on his elbows tiredly, admiring you, for the first time tonight, with no words.

“Why are you staring at me like that, weirdo?” you rose a brow.

His smile widened. “Y’just so pretty.”

Just like that, butterflies swarmed as if on cue. Your brows drew together as you looked at him, examining his face for any detection of mischief or deception, but you found none. His gaze upon you was so raw, so full of ardor and sweltering tenderness. He looked like a puppy dog watching you in such a way, and you tried your very hardest to keep your legs from turning to jelly beneath you.

You cleared your throat, looking down and busying yourself with unfolding his clothes. “You’re drunk.”

“On you.”

God, he just wouldn’t stop. His presence was so suffocating, it filled the room with its weight. You felt as though you were going to lose your breath if he kept looking at and talking to you like that.

“Stop,” you sighed, tossing his shirt at him. It hit his face softly, rolling down into his lap. Even that hadn’t been enough for his eyes to rip from your face. He simply reached blindly for the fabric, gaze unwavering. 

“You gon’help me change, pretty?” he asked gently, looking to you expectantly.

“Now what makes you say that?” you questioned, though you both knew full well that you were going to do just that. 

“Cause’you’ve done it b’fore. When I was black’out.”

You whipped your head up at him to find a teasing expression on his features. “There’s no way you remember that?!” you said, incredulously.

He giggled to himself slightly. “No, Shoko tol’me.”

You internally cursed the brunette for betraying you in such a way. “Asshole,” you muttered to yourself, leading Satoru to laugh louder. 

As if on instinct, sat up straight and held his arms out. “M’ready,” he cheesed.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” 

He didn’t respond as you walked up to him and stood between his spread legs. He was suddenly silent, observing you closely. You could feel those eyes glued to you, burning into your skull like a line of blue fire. You held your breath, keeping your eyes on your fingers as they reached for the top bottom of his collared shirt. 

You had done this so many times, on so many nights, and the majority of the time, he was either passed out or too drunk to keep his head up and pay attention to what you were doing. This night, however, he was more alert than he had been at this stage of his intoxication. He must not have gotten very far into his drinking, you had thought to yourself. 

He was still pretty drunk, but the gleam in his eye made you question if he would forget this moment like he usually did when you helped him into more comfortable clothes. 

His chest rose and fell delicately under your hands. You popped one button open, then the next, and the next. Your soft fingers brushed against the smoothness of his skin occasionally, the white haired boy jumping slightly every now and then at the contact. 

Satoru broke his eyes from you for just a second, looking down and following the buzzing vision of your fingers working down his shirt, freeing his abdomen for you to see. You could hear his soft breaths, deep and long, as though he were breathing manually, desperately finding a way to recall how to inhale and exhale properly. 

He looked back up at you once the entire shirt was undone, a bashful tint on his cheeks. You were so careful with him, so attentive, so patient and loving with your touch. Shoko and Suguru had always looked after him when he drank by making sure he got home safe when you weren’t around, but they never took care of him the way you did so gently, so earnestly. 

Flashes of your touch and your face would strike him during those early morning hangovers, feeding into the initial yearning he already harbored for you within his chest and his gut. He knew you were always there, in his dreams and his fragmented memories, but he could never recall how or why so clearly.

So now, he soaked you in, devouring each feather light touch and tug at his clothing. He was captivated by the way you moved around his room as though you lived there, like you’d been there a hundred million times over in this exact position. How you talked to him with a tinge of coddling and kindness in your voice that he rarely detected through your normal day to day. 

You handled him with such care, as if he were going to break, and it baffled him. It baffled him how he, one of the strongest individuals to roam this earth, was nothing but putty at your loving hands. He felt so vulnerable sitting there before you, staring intently at your face as you tugged his sleeves down each arm and pulled his shirt from his body. He had expected to feel cool, but he was surrounded by nothing but warmth. Whether it was you or the liquor, he wasn’t sure, but he could feel himself slipping into a trance induced by your beauty and your care. 

Everything in his vision was vibrating except for the vision of you, constant and comforting. He wanted nothing more than to melt into you, to allow you to envelope him within your arms. He wanted to stare at you until he couldn’t see anymore, to memorize every curve in your jaw and dent in your brows, the twitch of your nose and the hitch of your breath, the swipe of your tongue over your lip and the flutter of your lashes over mesmerizing, gentle (e/c) eyes. 

He was so drunk, yes, but you were doing very little to sober him up. He felt like he was floating and falling into you all at once.

You grabbed his t-shirt in your hands and spread it out, reaching your hands through the hole to stretch it over your friend’s head. He poked his head through the neck hole, hair messily sprawling over his forehead as a result, and pulled his arms through the sleeves, disorientedly. 

You still hadn’t looked at him. You were already moving to grab his sweats when you felt a hand reach up and snake over your waist. 

You jumped, snapping your eyes up to his finally. His brows were pinched together and his lips were parted, the blue of his irises a stark contrast against the pink shade of his face. You were close, your legs bumping the edge of the bed while Satoru’s legs caged around you. You stopped suddenly, his touch catching you off guard.

He didn’t say anything. He only snaked his other hand around you, settling them on your hips, leading your heart to slam into your chest.

“S-Satoru, what…” you trailed off, losing yourself in his eyes. There wasn’t a single thought behind them except you. “What’s wrong? You want me to stop?”

His Adam's apple bobbed with a gulp he took, thumbs rolling over your hips experimentally. He looked down, over your body, watching his hands grasp your waist gently as if the feeling and the sight of it weren’t real. He could hear your heart pounding, see your blood rushing, practically taste your nerves despite his drunken state.

You were so overstimulating. Worse than the five shots he’d tossed back.

“Toru?” you called him again. He saw your lips move before the sound registered within his brain, the sweet address sending shivers down his spine. He could barely keep himself upright, but he needed more of you. 

“Why’dyou do’this?” he mumbled, unsure of what he was even asking.

Your nose scrunched in that cute way it did when you were confused. “Huh?”

“Y’always… look after’me. Always’take care’a’me. Why?”

You were growing nervous. Your heartbeat was loud enough, you were sure Satoru could here, and your face was hot to the touch. “Because… because you’re one of my closest friends, Toru. I care about you.”

He shook his head slightly. “‘S’not th’same.”

“What do you mean?”

“S’not th’same as Sho ‘n Sugu. S’different. You’re different.” 

“I…” you weren’t sure what to say. He had you cornered, trapped into him with no escape. You were hyper aware of his fingers gripping your waist softly and his eyes eating you alive. Your senses were through the roof, and you wanted to run and break away from this contact, from this feeling, but you couldn’t. You were frozen. 

You could feel him tugging himself closer, leaning into you, pressing you closer. 

“You’re drunk, Satoru. You should get to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober,” you tried to change the subject.

“No,” he refused. “Please, no. Please.”

His hands trailed up your waist, feeling all around your body. You were perfect, too perfect. He couldn’t get enough of you. 

His hands reached your arms, then your shoulders, and finally your face, cradling your cheeks softly within his warm palms. 

You pursed your lips, eyes scattering over his face as he gazed at you. He drew your face closer, his sharp nose brushing yours. He was so close, you could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

You lifted your hands to grasp his wrists, preparing to pull his hands from your flustered face.

“Satoru,” you warned. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t want y’to’go,” he whispered, thumbs smoothing over your hot skin. You shivered, your mind battling against itself as you tried to decide what to do.

He was drunk. He had no idea what he was doing. He was just being clingy.

“Please. Please stay, (Y/n). Need’you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, love,” you told him, meeting his eyes directly. “I’m right here.”

“But’don’t leave tonight. Y’always leave. Don’t. Stay. Sleep w’me.”

Your heart swooned, ached, swelled. Satoru was always so needy, but never to this extent. He was practically falling apart before you. 

He stared at you longingly, brows curved as if he was going to cry. “Please, pretty. Please.”

This boy had you so weak. There was nothing he could have asked for that you wouldn’t have said yes to. It was why you were always showing up at his side in the middle of the night when he called for you, why you let him lounge around your room at any hour of the day when he was bored, why you brought him snacks when he was too busy training to eat, why you let him drag you and the others about simply because he wanted you all to tag along with him everywhere. 

Satoru Gojo could have asked you for the moon, and you would have pulled it down by a rope just to see him smile at you and feel his arms wrap around your frame as he pulled you into an overbearing hug. 

You loved him to death. You loved him more than you thought your teenage heart capable of loving anyone, and you feared his knowledge of your feelings because of how prideful he was, because of how many girls harbored the same crush, and because of how many confessions he received on a daily basis. 

You wanted to protect yourself from heartbreak by the world’s most desirable boy. You didn’t want to make yourself look so pathetic before him, more so than any ordinary person already was, but the way he begged for you… the way those big eyes drew you in and his hands framed your face, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that could save him from his mental torment had you giving in completely.

“Okay,” you nodded, releasing his wrists to cup his face in return. He swooned, hands falling into his lap as he submerged himself in your touch. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

A whimper fell past his lips as he fell into you, head collapsing into your chest and hands gripping around your thighs. Your hands moved to his back, stroking him soothingly as he clutched you to him, murmuring nonsense. You could tell his intoxication was tipping into exhausting by the way he slumped into you, and you sighed. He was going to be the death of you, this one. 

The time ticked closer to three once you had managed to get him to let you change him out of his pants and gurgle some mouthwash before going to bed. He kept himself close to you for the rest of the night, whether it was by clinging to your shirt or holding your hand or leaning his head over your shoulder. He had gone completely nonverbal, relying on his actions instead to convey his desperation for your closeness to him. 

You had finally managed to get him into bed at 3:30 am. He plopped down into his messy sheets, face smothered by the pillow and feet hanging off the edge of the bed. He was too tall for his own good. 

You were busying yourself with turning out his lights when you saw his hand twitch out, grasping through the air. You knew what he was asking.

You slipped your shoes off and pulled your sweatshirt over your head, leaving you in your night tee and shorts. You carefully climbed onto the soft furniture, grabbing Satoru’s outstretched hand. He turned himself to face you immediately, yanking you down into him. You squeaked, collapsing beside him on the bed. 

He didn’t let you move to grab the comforter to pull it over your body. Instead, he threw his arms around you and buried his face into the crook of your neck, securing a leg over yours and trapping you against him for the final time that night. 

You tensed, Gojo’s hair brushing softly against your chin as his warm breath fanned contently against your neck. He curled himself into you, clutching you as though you were his last lifeline. 

He stroked his hair softly, scratching his scalp as the beat of your heart lulled him into sleep. 

You exhaled softly, staring up at the ceiling as sleep slowly overtook your body. You prayed that Satoru wouldn’t remember this night. He normally woke up late, so you hoped that you would at least have had time to slip from his room in the morning and disappear into yours. 

You wanted to forget everything. You wanted to forget the way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way he touched you. You wanted to bury it all deep down, to move on as friends like you always had been and always would be. You wanted to leave it all behind, but Satoru had a hold on you that you could not escape. It was the effect he had. Consuming, powerful, and entirely too dangerous for you to indulge.

Satoru was a needy drunk. That was all you could chalk him and the intimacy of this night up to be. A consequence of his intoxication.

But somewhere deep within you, somewhere you did not bother to explore, a spark of hope glimmered for your love, a spark that made you believe just for a moment that Satoru loved you too.

[rizzanon]

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“I want every perimeter of this warehouse locked down—now. No one gets in or out unless I authorize it. Is that clear?”

“Double the guard on every exit. Sweep the surrounding area. I don’t care if you have to go block by block—make sure none of those bastards slip through.”

“Commissioner! There’s someone here.”

.

.

.

“Quickly, get some paramedics down here. No one touches Batgirl’s mask—is that understood?”

.

.

.

“Get the paramedics to stabilize her, but that’s it—nothing more. No one treats her except Dr Leslie Thompkins.”

.

.

.

“What of the drug dealers?”

“We managed to catch most of them, sir. They were distracted by Batgirl’s appearance—probably trying to figure out what to do with her when she showed up and foiled their dealings tonight. But… a few managed to escape in the chaos.”

“Damnit. Notify the precinct to put out an APB. I want every available unit on this. We’re not letting this operation slip through the cracks.”

.

.

.

“I don’t care who’s out there or how far they think they’ve gotten. We’re shutting this operation once and for all. If Batgirl risked her life for this, we owe her this much.”

“Sir…”

“What?”

.

.

.

“I’m sorry, Commissioner…. Batgirl… she’s dead.”

.

.

.

“What. Happened.”

“Bruce, please calm down—“

“Where is my daughter?”

“Bruce—“

“Leslie. Where. Is. My. Daughter.”

“I—I’m sorry, Bruce. I tried everything—“

“Where is she? I need to see her. Now.”

.

.

.

Where did it go wrong?

How did it come to this?

Bruce swore—swore—he’d never let what happened to Jason happen again. Not to any of them. He’d built walls, created rules, pushed himself to the breaking point to ensure it. All of it was to stop this—this—from happening.

So why… why was he staring at your lifeless body now? Why was the weight of his failure suffocating him all over again? Why had he failed you, just like he failed Jason?

His fists clenched at his sides as he took a shaky step forward. His breath hitched, and for the first time in a long time, the weight of helplessness settled heavily on his chest.

“God…damnit…” he choked, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “Open your eyes. Please.”

The room was too quiet. Too still. The sterile hum of the machines was a cruel mockery of life.

Bruce dropped to his knees beside the bed, his gloved hand trembling as he reached for yours. It felt so small, so cold.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispered, his voice trembling, the words breaking apart with every syllable. “I promised—I promised I’d protect you. And I couldn’t even do that.”

He bowed his head, his forehead brushing against your hand as his grip tightened. “I’m sorry. I failed you.”

so… 🫣

have this while i continue working on chapter 3 and 4 🥰

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows @thethingwiththefeathers @mochiivqi @pix-stuff @narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 @reallyromealone @plsfckmedxddy @sea-glasses @203moonysello @luvly-writer @dovey-quacks2332 @love-theangel @hotdinosankles @vebbiewuzhere @animegirlfromvietnam @estreiiuh @simply-lovely78 @twismare @ssak-i @g4bbi3xx @buddee @alor-thes | ask to be added <3 (idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

[multifandoms4]

Annoying

Oscar Piastri x Norris!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You and Oscar tend to get on your brother’s nerves when you show PDA. Here are a few instances of that.

Word count: 700+

The first time it happened, it was a weekend off from racing, so you, Lando and Oscar decided to spend some time together and hang out. Y’all are currently playing Mario Kart and you are beating both of them. “For guys who drive race cars for a living, y’all suck at Mario Kart.” You tease them. Lando rolled his eyes and Oscar laughed at you. “Oh hush.” He retorted.

After you beat them once again, you decide to eat some takeout for dinner and watch a movie. You and Oscar are cuddled up on one couch while Lando is on the other. He looks over to see Oscar peppering your face in kisses. “I’m gonna vomit.” He says out loud and you start laughing. Oscar is soon to follow with the laughing. “Is someone feeling lonely over there?” You ask your brother teasingly. He rolls his eyes “No, but I still don’t want to see that.” He says with disgust.

“Oh boo. I just want to show my girlfriend some affection.” Oscar tells him. You giggle as him and Lando go back and forth with each other, all in friendly banter. “Do you plan on staying the night?” You ask Lando. He thinks about it for a moment and says he is going to. You get up and get the guest room ready.

~On a race day~

Another time you annoyed your brother was on a race day. You are standing in front of Oscar, he has his arms around your waist and his head resting on top of yours. Y’all really aren’t doing anything to crazy but Lando makes a gagging noise and pulls you away from Oscar. “No touching. I don’t want to see that.” You suppress a laugh and tell him to get over it. You go back to Oscar and give him a hug. They get called to go to their cars.

You lean up and give him a kiss and wish him good luck. You go to give Lando a hug and he is glaring at Oscar. “Calm down Lando, he’s my boyfriend and we are going to kiss.” “I still don’t like it. You’re my little sister, you’re not supposed to be kissing anybody.” He mutters. You shake your head and wish him good luck. You know he is giving you a hard time and doesn’t mean any harm by it.

~Time skip~

Today marks the two year anniversary since you and Oscar started dating. You are a little upset because Oscar has to work and is in another country at the moment. He called you earlier to say happy anniversary and it made you so happy. You go about your day and around dinner, you hear a knock on the door. Lando is standing there with a bouquet of flowers. “Special delivery.” He says. You laugh at him, knowing Oscar put him up to this. “I thought y’all were gonna be gone all week? And how much did he pay you to do this?”

“We got done early and moved some stuff around and he didn’t have to pay me anything. Just promised to keep the PDA to a minimum around me.” He teased. You rolled your eyes at him. “So where is Oscar right now?” You ask. “Just get ready to go. We are leaving in an hour.” He tells you. You put the flowers in a vase and hurry to get ready.

An hour later and Lando is taking you to the spot you and Oscar had your first official date. He is standing on the overlook with a blanket and a basket. You thank your brother and get out to go to Oscar. When you reach him, you pull him into a kiss “Happy anniversary, baby!” You say. “Happy anniversary!”

Lando rolls down the window, “I’m still here. Would it kill you two to wait till I’m gone?” He teased. You shrug your shoulders. “It actually might dear brother. Now go away, I want to spend some time with Oscar today.” He waves and drives off. “Even after all this time we’ve been together, the slightest amount of PDA still annoys him.” Oscar laughs at your comment. “I don’t think that will change.” He responds and you agree. Dinner goes well and you watch the sunset together before you head back home for the night.

[the-flaneur]

couples quiz gq (lh44)

pairing: husband!lewis hamilton x wife sports reporter!reader

summary: it’s the gq couples quiz time with your boo 💋

warnings: mentions some suggestive content

wc: 2165

[masterlist] [requests]

y/n: lew stop pushing my chair away, im moving out of the frame

(whispering)

the director’s going to be mad at me now

lewis: you want me to pull you back in?

y/n: le-lewis! im going to fall if you pull the chair in that fas-

y/n yelps loudly and looks like she’s going to fall but the clip is cut short by the editors

*cut*

y/n: hi everyone, i’m y/n m/n l/n-hamilton!

waves to the camera

lewis: and i’m lewis carl davidson hamilton

y/n turns towards lewis, with a mischievous look on her face, and in a matter of fact tone…

y/n: can’t forget the sir, lew

lewis: sorry darling

lewis rolls his eyes affectionately, before waving at the camera as well

hi, im sir lewis carl davidson hamilton. 

both: and today we’ll being doing gq’s couple quiz!

y/n: we had a competition last night to see who was going to start, and of course i wo-

lewis: you only won because you bribed roscoe into giving you the toy. we said we were going to play fai-

y/n: you also tried to bribe him, i just bribed him better. don’t try to fool everyone honey

y/n smirks, before pulling out her cue cards

so lew, where and how did we first meet?

lewis: well we first met back in 2015, at silverstone…it was actually a little bit silly how we met. i hadn’t realised that ted [kravitz] wasn’t going to be at the pitlane broadcast because he was sick. so when this absolutely gorgeous woman rocks up with a sky sports microphone and lanyard, i was so confused…

lewis trails off sheepishly while y/n laughs, reminiscing over the memory of their first encounter

and then of course i was blown away by her gorgeous presenting skills, even if she did really emphasise the pit crew’s interesting tactics during the race.

y/n: i was just doing my job…

y/n pouts sarcastically before lewis gently pats her arm

lewis: yes yes, i know darling. so after channelling seb’s now somewhat questionable flirting skills, i convinced her to go on a date with britain’s best tour guide.

y/n: sometimes i don’t know what my younger self was thinking, considering you almost insulted me during that date

lewis: it was just my unbelievable charm and wit - you cant resist the hamilton sex appeal

lewis mimes a hair flip, whilst y/n gags behind her hands, before shrugging

y/n: and i guess the rest is history.

*cut*

y/n: lew, what do you think is the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for me?

lewis: well i mean apart from my show stopping proposal last year, which i think undeniably will never be topped by anyone else in the history of proposals, if i do say so myself-

y/n: but no one else will know about all the details…

lewis: of course darling, my lips are sealed. 

lewis mimes zipping his lips and tossing away the key

apart from the proposal, i would probably have to say our first anniversary in 2018. of course, we had met back in 2015, but didn’t officially get together until late 2017. and of course being out first anniversary, i had to pull out all the stops.

y/n: to be fair, it had been a complete surprise considering it was our first anniversary together

y/n grins at lewis, grasping his hand in hers

lewis: i prepared an entire day of activities, like we went to the beach at sunrise and had a picnic, and then we went surfing for a bit…then we did a city wide scavenger hunt, going to all our favourite locations and reshooting pictures we originally had taken there, and then we went and had dinner with all our families, and then i proposed to her a darry promise ring…

y/n: ladies and gentlemen, if they wanted to, they would

y/n swoons and winks before frisbee-ing the cue card off screen

*cut*

y/n: what has been my favourite couple’s outfit we’ve done together?

lewis: well apart from when you’re wearing my clothes…

y/n rolls her eyes as lewis cheekily smiles at her

it would probably have to be this year’s met gala look. i honestly think all round, a significantly meaningful outfit which meant a lot to both of us. we both looked absolutely amazing, especially you darling.

y/n: correct!

y/n showers the camera with jazz hands

wearing a replica of junon was honestly the highest fashion honour i could’ve ever wished for. even if it was just a replica, i felt absolutely ethereal wearing it, and the craftsmanship was just as exquisite. the beading and layers of the dress are cut so beautifully…

and of course, seeing the real junon in person was even more spectacular. but your outfit was just as elegant and more impactful, lew.

lewis: of course i had the amazing privilege of being able to honour the work, life and story of john ystumllyn, who was one of britain’s first black gardeners. the emboridered flowers on the outside reflects the language of flowers, something which is also something so meaningful between my wife and i…

y/n and lewis look gently at each other for a minute, the camera capturing their serene and gentle smiles 

*cut*

y/n: another one, lew. what is your favourite thing about our two kids?

lewis: well of course, i love them both so much, since they’re half you and half me… hey don’t laugh at me baby

y/n laughs as lewis points at the camera

hey guys, your mum’s being mean to me now - but i love you guys so much, ok. dad loves you lots, more than your mum

y/n puts a sarcastic hand over her heart as if she’s been wounded by lewis’ words

y/n: babe lets be for real. i carried both our babies the entire pregnancy, i’ve practically become one with them. i love them the most

lewis: no matter which one of us loves them more, we’ll always play second fiddle to roscoe, babes. he’s like the babies’ number one protector, he’ll even sometimes stop y/n or i from cuddling them

y/n: yeah like father, like son

lewis: hey! what’s that supposed to mea-

*cut*

y/n: what is my favourite meal that you cook for me? this one is a bit difficult, considering you haven’t cooked for me since our last anniversary…

y/n pouts before lewis sighs again

lewis: i try my best…

lewis now addresses the camera

but this little lady likes to complain that vegan food sometimes only tastes like grass, so she always gets take out from the restaurants. 

but apart from that… i would think my dad’s oil down, taken straight from his mum’s recipe, is definitely a family favourite. the kids love when i take the time to make it, and it always makes the house smell great. y/n: definitely, the coconut and spices are always a fantastic combination in food we enjoy, like other cuisines like thai food - always amazing!

*cut*

y/n: final question from my side lew - if you had to describe our relationship in five words, what would they be?

lewis puts on a contemplative look, he’s really trying his hardest here

lewis: hmmmm, it’s a bit hard there’s just so many wonderful words to use

y/n: yes baby?

lewis: like judgemental, interesting, dramatic, inventive… there’s just so many wonderful words

y/n bursts into laughter at lewis’ deadpan stare into the camera

no but honestly…

lewis thinks thoughtfully, before holding onto his wife’s hands

the love i have for y/n and our family cannot be just described in five words. i love her more than i love anything else in this world, and i would give up anything to be with her forever…

y/n looks teary-eyed at lewis’ confession

y/n: lewis… i love you baby

lewis: i love you too darling

*cut*

y/n: now i guess it’s your turn lew, lets go

y/n mimes finger guns at her husband, before leaning back to lounge in her chair

lewis: what’s been your most recent favourite memory of ours?

y/n cups her hands around her mouth before discreetly whispering something to lewis, who giggles at her words before miming a not-so-subtle kiss

y/n: not that recent, but i think your silverstone victory. it was so emotional for everyone, especially having the kids there. they probably didn’t remember your last victory before then. of course i was so proud of you and the team, i couldn’t stop crying the entire time

lewis: the afterparty was extra special too; we had dinner with my whole family at our home in central london, although my dad complained we should’ve gone to stevenage and stayed at home longer

y/n: anthony just loves seeing his little boy at home, and his grandkids

y/n leans over a tugs on lewis’ cheek affectionately

*cut*

lewis: y/n, with your extensive motorsports knowledge, what does drs stand for?

y/n: daniel ricciardo supremacy of course - danny’s one of my favourites, especially when he drove for red bull. sorry seb

[subtitle: this was filmed before it was publicly known that daniel would NOT be driving for VCARB for the remainder of the season]

*cut*

lewis: who is or was your favourite driver to interview?

y/n: well, i mean apart from you - cause you’re just that willing to give me all the nice PR suited yet sometimes edgy commentary, i would probably have to say….

kimi

i mean he made my job both really easy and really hard, but he was always super nice to talk to off camera, so technically i got to interview him, just off camera, where he could talk a bit more freely

sorry kimi for outing your secret extrovert-ness

y/n sticks her tongue out, knowing kimi is very unlikely to see this video

*cut*

lewis: if we didn’t need to compromise on baby names, what would you have named our children?

y/n: do you want my really wacky answer, or the half truth answer?

lewis: hmmm… lets go with both.

y/n: well my real options would’ve been lewis jr and c/n, but i already call your di-

lewis, knowing where y/n was going with this quickly cups her mouth with his hand, before anything else comes out

lewis: are you sure that was the real answer?

y/n giggles from behind his hand, before moving it back down

y/n: well my wacky answers would’ve been nico and fernando so…. take your pick babes

*cut*

lewis: what’s my favourite tradition that we have?

y/n: our 2-2-2 date plan. i saw it on tiktok that one time, and sent it to lewis, who became obsessed with it. but in all honesty it works really well with our busy lifestyles, especially when i stay home with the kids. 

lewis: to be fair, the timing is not actually weeks, months and years since we work pretty often together, it’s more like days, weeks and months…

y/n: especially during the summer and winter breaks, cause their grandparents love looking after them then

lewis: roscoe too, he’s always with them, so he’s actually the person they see the most in their life sometimes y/n: but yeah, the date plan just gives us a way to properly structure time for us together, which can get so hectic during race weekends

*cut*

lewis: ok now the final question of the couples quiz - when is my birthda-... just kidding!

lewis chuckles whilst y/n bats the cards out of his hands in mock anger

just kidding darling… what do i love most about you?

y/n: my ass?

*cut*

lewis: well now i suppose it’s time to reveal the winner, which will obviously be me

y/n: no it’s obviously me, you barely remembered my five favourite drinks

lewis: i haven’t had alcohol in like forever, you can’t blame me for that. besides you almost forgot our anniversary date

lewis pouts, turning away from y/n

y/n: ughhhh, you’re gonna hold this over me forever, i already know it. i only had a slight lapse in memory because it’s so close to c/n’s birthday

director: regardless the final tally is…

[y/n and lewis both look up at the ceiling above them, where the numbers are displayed in the video. lewis’ shows a 14, whilst y/n’s shows a 20]

y/n: AHA! clearly the superior side of this couple now!

y/n cheers, throwing her hands up in the air

but i guess it was a shared victory. afterall, whenever i win, you win too babes

lewis: sure do, cause we’re one team and we rise together.

[gq closing screen plays]

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time We Went To The County Fair”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: pure fluff, frenemies dynamic, emetophobics be cautious (no one actually gets sick it’s just mentioned), Sukuna is trying so hard to be nice

Word Count: 2.89k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna always tries to give off the vibe that he’s too big and bad for anything. Everything is beneath him, everyone is merely a nuisance, and this Ferris wheel in particular is just too bland and boring for his tastes.

He acts like you held a gun to his head and forced him to come with you to the fair, but you really didn’t; if anything he forced you to let him tag along. You just happened to see a flyer in the mailbox and brought up that you were planning to go and he could tag along if he wanted to, the last thing you expected was for him to immediately start lacing up his boots and stuff his wallet into the pocket of his ripped black jeans, asking you a nonchalant “You ready?” not even a minute after you suggested it.

And now here you are, a decent train ride later and you’re at the top of the Ferris wheel sitting across from each other, looking down at the colorful lights of food stalls and amusement rides below you. You wanted to go on the Ferris wheel first since the sun is beginning to set, the sky turning shades of pink and orange as a gentle breeze chills the evening air.

Sukuna’s gruff and uninterested voice breaks the peaceful silence, “You could’ve looked out the window at home for free.”

You’re scooted to the edge of your little cart, elbows perched on the rusty metal railing and your cheek rested on your palm, looking longingly between the colorful lights of the roller coasters down below and the changing hues of the sky, “The view’s not this pretty at home.”

All he can respond with is a hum, his arms stretched out across the railing behind him as he leans his back against the hard metal wall of the gently swinging cart. From the corner of your eye you’d swear you could see him watching you, but when you shift your gaze towards him his head has already turned to look down towards the carnival beneath you.

He outstretches his arm and points toward one of the rides, colorful lights spotted around the outside of its spaceship style design begin to transform into streams of light as the ride starts to spin and twirl around, “We’re doing that one next, too fuckin’ boring just sitting around.”

You turn your body towards him and give him a sarcastic grin, “What if all the spinning makes me sick?”

He scoffs, gently kicking your leg across from him with his combat boot, “If you throw up I’m pretending that I don’t know you.”

“Boo.” You roll your eyes at him and look back towards the fair as the Ferris wheel begins to spin. You reach your arm out of the cart and point at a ride in the distance, a large boat shaped contraption swinging back and forth before turning completely upside down, the passengers' screams echoing through the open air, “Would you go on that one?”

He gives you a sly grin, “Only if you go on it too, you didn't drag me along just to watch, did you?”

“I didn’t drag you here, you might as well have begged to come with me.”

“Oh fuckin’ please,” He leans towards you, propping his elbows on his knees and looking up at you, “You gave me those ‘lil puppy dog eyes when you showed me the flyer.” He mimics a dramatic pout, making you groan and press your sneaker onto his chest to push him away.

“You’re unbearable.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The metal steps creak below both of your feet as you and Sukuna step into the spaceship ride; the walls are round and covered in separate metal panels for each person to stand with their back against, and in the middle of the ride there’s a booth for the operator with large buttons and levers. You and Sukuna find two open panels on the wall and stand in front of them as the doors to the ride slide shut, leaving you both and everyone else blocked off from the festivities going on outside.

The operator looks bored as they flip a switch above their head, the lights dying off before you hear the clicking sound of buttons being pushed, rainbow lights streaming along the ceiling in swirling patterns above your head. Blaring loud techno music starts to blast from massive speakers in the operator’s booth as you feel your balance start to waver. Within seconds everyone’s backs are slammed into the wall, fits of giggles and startled screams surrounding you in the ride.

You turn your head to look at Sukuna and he’s already grinning at you, he tries to yell something to you but the music is far too loud to hear him. You open your mouth to yell “What?!” but instead a yelp is ripped from your chest as your entire body slides up the wall. He points up towards you and laughs, you try to kick him in the shoulder but the pressure of the ride spinning is keeping you effectively plastered to the wall, hardly able to move at all.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is somehow barely affected by it; deciding that it’s time to show off as he plants his palms onto the wall behind him and bends his knees to be completely off the ground. He stumbles back slightly on his first attempt to push himself up, but by the second try he’s crouching completely upright on the wall.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You scream out to him, but he can hardly hear you over the loud music and playful screams of everyone on the ride.

He’s got a massive grin plastered on his face as he stands to his full height so casually, as if the pressure of gravity just doesn’t affect him, taking a broad step over your stiff body to stand with his large combat boots on either side of your hips. He takes a knee over you, wrapping one of his hands around the back of your neck and the other behind the small of your back, leaning forward and yelling into your ear.

“You’re coming with me.”

It feels like you’re going to fly back into the wall as he pulls you into his arms, his strong grip keeping your body flush against his as you try to raise your arms enough to wrap them around his neck.

“You’re insane! Put me down!”

You can feel his breathy laughter on the crook of your neck as he lifts you up to stand with him on the wall, his hands never loosening their protective grip on you even as your feet plant themselves on the wall. He’s holding you so close, you’re not sure if your head is spinning more from him or the carnival ride. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, your head pressed flush against his broad chest and tilted up towards the flickering lights adorning the ceiling.

“Not so bad, see?” You can hear the grin in his voice, his lips brushing against your ear while he speaks to you, “Not gonna drop you, calm down.”

Can he feel how fast my heart is beating?

The pressure in your head starts to feel relieved, but at the cost of your balance as you stumble forward. Sukuna completely wraps his arm around your waist and lifts you off your feet, taking long strides backwards off the wall and back onto the floor as the ride slows to a gradual stop.

“Hey!” The operator is screaming over the music as the large doors slide back open, “You two! Off!”

Sukuna chuckles into your ear as he drops you onto your feet, “Oops.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I can’t take you anywhere-“

“Ugh, how was I supposed to know that guy would be such a pussy?”

“Sukuna!” You slap his arm, “You’re gonna get us kicked out!”

He just huffs and rolls his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest as you both walk side by side through the fair. You knew he was nothing but trouble, and you feel a little stupid for assuming he wouldn’t drag you down into his bullshit with him, but you’re stuck with him now; at least until your lease is up. Maybe you shouldn’t invite him out with you anywhere after this, but when you glance up at his stupid grumpy expression you get butterflies.

With a face like that it’s no wonder he gets away with anything.

He’s so… annoying. That’s what you like to tell yourself; it’s annoying that you can’t stay mad at him, that he gives you that smirk that makes your heart race, that he held you like that on the carnival ride. He drives you insane in all the best and worst ways, either waking you up in the middle of the night by being loud and obnoxious coming home drunk from a concert, or making you go crazy wishing he was home with you while he was out with his friends.

“Are you even fuckin’ listening?” He snaps you out of your trance.

“No.” You huff, breaking your gaze from his. Did you doze off while staring at him?

“Brat,” He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you towards a pop up stall, the stall walls lined with balloons and stuffed animals, “You beat me in this and I’ll… behave for the next one.”

You scoff at him, “No you won’t.”

A small smile creeps onto the corners of his lips, “… Yeah you’re right.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, but he sidesteps in front of you, leaning down to match your height, “Tell you what, let’s make a bet.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

He smirks, “Winner picks out a tattoo for the loser.”

You laugh right in his face, “Absolutely fucking not!”

“What?” He gives you an exaggerated pout, “You don’t trust me?”

You cross your arms and glare up at him, “You would make me get some kind of gang tattoo.” You say sarcastically.

He mutters under his breath, “Shit, am I that predictable?”

“Sukuna!” You kick him in the shin.

“Fine, fine. Piercing.”

You look over at the plastic machine guns mounted onto the edge of the stall, noting a toppled over “out of order” sign next to the red gun. Maybe it’s a bad idea to humor him, but you know damn well he’d pick that red gun over the baby pink ones surrounding it, you might be able to play dirty if he hasn’t noticed the sign that fell over.

A grin paints your lips as you look back at him, “You’re on.”

His head cocks to the side slightly, “Really?” He looks genuinely surprised, but definitely not disappointed, “Shit, that was easy.”

He strides over to the stall, planting himself right in front of the red gun, exactly where you want him. You suppress your smile as much as you can as you walk up beside him, wrapping your finger around the trigger of the pink gun next to him. He’s looking down at you so cocky as the game attendant counts down for you both to start.

“Three!”

“You know…” He leans down towards you to speak into your ear.

“Two!”

“I know a guy who does eyelid piercings.” He states smugly.

“One!”

Like clockwork, you start peppering through the balloons while his gun immediately jams.

His brows furrow in frustration and you look towards him, giving him a mischievous smirk, “You’ll have to give me his number.”

As the game comes to a fast end, you learn that Sukuna is such a sore loser, grumbling about how that was “fucking rigged” and that you’re “a dirty little cheater,” but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried. You doubt he’ll hold up his end of the bet, and you’re not really that concerned about it to be honest, that frustrated look on his face is more than enough of a prize.

“Yeah yeah,” You giggle, “I’m just the worst huh? I’m gonna run to the bathroom, how about you win me something while I’m gone?”

He shoots a glare down at you, “No promises.”

“Oh yeah, because you fucking suck at these games, right?” Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth in a futile attempt to keep a straight face, you just can’t help but smile, it’s a nice change of pace for you to be the one getting on his nerves for once.

“Such a fuckin’ brat.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Something about Sukuna is suspicious when you meet him back at the games. His grin has returned once again and he’s holding one of his hands behind his back. His eyes light up when they catch yours, taking long strides to meet with you.

He leans down to be eye level with you, keeping his hand tucked away behind him, “Close your eyes.”

“You didn’t…” You look up to his eyes but his gaze flickers away from you.

“Shut up. Close your eyes and give me your hand.”

You let out a sigh, shutting your eyes and holding your hand out in front of you. Your brows furrow in confusion as something cold and squishy lands in your palm, “What the fuck…?”

“You know how you said you wanted a pet?”

You open your eyes and are greeted with… a goldfish. A little tied off plastic baggie dripping condensation onto your skin as the tiny fish swims in panicked circles, “Sukuna!”

“What?” He stands up straight, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “I thought you’d like it.”

“When I said I wanted a pet I meant, like, a dog!”

He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, “Well you won’t let me get a cane corso, so-“

“Because they’re a hundred and fifty pounds.” You mutter over him.

“Say hello to Brat Junior.”

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”

He’s definitely not kidding if the grin on his face is saying anything, he takes a step forward and pokes the bag, watching the fish squirm inside, “He’s got your attitude.”

“Oh my god,” You rub your temple with your free hand, “We need to go get a fish tank.”

“We’ve got bowls at the house.”

“No! We are not mistreating this fish, asshole.”

“Don’t call him fish, he has a name.” He declares sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

You mutter curses under your breath, “Brat Junior needs a tank. A real tank, with a filter.” You pull Sukuna by the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him along behind you, “There’s a pet store around the corner, let’s go before they close. And you’re paying.”

“Hey, why am I paying for this shit? It’s your pet.”

“It was your stupid idea!”

You both leave the loud chaos of the fair, walking along the quiet sidewalks to the pet store. The skies have gone dark now, the moon making itself at home above you as you cradle your beloved Brat Junior in both of your palms, trying to keep the water in his bag from swaying too much.

You and Sukuna bicker the whole walk there until you make it to the sliding glass doors of the pet store, quiet music playing through the speakers as you walk across the shiny white floors to the fish section. You both split up so he can pick up a tank while you sort through food, but shortly after he walked away he’s already making his way back to you.

“We’re gonna have to flush Brat Junior.” He says plainly.

You defensively clutch the fish close to your chest, “Absolutely not!”

He rests his elbow on one of the shelves lining the wall, leaning his side against it, “Then you’re paying for half of the fish tank.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, “You broke now?”

“Lady at the counter said he’ll get,” He straightens his fingers on each hand, placing them together like a prayer before parting them about a foot away from each other, “This big.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I wish I was joking, the tank is $600.”

You blow a raspberry, slumping your back against the wall and looking down at the goldfish in your palms. You’re silent for a moment, but then you let out a reluctant sigh, “I’ll pay half, but you’re carrying it on the train ride home.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You hold your apartment door open, watching Sukuna maneuver the giant 40 gallon fish tank through the small doorway, “Got it?”

He grunts in annoyance, “A little help would be nice.”

“Ooh, about that,” You hold the little plastic baggie up in your palm, “My hands are full with the baby.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, carrying the fish tank into the tiny apartment, “Should’ve fuckin’ flushed him.”

You let out a mock gasp, cupping the goldfish in both of your hands and holding it up to your face, cooing at it, “Did you hear that? Your father doesn’t love you.”

Sukuna placed the tank onto a long empty table against the wall before flopping on his back onto the couch. His eyes flicker between you and the fish for a moment, a faint smile creeping onto his lips.

“I knew you’d like that little fucker.”

A/N: Fun fact did u know that those fair fish grow to be 12 inches long? Unfortunately this fic is based on true events of when my boyfriend and I won TWO OF THEM at the fair and had to spend $600 on a fish tank for them (rip my wallet). Dividers by @adornedwithlight

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[endless-ineffabilities]

It's not like I'm falling in love, I just want ya to do me no good (and you look like you could) (18+)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

Ewan Mitchell isn't one for parties, but for you? He'd make an exception. Surrounded by stars at the GQ party, his revered muse on the big screen becomes a twisted angel in his arms—leaving him seeing stars again as he finds bliss within your warmth.

word count: 6.7k

main masterlist ▪︎ teaser

Ewan thought he could keep up the celebrity facade, just for the night at least, but the ceaseless barrage of mingling is starting to get to him.

The boo hurled at him right outside the establishment still echoes in his ears. Maybe it wasn't even about him, but his annoyance had been triggered. He decides that it all has gotten to him. What a load of bull.

He had been on the fence about being tapped as an honouree of a lifestyle magazine. Like it means anything. What does this have to do with being an actor? How is this supposed to help his craft? He might as well have been tapped to do one of those videos where he shows everyone what's in his bag.

"It's exposure," his team had chirped in unison, practically reading from a PR handbook.

This wasn't the industry he'd envisioned when he first fell in love with the craft. But none of this is about craft. It's all publicity fodder, all noise.

What he really wants—what his entire being craves—is a BAFTA, a Golden Globe, a SAG award. Hell, he would trade every glitzy dinner party invite for the faintest whiff of Oscar buzz. That was the dream.

Instead, here he is, tethered to a seat at one of four long tables, littered with stars of every calibre—from industry titans to the disposable nobodies who would be forgotten by this time next month.

He had been encouraged to make connections. Socialize. He translated this as a polite way of being told to suck up to people. Maybe a casting director would remember him. Maybe some producer would pass his name along. Easy.

Flattery will get you everywhere in this business.

But at any given time, he would much rather suck on a bloody spliff.

Leaning over to Davey, he says, "I might sneak out for a smoke or something. That's fine, right?"

Davey snickers, sensing Ewan's agitation. "Oh, if you're asking me, I say do whatever you want, mate."

But then someone from his team, straight-laced, precious Lindsay, lets him know otherwise. "Ewan, I'd advise you to sit still for now. What if they call you up some time during dinner?"

Ewan doubles down, his leg anxiously shaking under the table. "Are they going to call on me?"

Lindsay balks. She hasn't heard Ewan sound this pressed before. "Well, we weren't told but—"

"Then I can go. They wouldn't care."

"Ewan, just—"

"Sorry, Lind, but I gotta take a breather. This is all just—"

Lindsay waves him off, resigned. Ewan has always been an easy client to manage, so she can't bring herself to begrudge him this. "Fine, whatever. Just make sure to hide the cigarette if the photographer shows up."

"Sure," he mutters, not meaning it in the slightest. Nobody would care if he is spotted smoking. They should be grateful he is not among the deviants doing lines in the bathroom.

He abruptly gets up from his seat, and backs right into... you.

Of all people. Ewan feels the blood drain from his face, his breath hitching as disbelief engulfs him. His hand instinctively rises, brushing against the silken warmth of flawless skin exposed by your backless dress. The contact sends a jolt through him, and for a moment, he's certain he might pass out. You—right here, in the flesh.

You flash him a dazzling, effortless smile and murmur, "Oops, excuse me," your voice a melodic tease that leaves him utterly undone.

"Oh, no... no problem." He stammers, fully aware that he should be the one begging pardon.

You hold his gaze, ensnaring him so effortlessly. He realises how stupid he must look, with his mouth parted and his eyes wide. He should say his name. He should introduce himself, goddamnit.

But the moment shatters when someone calls your name. You step away without hesitation, and Ewan feels the loss acutely, like an unhooked fish left gasping on dry land.

Then it comes. That fucking sound.

The high-pitched squeal you let out is sharp, almost grating, but somehow it still strikes him as endearing. He'd probably hate it if it didn't come from you.

"Hi! Oh my god, how are you? I haven't seen you since our ski trip in Courmayeur!" Your voice carries, your excitement encroaching his space like an air of warmth.

Ewan follows your trajectory, his eyes trailing as you glide over to Eve Hewson. The two of you embrace like old friends, giggling like co-conspirators, your champagne glasses clinking softly.

He nearly rolls his eyes but catches himself. He knows he's being ridiculous, standing there like a sulking idiot, but the irritation bites anyway. He wants to blame the squeal, or the scene you're making, or the way you seem so goddamn comfortable in this world of chatter and pomp.

But that's not quite it.

He knows the truth, and it gnaws at him like a persistent itch he can't scratch. He's annoyed because he wanted you—your dazzling smile, your undivided attention—to be aimed at him.

He forces his feet to move, making his way down the side hall, where the din of the party fades into muffled chaos. He needs a breather, a moment to reset, but even here, your presence clings to him like static.

It's maddening.

Ewan has spent years watching you. On screens, in interviews, on magazine covers. You're like an open book he's memorised, every detail imprinted on his mind.

That birthmark beneath your right shoulder blade, briefly exposed in that love scene with Glen Powell. He remembers it, even though the camera barely lingered. The way your laugh bursts out unguarded, lighting up every corner of a room.

In one interview, you mentioned Meisner as your go-to technique, and it stuck with him. Of course you'd say Meisner, he thought at the time, like you were someone close to him, because you're all about connection, about living truthfully in the moment.

And here you are, in the same place as him, vibrant and ever so magnetic. Princess of every party, muse of the silver screen.

But you don't know him.

You didn't think you would be attending the British GQ party, but one of your Londoner friends happened to be throwing their birthday bash the night before, so you thought—why the hell not?

You were, of course, invited. Originally, the invite had been for the American GQ Men of the Year party the week prior, but filming schedules had other ideas. For the past two months, you'd been stranded in the icy landscapes of Winnipeg, immersed in the demanding shoot of David Lowery's latest thriller.

Grueling days and endless takes had left you with little energy for glamour. But now, with a few weeks off and the American crew taking a well-earned Thanksgiving break, you finally have some breathing room.

The London event seems like a perfect way to ease back into the whirlwind. And it doesn't disappoint.

The Roof Gardens is buzzing, the atmosphere heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and free-flowing champagne. You glide through it like you belong—because you do. Years of this kind of schmoozing have taught you how to navigate these waters. A charming smile here, a fleeting hug there, a bit of banter with a photographer who asks for the best angle.

You find yourself talking to your old castmate Eve Hewson near the bar, the two of you imbibing something bubbly and dry. She looks luminous as always, her dark hair framing her sharp, mischievous grin.

"Winnipeg, though?" Eve says, her tone incredulous as she leans in. "What the hell is Lowery making you do out there? Freeze to death for art?"

"Pretty much," you laugh, savouring the chill of your drink. "But it's worth it, trust me. The script is absolutely incredible. I just wish the weather wasn't trying to kill me."

"Classic Lowery. He probably thinks the suffering adds authenticity or some shit."

"Probably," you agree, rolling your eyes. For some reason, you find yourself circling back to an earlier incident.

"By the way," you say, leaning a little closer to Eve, "do you know who that guy was? The one I bumped into earlier?"

"Which guy?"

"Clip-on earring. Tall, kind of broody-looking in an overcoat? Wasn't talking much, just sort of... cruising awkwardly."

Eve shrugs, clearly drawing a blank. "I have no idea. Was he hot?"

It only takes you a second to consider this. "I mean, sure. In a tortured artist kind of way. Poor schmuck looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here."

"Oh!" Eve says, snapping her fingers. "Wait, he might be one of the honourees."

You arch a brow. "Not a goddamn influencer, right?"

Eve shakes her head. "No, don't worry. I think he's in that Game of Thrones spinoff. What's it called? House of Dragons?"

"Never saw it." You didn't have the time, truth be told. Also, the last seasons of its predecessor had been enough to edge it off your watchlist.

She taps her chin, thinking. "Wait... oh! Wasn't he that nerd in the movie with Jacob and Barry? Saltburn!"

"Oh my god. That's him? He did great in that role."

"Right? I could not have pointed him out. Kind of a chameleon, I guess."

"Guess so," you agree, the curiosity lingering.

The night unfolds exactly as expected. You exchange quips with Harris Dickinson, who flirts with you just enough to keep things interesting. You catch up with Nicole Kidman, who had been somewhat of a mentor to you when you acted alongside her in your third film at just 16. Jude Law joins your circle at one point, his charm as effortless as ever, and for a while, it feels like just another night on the circuit.

By the time you step outside into the crisp evening air, you're craving a bit of quiet. The gardens around the pavilion are softly lit, the gentle glow of fairy light casting long shadows over the manicured hedges. You pull your vape from your Loewe clutch, taking a long drag as you lean against a cold marble railing.

That's when you notice him again.

He's standing a few feet away, partially obscured by a stone pillar, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The faint smell of tobacco taints the pristine air, and you catch the same restless energy he had earlier.

You wander closer, the soft click of your heels against the stone catching his attention. He glances up, startled, as if he hadn't expected anyone else to venture out here.

"Hey," you say casually, holding your vape up as you stop beside him. "Can you hold this for a sec?"

Before he can respond, you hand him your purse, crouching slightly to tighten the strap on your heel.

He freezes, staring at the outstretched object. "Uh... sure," he relents, albeit hesitantly.

You straighten after a minute, taking the purse back with a quick "Thanks," and give him a once-over. Up close, he's sharper, more distinct. There's something remarkably intense about him that wasn't obvious before.

"I'm Ewan... Mitchell," he blurts, his words a little rushed.

You smile, tilting your head. "Nice to meet you, Ewan."

He fumbles for a response, his cigarette dangling precariously from his fingers. "I, uh, think we bumped into each other earlier. Inside."

"Yeah," you say lightly, your lips curving into a faint smirk. "I like your outfit, by the way. Very vampiric. Dior, right?"

He blinks, then chuckles softly, almost self-deprecatingly. "Yeah. Thanks. I like you too... I mean, I like... I like your dress, too."

You laugh at the accidental remark. There's something undeniably charming about him, despite his nervousness. "Why, thank you, Ewan."

The blush that creeps on his cheeks shows through the powder. He must have felt it, because he immediately trained his gaze down to his polished shoes.

Cute. So you make it your mission to break through his shell. These events tend to get repetitive after a while, but maybe tonight will be a lovely exception.

And so the game begins.

The two of you peacefully take hits of your respective choices of poison, your bubblegum-flavoured vapour melding in the air with his Marlboro red.

"You're quiet," you point out the obvious eventually, a teasing grin playing at your lips.

He almost laughs at the understatement but only shrugs. "Not much to say, I suppose."

"Oh, I doubt that." You lean against the balustrade, studying him. Ewan feels his pulse quicken under the weight of it.

You're so at ease. It's infuriatingly attractive. Your disarming allure, your grace in this world of make-believe, only deepens his self-consciousness. He knows what he must look like: an odd man out, fumbling at the edges of fame while you shine at the centre of it all.

He exhales shakily and finally replies, "Don't let me bore you."

"You're not boring me," you reassure him, before playfully adding, "Not yet at least."

There's a flicker of something unclear behind your eyes when you move closer and ask, "So what are you thinking?"

What he's thinking is that he's out of his depth, that he hasn't felt this kind of raw attraction in years—if ever. He's thinking you're the kind of woman who doesn't even have to command attention, and he's already hopelessly drawn in. But what he says is, "Just... wondering how I got here."

Your laugh is soft, rich with amusement. "To this party?"

"Or this moment."

His words surprise him, his ears burning as they register. You don't say anything, causing Ewan's nerves to spike. Did he sound too eager? Too pathetic?

But then, you smile. That damned megawatt smile that looks even better in person than on screen. "Well, it's a good place to be, isn't it?"

You lean a fraction closer, and could swear his heart is about to burst out of his chest.

"Do you always look so serious?" you ask, your gaze flicking to his lips, admiring the way they seem to be in a state of being perpetually curled. "Or is it just the brooding artist thing?"

"I'll take it if it works," he manages, his voice uneven.

"Oh, it's working," you say softly.

Ewan shifts his weight, tapping the cigarette against the edge of the balustrade. "Sorry, I just... I don't get it. These things. Everyone pretending they know everyone, like it's all some bloody performance."

You exhale a stream of vapour, watching it swirl into the night. He's finally opening up, and there is no way you're letting this slide. "It is a performance," you reply. "That's the point."

He shakes his head, gazing at you with a genuine softness you haven't been at the receiving end of in far too long. "But why? Why not just let the work speak for itself?"

There's something innocent in the way he says it, and it's endearing and definitely rare among your crowd. Ewan Mitchell isn't like the men you usually find at these industry events. He's no preening peacock, no walking cologne ad praying to be noticed.

There's something boyish in the way he fidgets, and yet also something undeniably grown in the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks you're not looking.

You reply, "It's so people know who you are. Why would anyone want to go see your movie if they don't give a shit about you?"

"You see, darling, that's where talent comes into play."

"Hmm, okay. But do you not know how many thousands upon thousands of aspiring actors come to LA every year just to witness the death of their dreams, because nobody gave a shit about who they are? And I'm certain that a lot of them can outact us under the table."

Ewan takes a slow drag from his cigarette, buying himself time. The way you said "us" sends a thrill through him he's desperately trying to smother. "Well," he begins, "if you're talented enough, you'll eventually catch a break. People notice, don't they?"

"Talent isn't everything," you point out. "You need to have drive."

"That I have," he counters quickly, his voice laced with quiet conviction. He wouldn't have been able to climb out of a life of near-guaranteed anonymity in Derbyshire if he didn't possess drive. There's a confidence in him now, a spark you seem to notice, judging by the faint curve of your lips.

"And charisma," you add, your smile widening, "which, clearly, you also have."

"Thank you," he says on instinct. There's a pause, just long enough for him to wonder if he's again blushing under your watchful gaze.

"And," you continue, dragging the word out with deliberate weight, "in this day and age, you need to get people talking."

Ewan exhales, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "How do I do that, superstar?"

"A big, fat scandal usually does the trick." Your voice is casual, but your eyes gleam with mischief.

"Oh, brilliant," he deadpans. His sarcasm earns him another laugh, and he feels it in his chest like a warm shockwave.

"Or... you could date someone famous. Get on the PR train."

Ewan shakes his head, his brow furrowing. "Not for me, I think."

You drift closer, eyes narrowing slightly as if you're sizing him up. "Oh really? You wouldn't get with me if you had the chance?"

The question lands like a lit match in the conversation. He swallows nervously, "Of... of course I would. But I don't want it to be manufactured."

"How would it go then?" There's no mocking in your question, no cruelty in your smile—just curiosity, maybe a touch of challenge.

He falters, betraying the battle waging between his nerves and his growing comfort in your company. "How would what go?"

"How would you, Ewan Mitchell, get me?"

His throat goes dry. He considers dodging it, turning the conversation back to you with one of the rehearsed quips he uses for interviews. But that feels cheap in the face of your boldness, so unabashed and expectant. "Well, I'd ask you on a date."

"And I'd say yes... go on."

"And we'll go to... the cinema," he says simply, and for the first time tonight, he doesn't feel like treading water.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, you're such a purist."

"What's wrong with that?" he asks, a touch defensive but also playful, emboldened by your attention.

"Nothing, you tortured artist, you," you tease, your tone lilting. "And then what?"

"Then... we could grab dinner or—"

"Would you kiss me?" you interrupt, your voice low and threaded with something heavier. Most would hesitate, worrying they'd gone too far, but you're not like most people. You never have been.

"If you... if you wanted me to," he replies, his own voice rough with honesty.

"But would you want to?"

His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest of moments before snapping back to your eyes. The words spill out of him. "I'd be a fucking idiot not to want to kiss you, darling."

Back in the pavilion, music from the DJ booth intensifies, signalling the post-dinner stage of the festivities. But the booming bass that reverberates is nothing compared to the beating of your hearts.

"On this hypothetical date... do we take it a step further?"

Ewan's thoughts run wild, and they are betrayed by the way his pupils dilate. "What do you mean?"

"I am talking about hooking up." Your words are relaxed, but the way you say them is anything but. They drip with intention, with heat, as if you're privy to the fact that he has pictured that scenario a hundred times over.

"What do you take me for?"

"A warm-blooded man who's clearly attracted to me... and who I'm also attracted to."

"You like me?" he whispers hoarsely.

Instead of answering, you close the distance, your lips brushing featherlight against his. The tentative touch sets him ablaze. When you press harder, surer, he melts into you. His hands tremble as they come up to your waist, anchoring himself in the reality of you.

"Fuck me," he breathes when you pull back, leaving him dazed. "I can't—"

"Do this?" you ask, your lips hovering over his, pulling at the fringes of his restraint.

"No... I mean, I can't believe I'm kissing you." He stumbles over his words, clearly in awe. "I love you."

It's your turn to be taken aback. "Woah, what?"

"I mean, I've loved your work," he stammers. "You inspire me as an actor, you know. I've watched you since your early days. You're fucking amazing."

"Mmm." When he allows his hand to drift along your spine, you ask, "Have you ever... fantasized about... sleeping with me?"

"I... I don't—"

"I'm used to it. Being looked at. Thought of, in that way." There's a tinge of raw sensitivity in your admission, letting him see the real you.

Ewan wants more of it. After just a taste of who you are underneath the surface, he is left craving the rest. "Then I think you know my answer," he says.

You let out a low hum. "I know."

"You're such a goddamn liability," he murmurs, managing to sound equal parts affectionate and exasperated.

"I know that too. Come with me," you say, your tone suddenly commanding. You grab his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and tug him towards the pavilion. He follows without a shred of hesitation, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of his chest.

The two of you weave through the edges of the party, slipping past clusters of inebriated guests until you find yourself in the dimly lit, unattended coatroom. The small space is as luxurious as the rest of the venue, the perfect backdrop for the tension threatening to explode.

The moment the lock on the door clicks shut, Ewan's restraint snaps like a taut wire. His hands cradle your face as he initiates the kiss this time, his hunger for you bleeding through every press of his lips.

The rest of the party fades away, and there is only you. He didn't care about any of it anyway.

"You are so fucking hot," he groans into the kiss. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Believe it, handsome," you purr, sliding your hands down the material of his coat.

"Are you sure about this?" His question comes out as a whisper, his forehead resting against yours, his cigarette-scented breath fanning your face.

"Ewan," you say, "get on with it before they all notice we've been gone too long."

He huffs out a nervous laugh. "The way you talk makes me think you wouldn't give a shit."

"No, I wouldn't," you confirm, your grin wicked. "They should fucking wait for us."

"You have an attitude, princess," he mutters, his fingers digging into your exposed back.

"Been told I have a big head," you joke.

He hums, before dropping a line that floors you. "Bet you have a sweet pussy, too."

Your eyes flash with amusement, drawing closer until your lips graze his Dior earring. "Wanna find out?"

"Fuckin' hell," his breath shudders out of him, "yes... yes... yes." He knew it might make him come across as desperate, as a damn simp, but he could not bring himself to give a single flying fuck. Not when you perch atop the gleaming marble edge of the table, and spread each leg out to the side, tantalisingly slow. A precious flower to be plucked, right there for the taking.

For him. He feels unworthy. He has half a mind to check the room for cameras—maybe this is all a prank. But what a lascivious, cruel prank that would be.

Is this some twisted initiation ritual into the Hollywood elite?

You trail a smooth, manicured finger along his jawline, igniting a shiver that ripples down his spine. His nerves come alive under your touch, each one crackling with electric anticipation, flipping a switch deep within him directly connected to his cock.

As he has revered you as a goddess on the silver screen all these years, he now reveres you in reality, sinking to his knees.

"Don't keep me waiting," you whisper silkily.

Ewan takes a steadying breath, before diving in. His hands lift the smooth material of your dress, revealing the sacred area between your legs, barely covered in a white sliver of a thong. You might as well have come with no underwear.

The coat suddenly feels too constricting, so he unbuttons it with a sharp motion, letting the heavy garment slide to the floor. But almost immediately, a flicker of concern crosses his face. The Dior number is a rental, and if it gets damaged, it won't be his head on the block—it'll be Davey's. With a hint of sheepishness, he retrieves it, carefully draping it over the back of an upholstered chair.

You notice the gesture, subtle but telling. He doesn’t quite belong to your world—or perhaps he does, but he moves through it without succumbing to its superficial trappings. Your friend Timothée wouldn’t have spared the coat a second glance, long since desensitized to the weight of designer labels.

But Ewan? He handles it all with a kind of quiet reverence, as if even in a borrowed piece of luxury, he remains grounded in something real.

And it only intensifies your desire for him.

There's a wanton intrigue in your eyes as you take in the bareness of his torso. His muscles are defined, but not in the off-putting gym rat kind of way. Instead, there's a natural leanness to his form—a testament to a body honed not for vanity, but for purpose.

Kneeling before you, eyes bright with awe, he gets right down to work. He pushes the fabric of your dress higher, out of his way, and you help him along, your fist bunching the skirt to one side.

"God, you're... perfect," he whispers. His palms rest on your thighs, and when his lips press to the sensitive skin just above your knee, you let out an involuntary sound that draws a low groan from his throat.

"Ewan," you breathe impatiently, unable to conceal your need for him. But he doesn't rush, dragging his mouth higher, trailing kisses along your inner thigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he savours the sensation.

He pauses just before pulling down the waistband of your thong, glancing up at you with wide, darkened eyes. "Tell me if I'm... if I'm doing too much," he says, almost shyly.

"You're not doing enough," you reply. "Keep going."

So he does. He slides the white lace down your ankles, then presses his mouth to your core, his tongue pushing between your folds with a fervour that makes your head fall back. His guttural moan is muffled as he goes down on you, the vibration of it causing heat to pool in your lower belly. You press the flat stem of your heel to the back of his head, drawing him closer.

"Fuck, Ewan," you gasp aloud, your hips rolling instinctively against his mouth as he works you over. He licks you, sloppy and desperate, his inexperience showing but somehow making it even better. He's so determined to give you pleasure, so eager to make you come undone, that he doesn't care about anything else.

He doesn't care about acting like a starved animal as he sucks on your pussy. All Ewan wishes for, in that very moment, is that you cum all over him—the sweet substance flooding his tongue, dripping down his chin, far more sumptuous than everything they have on offer in the party's banquet.

He's seen you fake an orgasm for a scene before, but this is real.

His tongue flicks over your bud, and when you cry out, he doubles his efforts. He wraps his lips around the aching nub to suck gently, then slides a finger into you, curling it just right. Adding another, he increases the pace, his fingertips pulsing into that damned spot within your walls each time.

The defined bridge of his nose is flush against your clit as he moves, augmenting your pleasure. The whole thing is messy, unrefined, and so damn good that it has you teetering on the edge in no time.

Your thighs quiver around his head, and when your orgasm crashes over you, you clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Ewan keeps going, his tongue and fingers refusing to let up, coaxing every last shudder from you until you're trembling and gasping for air.

"Holy. Shit." You lean back on your elbows to recuperate as white spots flood your vision.

"Did I... was that... was that good?" he asks with his lips shiny and swollen, practically yearning for your approval.

"Yeah," you manage, but it escapes your lips as a small, incoherent sigh.

"Hmm? What? What was that... baby?"

Baby, he says. But with the way, he's being so sweet, so dumbstruck, he's certainly the baby in this dynamic.

"More," you give him a better answer, "C'mere." You pull him up to your level, tasting yourself on his lips. Leveraging your legs around his waist, you keep him caged in. The outline of his hardened cock presses against your pelvis, and when you grind into him, his teeth clamp down on your bottom lip.

"Aghhh, hey!"

"Shit, I'm sorry—"

"It's okay," you whisper, not letting him pull away. "I liked it. And I want more."

"Anything, baby," he promises, and the raw honesty in his tone makes your chest tighten. "Anything you want. I'll—fuck—I'll give it to you. I'm all yours."

You nod once, before he claims your lips again in a bruising kiss. One of the thin straps of your dress falls from your shoulder, and he visibly shivers in excitement at the sight of your exposed breast.

"Fuck," he sighs, his hand coming up almost hesitantly to cup you. His thumb brushes over your nipple, as he takes you in with lust-clouded eyes. He leans down and captures the flesh with his mouth, his tongue swirling around your tender peak until you're left squirming.

You reach for him, fumbling with his belt and his zipper, and he helps you, his movements even more hurried and uncoordinated than yours.

When he frees himself, you can't help but stare—his cock is long and hard, already slick with precum. The sight makes your mouth water, and when you drag your gaze back up to his face, you find him watching you, his expression somewhere between bashful and utterly wrecked.

Ewan's hair, once gelled to immaculate perfection, now lies in disarray. He'll need to borrow your comb before he dares rejoin the party. The lower half of his face bears the unmistakable traces of cum and smudged rouge, a vivid testament to the chaotic indulgences of the evening. And somewhere in the frenzy of fumbling and fondling, his clip-on Dior earring has gone astray. He feels the absence keenly, like a phantom limb, yet he resigns himself to the loss—for now, it's a dilemma best left for another moment.

"You're staring," he says, an uneasy laugh escaping him, but there's heat in his gaze, a newfound confidence grounding his nerves.

"Because I like what I see," you reply.

"Tell me if this is too much," he says, his anxiety resurfacing through the haze of lust. It's endearing—so much so that you can't help but smile.

"Ewan," you say firmly. "I want everything."

He groans faintly as he lines himself up. Carefully, he pushes into you, and the stretch is exquisite, sending a shiver rippling up your spine. You both moan, the sound echoing in the quiet of the room. He buries himself to the hilt, pausing to catch his breath, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck, oh fuck," he murmurs, looking down at where your bodies meet. "Your pussy feels so good."

The compliment makes you feel something you can't pinpoint, but there’s no time to dwell on it. He starts to move, his thrusts tentative at first, testing the waters. But the whorish mewls spilling from your lips spur him on, and soon, he finds a rhythm—deep, steady, and just rough enough to leave you begging for more.

"Fuck, Ewan," you gasp, your nails scraping lightly against his back. "Yeah... just like that."

Your words are the only encouragement he needs. His pace quickens, and his grip on you tightens as if he's about to confess that he wants to own you. He's already yours, so it's only fair, isn't it?

He's spent years fantasizing about how your pussy would feel, squeezing his cock like a goddamn vice, and he's happy to find out that his imagination is nothing compared to the real thing.

"So sexy, baby," he mutters, his voice muffled as he nips at your neck. "Better than I ever—" He cuts himself off with a groan, his teeth grazing your skin.

You raise your legs higher up his torso to draw him deeper. The angle sends a bolt of pleasure through you, and your moans grow louder despite your attempts to keep quiet.

Then, suddenly, the doorknob rattles.

Both of you freeze, Ewan still buried deep inside your fleshy walls, his eyes wide with panic. The sound of a familiar voice seeps through the door, followed by a frustrated sigh.

"Where the hell did I leave my phone?" It's your friend, Florence Pugh. Her voice is unmistakable, and the realisation makes your stomach drop.

Ewan’s lips form a silent oh my God. You bite back a laugh, pressing a hand over your mouth as Florence jiggles the doorknob again.

"Seriously?" she mutters. "Locked? For fuck's sake."

You hear her footsteps retreat, her voice fading as she calls out to someone else. "Have you seen my phone? I swear I left it out here."

The moment the coast is clear, you both exhale in unison, the tension breaking into a mix of laughter and relief. Ewan drops his forehead to your shoulder, shaking his head. "This is insane," he whispers, though he doesn't feel a single ounce of regret.

"You're the one who couldn't keep it in his pants," you tease, rolling your hips slightly to remind him of your still-connected bodies.

His response is a low growl, and he resumes his thrusts, harder this time, filled with unfiltered desire. The near-miss only seems to have fueled him, the snap of his hips more frantic, more intense. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the room—mumbled curses, breathless moans, sticky slapping of flesh meeting flesh.

"God, you're incredible," he says, his voice strained. "I can't get enough of you."

You feel the coil in your belly tightening again, the pressure building with each thrust. Your delicate fingers dig into his shoulders, and he groans at the sensation, his cock twitching deep inside you. His rhythm falters for only a second before he recovers.

"Ewan," you gasp, your voice breaking. "I'm so close—don't stop."

"Come for me, baby," he says, his hand slipping between your bodies to find your clit. It sends you spiraling, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cry out, your body tensing and shuddering beneath him as he continues to move, chasing his own release.

He reaches up and twists your nipple, the sharp sensation making you gasp just before he comes. The sight of you—head thrown back, breast bouncing free from your designer gown, your smudged red lips parted in bliss—drives him to the brink. With a strangled growl, he slams into you one final time. His body shakes as he spills inside you, the warmth of his release flooding you completely. You both tremble in the aftermath, caught in the intensity of the moment, gasping for air, drenched in sweat and tangled in raw desire.

You blink lazily at him, a beautiful mess of tousled hair and make-up in dire need of a retouch. "Still think I'm a liability?" you ask.

"Oh, absolutely. But one worth keeping anyway."

Ewan sits in his dimly lit London apartment, the glow of his phone the only other source of light in the room. A half-empty bottle of Guinness sits forgotten on his coffee table. The screen displays your Instagram profile—your impossibly gorgeous face beaming at him from your latest post, which happens to be a professional photograph of you at the GQ party.

His finger hovers above the Follow button like it's the trigger of a detonator.

His newly-created account is laughably barren—no posts, no followers, no following. Just a desperate, last-ditch attempt to tether himself back to you, even if only digitally.

Ewan had always sworn off social media, claiming it wasn't his style, that he preferred the privacy and the mystique. Yet, here he is, spiraling, drunk on the memory of you and of that night.

The coatroom had been a blur. The attendant had returned far too soon, a flurry of apologies as Florence appeared behind her, claiming her phone from her coat pocket with a triumphant smirk.

Ewan remembers how Florence had tugged you aside, your laughter ringing out as she swiped her thumb across your lips, erasing the evidence of that kiss—or maybe just rearranging it. You had been whisked away to the ladies' room, leaving him standing there, disheveled, speechless, and utterly entranced. He hadn't even managed to get your number.

It's been days since, but he still feels the ghost of your touch, the echo of your moans, the scent of you on his skin. He's tried to focus, tried to pick up his scripts, but his mind keeps replaying the way you looked as you came.

He has even rewatched a film of yours, with special attention paid to a particular love scene. Watching it over and over, repeatedly going back to the timestamp where you're seen riding your male costar.

He felt aroused watching you. Also, incredibly fucking jealous.

"Pathetic," he mutters to himself, his finger still hovering. His thumb twitches, brushing the screen, but before he can commit to his descent into full-blown thirst, his phone buzzes violently, the vibration startling him into dropping it onto the couch.

"Shit." He snatches it back up, squinting at the screen. It's a call from his agent.

"Ewan," comes the voice on the other end, crisp and faintly incredulous. "What the hell did you do at that party?"

His heart stops for a beat. "Uh... what?"

"The party. The GQ one. The one where you disappeared for, what, an hour? Maybe more?"

Ewan's brain scrambles. "I don't—I mean, I just mingled. Like you suggested,” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. "Why?"

"Because," the agent says, drawing out the word like it's a prize reveal, "you've been shortlisted for a chemistry test next week."

"A chemistry test?" Ewan echoes, blinking. "For what?"

"For her film," his agent says, emphasizing the pronoun like it's blasphemous not to know who you are. "It's one of those secret big-budget Hollywood projects only top actors are getting called for. We didn't submit you because—well, not to be rude, but you're not exactly on their radar for that level yet."

Ewan's heart starts pounding. He sits up straighter, gripping the phone tighter. "Wait, wait. What film? Who's—who's her?"

But he already knows the answer.

His agent drops your name, exasperated now. "Apparently she petitioned for you, Ewan. Said you'd be perfect. So what did you do?”

Ewan is stunned into silence. He leans back against the couch, a slow grin spreading across his face as the pieces click into place. You. You'd done this. You’d reached out and used your pull to bring him into your orbit again.

"What did I do?" he repeats. "Oh, nothing much. Just... made an impression."

"Well, whatever it was, it worked. Chemistry tests are next week in L.A. They'll send over the details. And Ewan," the agent pauses, lowering their voice slightly, "don't screw this up. This is huge."

"I won't," Ewan says, his tone confident now. "I promise."

When the call ends, he stares at his phone for a long moment, the grin still lingering. He glances back at your Instagram profile, his thumb poised over the Follow button again. Then he snorts, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside him.

"What's the point?” he mutters to himself, his grin turning into a full-on self-satisfied smirk. "I'll see you soon enough."

He reaches for the bottle of Guinness instead, lifting it in a silent toast to fate—or whatever it is that's tied you two together.

Something came out of all that mingling after all.

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