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ctrlsatoru · 11 months

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DIABLO - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to sexual assault. toji having no sense of decorum. reader is engaged so, cheating? but not really and not yet. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k a/n: i was listening to diablo by lexie liu and the rest was herstory. started as porn without plot but things escalated. will proofread this later. summary: Toji Fushiguro looks like a problem, and you know better than to let curiosity get the best of you, until boredom strikes.

There was a time when you speed-walked through this very same building with the drive that only a determined intern could contain. Six days a week, from busy mornings to late nights, you embraced every task they tossed your way, seamlessly transitioning between the demands of different editors.

In the midst of it, one newly appointed creative director saw your efforts and took you under her wing. What began as a professional mentorship soon evolved into an enduring friendship that extended well beyond your time at the magazine.

Utahime Iori, a guiding presence in your life, became one of your favorite people in the world—a friend with whom you shared an unspoken understanding, effortlessly reading each other's thoughts with a single exchange of glances across the room.

Fast-forward five years, and the abrupt, intrusive ring of your phone tucked under the pillow shook you awake. It was Iori on the line, her voice laden with urgency and distress. She was stuck in Kyoto, needing you to do her a solid one. Her father’s condition had worsened overnight, and she wouldn’t be able to make it back to Tokyo for a critical photoshoot.

And so, here you stand, back at the bustling headquarters of the technology and culture magazine where you started your career. Despite your throbbing headache and the relentless fatigue that clings to your tired eyelids, you refuse to let your friend down.

Today's mission: capturing profile photos for an enigmatic tech mogul, a figure so elusive that no magazine has ever managed to secure an interview or collaboration. Probably some Zuckerberg from shein with an amped-up eccentric, incel overlord edge.

Iori had shared the name and a brief overview of the assignment during her desperate call, but the details had slipped through your grasp in the haze of your concern for her.

If you remember correctly, the concept is something corny along the lines of Diablo.

“Ok,” you breathe after the third scalding gulp of coffee that someone thrust in your hand the second you arrived.

Utahime's assistant, a young girl with striking blue hair and asymmetrical bangs named Miwa, looks up from her phone at you with bright eyes, relieved that you’re finally showing signs of life.

“Uh, who the fuck is this guy again?”

You’re momentarily distracted by how cold this place is. A shiver cuts a straight line up your spine. July in Tokyo is no justification for keeping the set at industrial fridge temperature, you think. For some reason, Miwa’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of the water. You know Utahime can make any seasoned truck driver sound graceful when she’s under enough pressure, so it can’t be your choice of words.

You fail to notice your surroundings coming to a stop, or the shadow towering over you.

“Toji. Toji Fushiguro.”

Oh.

That's one way to sober you up.

You’re definitely awake after hearing the deep yet smooth rumble behind you. Everyone within earshot gets ready for what’ll happen next as that oh shit realization settles on your shoulders.

But you’re no longer the eager intern who hid in the bathroom to cry after a rookie mistake. Nothing in your face gives away your heart threatening to crawl out of your ribcage. You turn around bravely and face a soft, dark blue surface.

No choice left but to look up… and up again, until he’s framed inside the thin silver structure of your glasses.

Your first impression of him is simple: no one this tall should stand at this close of a distance. There should be two, or three meters between you to make up for the lack of an acceptable height.

Toji Fushiguro -the name does stick this time- tilts his head to the side and gives you what might be the most shameless once-over. His eyes feel like a dark green horizontal light scanning you from head to toe. It ends with a quizzical expression on his face. The irk is triggered within the second.

“Who are you?”

That same question pops into your mind.

The hair team probably spent twice the time it took you to get here on LA traffic to arrange his inky black hair in the perfect unbothered way. There’s a healthy glow on the sharp edges of his face that can only be the result of seamless natural makeup, enhancing his ruggedly handsome looks.

You’re thinking that by too big, Iori meant that he’s massive. Literally. Wide shoulders block the tungsten spotlight behind him, casting a shadow on you and drawing a luminous halo around his silhouette.

Nothing’s angelic about him. You can tell just by looking. It’s a family gift. You may not have your brother’s electric baby blues, but you have the sight, as he calls it, and the alarms in your head are off.

Miwa shifts her gaze between you like she’s about to shit herself when Choso, the head photographer and a good friend of yours, cuts through the tense atmosphere with admirable ease. He rests a warning hand on your shoulder and takes it upon himself to introduce you.

"She'll be our director today, stepping in for Utahime."

Toji Fushiguro turns to Choso, his eyes never leaving you, observing.

“Why? What happened to Utahime?”

"She had an unexpected family emergency and asked her to fill in. She's worked with us before, and she's excellent at what she does. You're in capable hands today."

What a star, Choso. A beacon of diplomacy. The world would be a much more peaceful place and the arms industry would collapse if he got into politics, you’re sure.

Still under his scrutiny, your expression remained composed. You knew his steely smile would fade soon, and—

“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” Toji concludes breezily, extending his hand toward you.

You reciprocate. Unlike him, you don’t even look down to see how his palm engulfs yours. You just know it will. He on the other hand lifts both eyebrows at your firm handshake.

“I look forward to working with you, Gojo.”

Two hours in, it occurs to you that it might be the case that everyone on set is under some kind of horny spell.

Him nearly walking through the backdrop five minutes in and laughing it off with a cocky comment and a devilish grin sets the entire set on edge from the get-go.

Apparently there’s something about an overwhelmingly tall, ripped, attractive grown man pouting like an iPad kid when his tiny but scary female assistant comes in between breaks to confiscate his phone. There’s a brutish charm about him that makes people act like Victorian gentlemen glimpsing an ankle for the first time in their lives.

The wardrobe assistants are in a heated discussion about how many hands it would take to wholly grasp his bulging biceps.

You, however, remain the skeptic, observing from the fringes. Though if you took any part in the conversation, you’d point out how fucking thick his neck is. Does he lift weights with that thing? What does he need all that for?

When the makeup artist approaches him for touch-ups, he widens the distance between his feet until his face reaches a comfortable height for her to work away. The behind-the-scenes team gobbles it up like ravenous piranhas, and you expect to see this doing numbers on the magazine’s YouTube channel.

Done with feeling out of the loop and not satisfied with what you catch from the set gossip, you take a bathroom break and allow curiosity to get the best of you. You lock the stall door, sit on the lid, and google him.

His name auto-completes after just three letters. You stare at the Toj on the search bar before digging in.

Techbro, self-made, controversial, messy family background. He was the mastermind behind the acclaimed video game, Diablo, which exploded in popularity during the early 2000s. For years, he's faced criticism in several countries for glorifying violence, gang activity and accusations of satanism. You have to chuckle at that. Nonetheless, Diablo hit it off big and he went on to found a videogame and software company under the same name. He's been steadily encroaching on giants like Tencent after repeatedly refusing buyout offers.

Buzzfeed has a trove of ridiculous articles filled with GIFs of him looking scary and hot at the same time, of him looking like the bodyguard of everyone’s dreams, of him taking no shit from the press. Of him looking like a character out of his videogame. You get the idea.

But something else in the personal life section draws your attention.

He’s a Zenin. And not a distant one. He’s Naobito Zenin’s very own nephew.

According to a twitter thread, he severed ties with his fucked up dynasty of a family when he was younger and paved his own way under his late wife’s last name. The reasons for the fallout are unknown to the public, but theories are abundant in the replies. You bookmark that for later.

You can't help but wonder if your brother knows him.

With all this newfound context, you’re almost disappointed that he showed no offense to your frankly rude introduction. After all, you’re a Gojo, the impulse to antagonize a Zenin runs through your veins. And if it’s not an inherited impulse, Satoru personally taught you how to handle them. One of your favorite early teen memories of your brother is watching him reduce Naoya Zenin to tears.

The handshake felt layered, like a declaration of war tucked behind a steely smile. There’s a glint in his eyes when he catches you looking that contradicts the unbothered, enigmatic persona people are simping for religiously online. It’s there and it’s gone, but you’re fast enough. It tells you that he’s playing nice as a temporary measure. If you have to guess, he’s planning to make his team bring up your misstep up to the magazine higher-ups.

You're torn between concern for Utahime and a deep-seated desire to see him try.

The day unfolds smoothly with minimal intervention on your part. You stay behind the monitor and let the crew do their job. Your role mainly involves offering insights when requested by the wardrobe team and flagging promising shots with Choso.

Seeing him go through different stages of boredom and despite his not-so-wide variety of facial expressions, you note the camera doesn’t hate him. It's a unanimous consensus that, in another life, he could have pursued a career in modeling, or perhaps even acting. When someone inquires about your opinion on the matter, you become the focal point of a few discreet side-eyed glances. Your response is a non-committal hum.

Your attention is currently fixated on the last sequence of preview shots displayed on the screen, there’s a very specific detail that you just can’t let pass.

“Can we take a quick break? I wanna try something.”

Choso, taken aback by your sudden initiative, responds, “Yeah, of course, take your time.”

Toji’s face drops from the draw of his eyebrows as you approach him.

“Hi,” he says with that off-putting lift of the corners of his mouth that is supposed to be a smile. He’s probably thinking that your stalling is only prolonging what he wants to be over with.

“Hi,” you catch his inquisitive glance at the objects in your hand. “Is it okay with you if I wipe off your scar?”

His eyes snap down at yours as he thinks it over, squinting for a bit. You’re certain he’s about to tell you to fuck off when he nods briskly, opening his palms as if beckoning you closer.

“Go ahead.”

It's a polite, seemingly harmless green light, yet it feels like you're a bird about to peck at grains of rice beneath a box suspended by a stick.

“Can you—”

He reads your hesitation and does the same thing you’ve seen several times today. He opens the distance between his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. You, for some reason, wait until he looks up at the ceiling like people on the makeup chair usually do out of instict, but he stares at you instead.

Taking a Q-tip soaked in micellar water, you start working away the thin but high coverage layer of foundation, careful not to overdo the edges. A few swipes in and the natural rosy hue of scarred tissue appears, a few shades darker than the color of his lips. It’s a slender, vertical ridge that cuts across his lips, about an inch long. A feature too distinct to waste.

You pull back and he takes the brief chance to run his tongue across the scar, pulling a face at the taste he finds.

Unfazed, you wipe away any excess micellar water and—well, his saliva, you assume—with the dry side of the cotton swab. Once you’re done with that you pat away with a disposable puff dipped in translucent power, just to get rid of any unnecessary shine.

“All good? You satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Cause you don’t look satisfied.”

You’re happy with the outcome of your tweaking, yes. The overall shooting? Well, you’re not in love with it, but you don’t have to be. This whole thing has Utahime’s and the magazine’s aesthetic written all over it, harsh contrasts, blunt shadow.

“This is Utahime’s concept, I’m going with the brief,” You answer, taking a step back to get an overall look and consider any further touch-ups, stopping him when he starts to go up again. “No. Stay right there.”

“What concept would you go for?” he asks, complying pointedly.

“Like I said, I’m going with the brief I was given.”

“But if you were the original director?”

You wouldn't even be assigned to the task. You left the magazine shortly after you finished your internship and never looked back, even though you liked it here and were being given a much nicer offer than you were expecting. The reason for it being that you found out that your brother had been wining and dining members of the home editorial, showing interest in negotiating for the magazine.

It was a no-brainer for you to part ways and find another way. These days, you work with brands and entertainment agencies that allow for more creative freedom, usually sought out for your particular aesthetic.

“I wouldn’t be so heavy on making the tech oligarch look human.”

You reply more out of impulse than calculation, the same way you touch a cat’s tail knowing there will be consequences.

“You suggesting I don’t look human?” He flashes a cold grin at you, kind of like a warning. it’s gone as soon as you blink at him.

The novelty has worn off. Most of the crew are busy doing their own thing, discussing lunch and stretching to alleviate the fatigue of a long day. A few lingering glances remain trained on you— Miwa, Choso, his soldier of an assistant. Toji doesn’t wait for your answer.

“So, what do I look like, then?”

Like a shark, you think. Don’t ever grin at me again, creep.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”You tug lightly at the neckline of his shirt, just a pinch of the fabric, barely touching him at all. "Maybe that should be included in the profile."

He hums. “I do get bored easily.”

You conclude the brief interaction and walk away, acknowledging Choso with a nod, all the while ignoring the way Toji’s amused eyes linger on you.

Like you’re just postponing the inevitable. Whatever that might be.

He finds you later that day, after you’ve wrapped up.

He enters the room with the unspoken confidence of someone who believes he owns not just the studio, but the entire building. Like he's just acquired the magazine and now feels entitled to disrupt your peace with a shitty opening sentence.

“Your work.”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and deserted, and only the lights remain on.

“It’s… interesting. The butterflies, are they alive?”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and empty, and only the lights remain on.

“Sorry?” You’re unable to hide your annoyance at the unexpected interruption.

“I googled you. Your work. It’s eye-catching, quite… I guess eccentric’s a good way to describe it. Very edgy.”

You’ve heard your fair share of similar comments in the past, but he pouts and frowns with the last two words and irritation pulls at you. You let your hands drop to your lap.

He leans nonchalantly against the door frame, arms crossed, undeterred by your silence and your less-than-friendly attitude.

“I was wondering, are the butterflies real or is it CGI?”

You can’t for the life of you decide if he’s being serious, or decipher his intentions. “Neither. They’re props.”

“They look very realistic.”

“They do,” you agree. “That’s the intention.”

“And the flowers?”

“Those are real. For the most part.”

“I see. So how would you have me?”

“Excuse me?”

He visibly fights back a smile, and you wonder if this one would’ve reached his eyes, but seeing how you’re going back and forth like you can’t let the other get the last word, you doubt it. You doubt that he’s capable of such a human thing. Smiling warmly. Honestly.

“You said not so heavy on the looking human earlier, so what concept would you go for if we worked together?”

Because he won't leave you alone to discuss dinner plans with Satoru and Suguru, you stand up from your seat and turn around to rest against the floating station. Facing him like this feels a lot safer than speaking to him through the mirror while giving him your back.

He’s dressed in his own clothes, a basic light gray t-shirt several tighter than the soft material the stylist put on him and a pair of dark jeans. His phone is, as usual, attached to his hand, constantly lighting up with notifications.

“I don’t know. It usually takes me a week to get a feel of the concept.”

“I saw the tank pictures,” he replies a bit too quickly as if he didn't care for your answer. You’re certain that you don’t like this man. You don’t like how bluntly he describes your work, or that you immediately know what he’s talking about.

Knowing how things went on that particular set and from the way he looked absolutely done in the most basic environment without having to do much work, that would be a disaster.

“I wouldn’t put you in a tank,” You snort dismissively, and he tilts his head curiously.

“So?”

A string of visual prompts runs through your mind. You’d submerge half of his face in black tinted water, or have his head resting on a white surface, make blood spill from his eyes. Perhaps you'd drown him in smoke or apply early 2000s mechanical prosthetics to his face and neck. You’d make his skin flush like rubies as if it were burning to the touch. In every single one of them, his scar is left untouched.

“Nothing you’d be comfortable with.”

“You see, I think we could meet in the middle.” he reasons, very eloquently, like he knows just what to say to negotiate with you. You imagine that this is the same voice he uses with his board members to bend them his way. “Can’t say I’d be down for the body-pilling thing or the full-body suits, but I’m sure we could come up with something that leaves us both satisfied.”

“Are you trying to hire me right now?” You’re genuinely confused. And hungry, and tired, and nursing a lingering hungover.

“No,” he chuckles, like the notion is absurd “but you looked bored on set today, and I think I could live up to your vision, is that the word?”

“Right, uh huh.” you nod, very condescendingly, remembering that you’re no longer filling up for anyone or hold any professional responsibility. This is just some man wasting your time. “So what is this? You got a praising kink or something?”

He’s unbothered by your dig. “Not that I know of. Can I be honest?”

You lift your shoulder in a half-hearted gesture. It's not as though he cares about seeking permission anyway.

He lets his eyes drop to the floor and looks back up at you with a bashful little grin.

“I’ve just always wanted to fuck a married woman.”

You’re not as surprised as you are relieved that he’s cut to the chase. He’s not the first man to detest you and want you at the same time. Men often blur the lines between disdain and sex. It’s only fun when they don’t get too comfortable or want to only deliver and fold when it’s their turn to take.

The situation settles on you. The room seems smaller now, and the distant sounds of people outside have all but faded away. He's blocking your only exit, put you in this tight spot intentionally.

There’s a possibility that he’s some exception to the norm, that he can take as much as you suspect he can give, but you’re not going to find out.

“Too honest?” He's devoid of any shame or attempts to sound apologetic. Instead, he's assessing you closely, monitoring you for any reaction.

You know men like him. He has to be used to people eagerly dropping to their knees with just a tilt of his chin. Most of the people you worked with today would do so without hesitation. But Toji Fushiguro, with his insincere smile and unflinching demeanor, harbors far more selfish and hostile motives than bending you over the same chair you were sitting in and making you watch in the spotless mirrors.

“Should’ve kept my intentions to myself?”

A corner of your lips lifts, and he zeroes in on it.

“Didn’t scare ya, did I? You’re a big girl, you're not gonna run.”

He’s daring you now. Fully predatory, like he’ll do something at the slightest indication. Shark. You picture him stalking his way into this secluded space that only the crew knows about after finishing recording videos for the magazine’s social media accounts, his shadow looming across the narrow corridor.

Fear and power. That’s his deal. He either wants to witness a furious flush down your neck, your throat bob in trepidation and your hand look for your phone–

“And do what?” You cross your arms, refusing to cower. “MeToo you? Expose Japan’s mysterious self-made billionaire hellboy? Reddit would riot.”

–Or he wants you to bite back.

“I mean, considering the way you were eyefucking me I think I could probably pull the reverse MeToo card on you.”

Your chin drops, your eyebrows go up, and your head leans back at the accusation. Were you? Eyefucking him? Maybe.

But so was the whole room.

And nothing’s stopping you from bullshitting. “Someone’s optimistic.”

“Is that it?” he smiles, tantalizing. “Do you always just take on the job of the make-up kids out of the goodness of your heart?”

You're not going to indulge him with an answer to that. It's not uncommon for you to take on various roles and responsibilities during your projects. There was a time at the beginning of your career when you engaged in every aspect of your work, from styling and set design to prop work, editing, and even makeup.

“Right. You go ahead. Tell Instagram that I sexually assaulted you with a cotton swab.”

“It’d be just another Monday for Gojo’s PR mercenaries, right?” he pushes you further, casually dropping the G-word as a last resort.

“Everyone likes to look at pretty things, don’t be cocky, old man.” He starts blinking real fast like he’s never been called old to his own face. “Earlier, you asked me what you look like.”

The scrunch of his nose indicates that he wants to say something before the subject changes, but ends up only squinting at you.

“I did ask you that.”

“You look like a problem,” you let your words hang in the air for a moment. “And not the kind I have fun dealing with, no offense.”

Finally, he grins again, tongue coming out to just graze the edge of his canines. Something inside your belly moves as you follow the movement.

“And I’m not married yet, so– you might want to take your intentions somewhere else.”

He nods thoughtfully, then he buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans and lifts his shoulders, taking in a deep breath. The motion reveals a thin line of hard skin under his shirt and just the edge of his underwear.

Water under the bridge.

“Well, no harm in putting it on the table, right?”

Your phone buzzes. Your car is waiting for you outside. You move like he’s not standing by the doorway and blocking your only way out.

“Have a pleasant day, Fushiguro. It was nice to meet you.”

It’s Friday when you see him again at your friend’s birthday party.

He’s lurking his way through the party, nursing a drink with his eyes attached to the screen on his hand until the birthday boy himself hunts him down. Haibara, producer and pitchfork sweetheart whose debut album cover art you worked on earlier in the year.

It’s a funny sight, it would be almost endearing if it weren't for the fact that it's him. The sunshine main character dragging the hunched, brooding giant along with him. Toji looks like he’s trying his best to keep up, half-amused, half-annoyed, nodding as Haibara rambles away. You wonder how the two even fit inside the same room, Haibara being so charming and Toji, a walking threat.

Then you remember Haibara mentioning that he's been working on the soundtrack for a video game.

Your friends’ conversation mingles with the music and flows around you. Someone’s getting married to his ex-husband’s father. Yuki’s about to open her third concept store somewhere in Europe. You can’t be bothered to focus too much on catching up, but you do meet Shoko’s eyes across the room when Mei Mei says something particularly questionable.

You see a hint of longing in her eyes, a shared sense of missing Iori, just as you do. On a brighter note, her father's health is finally starting to improve.

A hand wraps around yours, and another settles on your shoulder. The cold press of a ring on your skin brings you back to the present. You look at your fiancé and get the dreaded feeling that you’re an impostor pretending to know what to do with a man so devastatingly beautiful.

Hiroki leans over your shoulder. “Car’s here.”

His hand feels hot and clammy on yours as he leads you out of your friend's sight, turning back occasionally to make sure he hasn't lost you in the crowd. He won't stop until you're both outside, standing by the side of the street.

“Call me when you land?”

Of course, he will. Nothing has changed. He’s starting a new project in some small town in the middle of nowhere in Europe in 24 hours. You won’t ask him to stay. Six months will pass, and nothing will change, you’ve both done this before.

But you stall. He always calls a car with this in mind. You kiss by the sidewalk, he squeezes you in his arms until your bones fight back. You’ve done this before. It’ll happen again, considering how his acting career is taking off overseas. You’ll do it time and time again until–

“You taste like pennies,” he tells you, and you can't help but laugh softly into his mouth. Your finger traces the barely there curve of his thick, straight eyebrows.

“Make sure to take an aspirin.”

He nods, always sweet and obedient when you’re nagging. You tuck a strand of hair away from his eyes so that people don't fall too hard for him on his flight. His hair has grown longer in recent months, part of his preparation for a role.

Back inside, Yuki makes room for you by moving her legs off the couch. She asks if everything is okay, and you pull her legs onto your lap, rolling your eyes. She knows you too well.

“Don’t gaslight me. Something was off.”

“Do I look like something’s off?”

“No, but you’re a fucking oyster. Hiroki’s not that good with his face for an actor. He kept looking at you like he was afraid you’d disappear.”

Choso chimes in, draping his arm around her shoulders. "They're getting married. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think he might like her, and he might enjoy looking at her."

Looking out of the window, your gaze naturally drifts toward a figure seated by Haibara’s covered dock. Earlier, it was adorned with twinkling lights, but now, even in the dark, you can discern a solitary silhouette in the middle of the glittery ocean.

Mei Mei taps her cigarette, fixing her eyes on you from the other side of the couch.

“Does it have something to do with Toji Fushiguro asking about you, by any chance?”

Your stomach drops. Your group of friends reacts quickly.

“Huh?”

“What does Toji want with you?” Yuki asks, face snapping at you. “Is he trying to get to Gojo through you?”

“We worked on a shooting with him a few days ago.” Choso calmly explains before she can come up with any conspiracy. “She was covering for Iori. Made quite the impression on him, I think.”

“Oh, Satoru’s gonna fucking hate that.” Shoko laughs, unexpectedly loud in her inebriated state. “Please, please fuck him. He’ll be so pissed if you fuck him. It’ll be hilarious.”

“No respect or regard for Hiroki.” Choso shakes his head, and it looks like he’s laughing from the way his shoulders move up and down. “Poor bastard.”

“Yeah, well.” Shoko shrugs, not bothering to hide her dislike for your fiancé.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “He’s just pissy because I was not— exactly professional. I think the asshole might try to get me blacklisted.”

Choso makes a noise of disagreement. Yuki frowns in concern. “Shit. What did you do?”

“She showed up hungover, asked who the fuck he was when he was standing behind her, and traumatized Miwa.”

“Not Miwa. She's an angel.”

“Whatever you did, he’s asking around…” Mei Mei adds with a sick barely there smile, finger on her chin. You don’t like how well she knows you. She makes you feel like she knows exactly what went down that day.

You wonder how well she knows Toji, and how much he told her.

What exactly he asked.

“...and let’s just say that he’s not the curious type, so make your assumptions, everyone.”

You tap Yuki’s thigh without thinking twice and push yourself off the couch. A string of accusations about scaring you off follow, and Mei Mei teases you about not meaning to do that.

“Fuck off, I just need some fresh air.”

“But you’re gonna consider it, right? For me? Come on, it’ll cheer Iori up.”

“I’m not gonna fuck some random man just because you think it’d be funny, Shoko.”

And you’re pretty sure Iori would be the first to tell you to stay away from him. Shoko sags against the back of the couch like a puppy you stepped on.

You step out of the house, past the pool, the limestone steps, and stop only to take off your sandals. The sand is cold and yielding, no traces of the warmth of the slow Atami day left, soft grains clinging to the soles of your bare feet.

Haibara’s dock stretches out into the ocean, endless until you reach the far end and leave behind the sound of laughter and music. It’s him, like you suspected, sitting on the edge, his legs hanging over the sea.

With one elbow resting on his thigh and a phone in hand, his other palm supports his face. You sweep a strand of hair over your shoulder and inhale the salty breeze, opting to linger a while before revealing your presence.

“I think I got it.”

He looks up at you, momentarily caught off guard, allowing you to take a triumphant sip from your glass, the alcohol causing a painful sting inside your cheek. He's still engrossed in the medieval game he was playing from days prior, his commitment minimal, his thumb hovering over the screen.

You leave some distance between you as you take a seat, your glass resting between you. It’s a high drop from here, the water looks as if it could freeze you instantly.

“Hand-held CCTV cameras aimed at your face. Like guns. Point blank.” you finally elaborate, once you’ve found a comfortable position, demonstrating with your hand.

“Sounds fuckin’ uncomfortable.” he remarks, eyeing your demonstrative fingers. You wonder if he’s drunk and how much alcohol it would take to get him there.

You drop your hand, and he follows the movement. “I warned you.”

“So I don’t get flowers? No butterflies?”

“Nah.”

He lifts his gaze from where it had settled on your thighs, and you absentmindedly tap your ring finger against the bare skin out of habit.

“Thought I was pretty.”

You snort in response. Tonight, the moon shines particularly bright, illuminating the dock lounge. It's a serene spot to catch a break from the lively party.

“I changed my mind.”

He sucks on his teeth. “You can’t take a man’s virginity for being called pretty and then take it back.”

“If it helps, you’re still objectively nice to look at.” You say behind your glass. No point in lying, he’s hot. And self-aware. And you’re not blind or ashamed to admit it.

“Objectively nice to look at.” he repeats, like he’s getting a feel of it, or memorizing it for future use. “What about the fiance, then? ‘s he pretty? Enough for flowers and butterflies and shit?”

“I met him working for an editorial. He did get flowers.”

“Ah, I see. So, does he do that often?”

You let another sip wash down your throat, this time tilting your head to the side to avoid the sting.

He returns to his game, and you trace the profile of his nose while the screen highlights the hollows beneath his eyes and the fine lines around his mouth. If you were a bit more intoxicated, you might be tempted to snatch his phone and toss it into the water, anything to halt the conversation about Hiroki. It would force him to look at you instead.

“Leave you alone at parties.” he adds.

You've momentarily forgotten the initial question. “He’s my fiance, not my babysitter. I can take care of myself.”

“Never suggested otherwise, did I?” he sniffs, and a part of you, the sensible one, contemplates returning to your friends and disregarding whatever pulled you out here. Leave him be to enjoy his game and stay away from the one brewing between the two of you.

“What about your entourage? Are they comfortable leaving you out of their sight?”

“I can fend for myself too,” he says, eyes set on his phone. He seems to like to add your name at the end of his sentences.

“Can I play for a bit?” you ask, extending your hand. He hesitates, briefly glancing at you as if to confirm you're not taking the piss, down at his phone, and back at you.

His phone is big enough to feel like a console, and there's a very on-brand crack on the left corner that he warns can cut you. It gets him a side eye that he reacts to with a careless shrug.

You haven’t played any games in years or downloaded any since the younger members of your family grew out of the age where they came as useful, but you recognize this one from ads you’ve seen on Instagram.

It doesn’t take any experience to figure out that you’re supposed to manage some kind of orthogonal kingdom. There’s a castle and a medieval-style village surrounded by a tall wall, with full crops around. You tap around, collect coins here and there, zoom in and zoom out under his close watch. Every time you tap a building without a full green bar, a few options show up, you bite your lip to hold back a smile and hit the red X on the right corner of what looks like a church.

“Hey–”

He’s snatching his phone out of your hands before you can pretend to be sorry.

“Fuck you’d do that for?”

You don’t know why, but his annoyance hits you as the most entertaining thing you’ve seen or heard tonight. A grown-ass man next to you sulking because you deleted his little 2D church on his phone. Shoko might think you fucking him would be hilarious, but this, to you, is real comedy.

“What? You religious or something?” You doubt he is, given his controversies and taunting the satanic-panic crowd. He also happens to look like god left the room the moment he was born.

Toji shakes his head, not as an answer but to reiterate that you’ve pissed him off. A laugh full of mirth bubbles out of you. He’s tapping aggressively, filling up the blank spot with a smaller version of the building, and sucks on his teeth again, disappointed at how pathetic it looks around all his leveled-up properties.

“Did something happen to you as a child, maybe?” You inquire.

“What?” he gruffly responds, offering you an irritated glance. He’s kind of cute like this, frustration looks like a foreign emotion for a man like him.

“Are you diagnosed?”

He does a double-take again.

“Is that offensive to you?” you tease, struggling to contain your amusement at the situation. "Sorry, I know your generation isn't that comfortable discussing mental health."

“See, I might be socially stunted, yeah–” he gruffs after staying quiet for a bit, finally putting his phone inside his back pocket. You lift your eyebrows, eager to see where he’s going with this. “I can agree with that. But you rich kids–”

“Oh, us rich kids?” you gasp softly, not expecting that turn, you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud as he’s not done with his sudden rant. You’re fucking tickled.

He shakes a thick finger in your direction. “–You’re fucking uncomfortable to be around, you know? It makes you think that maybe bullying exists for a reason. They don’t rough the bunch of you nearly enough at those expensive private schools, do they?”

“Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you are a rich kid inside a grown man’s body.” He rolls his green eyes at you until all you see is white, thick eyelashes fluttering.

“Oh, I see. No, I get it. You’re self-made and I’m nepo trash. A spoiled little bitch with a bad attitude who’s never been taught a lesson, is that it?”

Animosity radiates out of him. He flattens his palms on the wood surface behind him and clenches his jaw, shaking his head like he’s not even going to try to reason with you.

“You wanted to hatefuck her but then she ruined your game and made you feel uncomfortable, and now the chase isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nah, you’ve got it wrong there, sweetheart. I don’t put people in such one-dimensional boxes.”

“No?”

He scratches the side of his nose before elaborating.

“Spoiled little bitch, yeah. But you’re a hard worker. And stubborn, too. You’ve been paving your own way, working real hard to traumatize daddy back, haven’t you? You run on pure spite, eh?”

“Fuck off.” you scoff, throwing back what’s left of your drink.

“And– get this,” eyes now glazed with a cruel glint, he leans in closer like he's about to share a secret, and peers down at your chest when you do the same “He’s the crowned king of our country’s conservative media, he’s also old as fuck, so that can only mean that he’s a raging homophobe on top of, you know? Violently misogynistic. You and your brother got your therapist's pockets nice and full, paid off a few nice vacations to hawaii, probably bought a big beach house for her.”

He stops and cocks his head, like realization just landed on him.

“But you, you’re weaponizing the fuck out of him. Christmas at the Gojos's a fucking nightmare for your poor little fiance, but you have your fun, don’t you?”

Just a few minutes ago, you’d been savoring the signs of irritation in his body language, mind running wild with all the ways you could make him tick, but now you want to punch him in the throat. Just bury your fist right there in that v-shaped Adam's apple of his.

“You’re cold-hearted for that, sweets. You know you are.” he accuses half-heartedly, the wicked glint in his eyes hinting that he's trying to strike a chord. “Tell me, does he prepare his social justice speeches beforehand or does he just sit there next to you, quiet and pretty and eats his dessert?”

“Don’t talk about my family, asshole.” You lick the inside of your cheek, but you know the strung tone of your voice will only egg him on.

“Why not? You’re on the news every day. Everyone talks about you.”

Usually, when it comes to your family, you’ve got thick fucking skin. You’re aware of the stain and privilege of your last name. The advantages you’ve had and people claim you don’t deserve. The fact that you’re the living consequence of your father cheating on Satoru’s mother.

Most of the things they say about your father and his monster of a corporation you can agree with, but you keep your head high and your thoughts to yourself and stick to sharing looks with Suguru when it gets particularly nasty between your brother and your father in family gatherings.

“He’s been causing quite the stir, hasn’t he? Your brother. If Alzheimer’s doesn’t do it, he might be the one to finally send your old man to the grave.”

But you don’t fuck around when it comes to Satoru.

You’re propping yourself up on your wrist and lifting your leg when his hand comes to your bare knee, stopping you from attempting to stand up and walk away. His grip is surprisingly gentle, though the tips of his fingers touching the back of your knees do send the message. It’s like he can’t let you forget how much smaller you are in comparison to him.

“Whoa, easy. I’m just playing with you.”

You blink down at him, face set, hoping to deliver the message that you might push him into the water if he fucks around any further.

“I have plenty of family baggage for you to hit me back with, have at it.” he adds, almost kindly.

You remember Naoya Zenin with tears running down his face. If you had to bet on it, you’d say that making Toji Fushiguro cry would single-handedly give you bragging rights over Satoru for the rest of your lives.

He hums when you sit again. “Go on, get as creative as you want.”

“I doubt you even have a family.” you bite “God knows what Zenin lab near Fukushima you escaped from."

“Weak but creative, I’ll give a tick for that. So, what I’m getting here is that you get along with him, then.”

You frown, confused.

“You couldn’t pretend to give a shit when I mentioned the fiancé, but you looked like you would’ve blown my brains if you had a gun on you the second I brought your brother up.”

He sounds suspiciously genuine. You don’t feel like elaborating.

“I know him,” he mentions offhandedly, leaning back. “Flashy cottonhead prick, doesn’t like me very much.”

“Can’t imagine why, enchanting as you are.”

“Probably gonna like me a lot less after this.” he reasons, more to himself.

He turns to you before you can dwell on what he means by that. “So, you’re two peas in a pod then? You and him?”

“I don’t see him that often.” you think out loud, your dinner plans fell through after a sudden change in his schedule. “He’s on some getaway in Osaka, performing some corporate sacrificial ritual.”

“And you’re too cool to involve yourself in such bland, boring affairs.”

You’ve had a bad feeling since your father announced he’ll be stepping down from his position. With the board and investors spiraling and Satoru suspiciously playing your father’s game, you see havoc brewing in the future; your father closing his fist around his leashes, children crying, kittens separated from their mothers and blood spilled on the floor.

And you want none of it.

“I’m an outsider. You don’t need me to explain how it goes, do you?”

He nods at you like he’d tip his drink at you if he had one, deep in thought.

You prop yourself up on your wrist and bring a leg up to rest your feet on the rough wood, inadvertently knocking over your empty glass. You both watch as it tumbles, rolling in a circular path until it meets the edge and drops out of sight, vanishing beneath in the inky water, as if it never existed.

“Water looks nice.” he says.

You hum uncommittedly.

“Wanna take a dip?”

His eyes are already on you when you look up at him. There’s not nearly enough alcohol in you to ignore the distance between you, or the lecherous dip under the friendly, harmless veneer. You wonder what triggered this change so abruptly.

You gaze down at your attire, a deconstructed, stretchy fabric ensemble unsuitable for water activities.

"No, but you can go ahead. I'll watch from here and look the other way if you start to drown."

He dips his head slightly, his frown implying you're a buzzkill. "Come on. You've never gone skinny-dipping?"

“That’s a very lame attempt to get me naked.”

He points at the party with a tilt of his head

“No one’s gonna see you. I will, but I’ll behave, 'cause you’ve had a rough night” The vague fucker carries on again before you can ask what he means by that. “I didn’t think you’d be this shy.”

“And I don’t think Haibara knows he’s friends with an old man that likes to creep on girls a decade younger.” you retort.

He's momentarily silent, and you believe he's finally relented.

Yet, he hooks a finger beneath a thin strap of your top that slipped down your shoulder at some point, deftly guiding it back into place. His nail barely grazes your skin, causing a shiver to course through you. He grins wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours, darkness flickering from beneath his lowered lashes, tantalizing.

“Like you’re some innocent little lamb who doesn’t know better? I don’t buy it.” he mocks you, voice dangerously dropping. “Your cover’s blown, sweets. I see you. You’re a lot darker than you look.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. You’re a little fucked up, ain’t ya? Got some real violent impulses tucked in there.”

That’s rich, coming from him.

"So perhaps you should tread lightly around me."

“I don’t mind.” he says succinctly like you didn’t just witness the black completely eclipsing the green of his eyes. “Tell you what, you’re more than welcome not to hold back around me. Consider me your safe space. Let it all out, you sure look like you need it.”

“How kind of you.” you croon, he blinks, slow and warm for you, lashes coming to rest on the sinking blue-tinted skin of his under eyes.

“You wanna go back and do drugs, Toji?”

The sea roars, a particularly violent wave crashing under you. He looks over his shoulder like he’s thinking of it.

“With your friends?” His tone is derogatory at the last word, unaffected, but you have a theory that if you were to put your hand on his chest, the rhythm of his heart would tell a different tale.

Cute. He’s cute. You want to chew him up.

He hit the spot about you not being the lamb, but another thing entirely. The thought makes you want to laugh in his face, but instead, you smile and pop a dimple, swinging your feet and imagining yourself dropping a handful of rice in front of him.

“No. Just you and me.”

#toji fanfiction #toji x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfiction #toji fushiguro

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wouldvebeensweet · 1 year

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so you’re telling me that mark zuckerberg got to hear “right where you left me” and i didn’t

#text #rwylm

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bitterkarella · 1 year

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Midnight Pals: The Big Fight

Stephen King: Submitted for the approval of the Midnight society i c- Elon Musk: [rising from bushes] eyy stephano king Musk: eyy you hear i fighta zuck? dissa tima for real Musk: dissa time i no maka da bullshit Musk: 100% you can trusta me dissa time Musk: dissa time i mean it

Musk: dissa time i tella my mom 'eyyy shaduppayouface, you no tella me what to do!' Musk: pretty cool, ey? King: Musk: yes yes Musk: i AMA da pretty cool

Musk: ey stephano king issa pretty cool i fighta da zuck ey? King: well sometimes my boy joe has disagreements with his little friends at school Joe Hill: dad, i'm not a baby anymore King: hush joe King: you'll always be my special little guy no matter how big you are Hill: daaad

King: sometimes my boy joe has disagreements with his little friends at school King: and i tell him what i'll tell you King: violence is never the answer Musk: King: have you tried just sitting down with this zuck boy and talking out your differences?

King: i just don't see why you have to fight Musk: you shadda you face stephano king! Musk: you notta the mama of me! Barker: yeah so speaking of Barker: what kind of approval are you seeking here anyway Poe: clive Barker: like do you want steve to be your dad or your son or what

Musk: i donta need stephano kings approval! Musk: i gotta da approval offa my son! Musk's Secret Child Roleplay Twitter Account: Datsa right! I lova my cool dad! Musk: watch, he saya it again as i drinka dis cuppa water!

Elon Musk: eyy itsa me your funny pal elon! gonna fight da zuck, pow pow! big laughs! eyyy! Mark Zuckerberg: [flat, robotic intonation] gaze into my eyes, elon musk, and know the form of your destruction Musk: Zuckerberg: [flat, robotic intonation] make peace with your god

Zuckerberg: [flat, robotic intonation] men know me by many names, but to you i appear in the form of Shiva the Destroyer, know me by my garlands of skull & serpent. i ride a pale horse this day, elon musk Musk: Musk: [grabbing leg] ey! ey! charlie horse! Musk: time out! time out!

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe #elon musk #joe hill #mark zuckerberg

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raygirlramblings · 1 year

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This whole Zuckerberg Threads thing is so disorienting to me because I'm the right age and nationality to flinch involuntarily when I hear the word 'Threads'.

#raygirl’s ramblings #if you know you know #I'm just gonna not get an account I think #Threads #threads 1984

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braveclementine · 3 months

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Chapter 35

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own a few OCs like Elizabeth, Katherine, Stacy, and Jessie. I do not condone any copying of this.

Bucky was the first to break into your room with surprising force. There was a complete look of panic on his face that made you raise your eyebrow. You could hear running footsteps down the hallway from probably either Steve and Sam following Bucky, or Fury and T'Challa.

Upon the people entering the room, it was all four.

"Y/N, are you alright?" T'Challa asked.

"I'm fine." You said, trying not to laugh at their obvious panic. "It's not like the baby is going to shoot out of me immediately. Calm down and breathe."

"Do you need help standing?" Fury asked. You could hear commotion down the hallway and finally Elizabeth was next to enter the room.

"What?" She asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Her water broke." Sam said.

"Oh." Elizabeth stated, smiling. Then she looked quizzical, "Are you calling a doula?"

"I thought we were going to hospital." Tony said, entering the room next.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Welp, I don't trust the medical industry as far as I can throw them. See you guys tomorrow then."

You laughed at the typical Elizabeth fashion, before sliding out of the bed. Your soulmates immediately converged on you as though you were suddenly made of glass.

"Give her some breathing room." Stephen commanded, leaning against the wall.

You took Bucky's arm and he helped you out of the room. Upon exiting the house, you saw the large bus that Tony had gotten and equipped.

It wasn't really a bus, it was much smaller than that. It was painted black and had nice leather seats inside. It would fit everyone comfortably.

To your surprise though, Elizabeth was sitting behind the wheel, looking at the rest of you impatiently.

"I thought you didn't trust medical facilities?" You questioned as Bucky helped you up the stairs, putting you in the front seat.

"I don't." Elizabeth sighed, starting the bus so that Chandelier by SIA came on. "I hate hospitals, I don't trust them. But I'm not going to miss your babies birth either. As long as no one sticks me with some needles I'll be fine."

"Why would someone stick you with a needle?" Stephen asked in interest as he was the last to pile onto the bus.

Elizabeth looked at him seriously and said, "Why, because vaccines send our brainwaves to Facebook so that Zuckerberg can read all of our thoughts."

She threw a wink at you as you tried to keep your face straight. Stephen was missing an inside joke as he had never been on the gymnastics team with you. He didn't know the story.

Meanwhile, Stephen was staring at Elizabeth in the utmost confusion, trying to figure out how someone he thought was highly intelligent had suddenly come out with the most ridiculous conspiracy theory he'd ever heard.

At least, until he realized both of you were holding in laughs and he rolled his eyes, sulking next to Tony who hadn't heard a word that had passed between the two of them.

Elizabeth finally dropped the lot of you off at the hospital doors before she went to park.

Tony checked you in at the front desk and a nurse brought you to a room in the maternity ward.

"On a scale of one to ten, how painful are your contractions?" The nurse asked.

"Just a one right now." You said. You could barely feel them at the moment.

"Triplets, right?" She confirmed.

"Yes."

She simply nodded, marking stuff off on her clipboard. "You have you taken any medication while you were pregnant?"

"No." You said. Elizabeth, Wanda, Stacy, and Nat had all shown you different books where it was scientifically proven that taking even an Advil or a Tylenol for a headache could prove detrimental to a baby's organs since they were forming in your womb and didn't have a strong enough system to deal with second hand drugs.

There was a slight purse of the woman's lips as she made another mark on her clipboard. "Who is or are your soulmates?"

Was that actually pertinent information?

"We are," Tony said, gesturing behind him to the eleven of them.

The nurse had a glimmer of recognition behind her eyes, her cheeks burning pink. "I see. Which ones are the father?"

"Unimportant. They're all of ours." Tony finished again.

You smiled.

The nurse seemed aggravated with Tony's interference. "Biologically."

"Like said, it doesn't matter." Loki said slyly. The nurse paled seeing him, made another note and gave you a strained smile. "The doctor will be with you shortly."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, settling herself on a chair on the far side of the room. She plugged headphones in her ears and you could hear her blasting a mixture of BLACKPINK and also Tom MacDonald. You smiled a little.

Steve was also in the corner of the room, an artbook in hand. You wondered what he was working on.

T'Challa wasn't in the room, on the phone with Shuri who had wanted to know the moment your water broke. Fury was on one side of the bed, his good eye roving the bed carefully. Clint, Rhodey, and Bucky were on the other side of the bed.

Thor, Tony, and Sam had taken the couch in the room, that was pressed up against the window, while Loki had his arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window.

Stephen hovered around, his sharp eyes taking in every medicine that they planned to use.

"No anesthesias." He said to you. "You want to be conscious and aware when you have the children. You don't want to be asleep while you do it, even if there is some pain."

You just nodded. You had been over these steps hundreds of times. But of course, they were starting to feel helpless and nervous now that you were actually at the point where the babies would actually start coming.

Funnily enough, nothing actually happened except a few contractions. You slept the entire night almost pain free, before waking up again the next morning.

Everyone else looked like they'd either slept well or badly. Elizabeth and Stephen both looked like they hadn't slept at all.

"We're going to go and get some breakfast for you, okay?" Tony said, leaving you behind with a still fast asleep Clint- on the couch this time instead of the vents- Elizabeth in the corner, and Stephen who was refusing to leave your side.

Stephen started lightly dozing, trying to keep himself awake for the most part. Elizabeth just stared at the wall, one earbud in, music blasting.

"Hey, Elizabeth?" You asked and she paused the music to look at you, "Why don't you trust the doctors?"

She winced, looking up into the room before coming to sit next to you on the bed, "They have microphones in here you know."

"They do?" You whispered back.

She nodded, "They use them in case an abusive parents comes in. That's why doctors leave so long between the switching or nurse to doctor so that they can overhear if a mother or father is telling their child to tell a certain story to the doctor."

"I never knew that."

"Me neither. My mother told me. A nurse told her." Elizabeth mumbled and then said, "There are shots that doctors give children when they are six months old. There has been a lot of debate about whether or not these shots later cause metal problems in children. When I was six months old, I had an allergic reaction to the whooping cough vaccine."

"Oh?" You looked at her.

She gave a stiff nod, "It was only two hours after we got home. My mum laid me down in the crib. If she had come to check on me five minutes later, she would've missed the reaction I had. I was screaming and she thought I was having a seizure. They immediately took me to the doctors. They couldn't find anything wrong with me. Another nurse pulled my mother to the side and asked for her to tell her what had happened. My mother described the entire day."

"What did the nurse say?"

"She said that when she was in medical school, they used to teach that seizures were a side-effect of the whooping cough vaccine. However, they don't teach the young nurses that anymore. The doctors refused to say there was anything wrong with me. Even to this day, they still try to push the vaccine on me. Whenever I say I'm allergic, they still try and press it on me."

"But why?"

She shrugged, "'It's just a five minute seizure and you're protecting the old and young alike!'"

"They said that to you?"

"They're corrupt. They're all corrupt." Elizabeth muttered, hugging her knees.

Stephen's eyes were open, watching Elizabeth. You wondered what he was thinking about, as he had once been a doctor- although he wasn't the kind of doctor giving vaccines, but performing brain surgeries.

You had no idea what to say, so you just put a comforting arm over her shoulder.

A half hour later, the boys came back with food from Panda Express. Elizabeth perked up, eagerly accepting her fried rice and orange chicken bowl. You had gotten the same thing, with an addition of the lo mien noodles, and the two of you ate. Elizabeth slowly shifted back to her corner so that the boys could sit around you.

More hours passed. A lot of them drifted in and out of sleep, including yourself. But everytime you were awake or awoke, Elizabeth was still awake, curled into herself.

"Elizabeth." You said when all the boys had collectively decided to take a walk and bring back dinner. Your contractions had gotten slightly more painful and the doctor was sure that they would be out either tonight or early tomorrow morning, "Seriously, call Pietro or Hogun and go home. You don't have to be here."

She just shook her head, the stubborn ice ninja she was. "I'm fine, really."

You didn't push it.

"Here." Tony said proudly, putting your favorite dish from your favorite restaurant in front of you.

"Thanks Tones." You said, smiling at him. You leaned upwards a bit and he quickly dipped down so that you could kiss his cheek.

A few hours later, it was around eleven o'clock and you hit your first huge contraction. You gritted your teeth in pain, hating the fact that this was happening. But at the same time, you were ecstatic.

Your babies were finally coming!

The doctor showed up and they made the others clear the room. Stephen was the only one they allowed to stay, though you had a sneaking suspicion that Loki was invisible somewhere in the room. And it wouldn't have surprised you if Clint made his way into the vent in your room.

You followed the doctors orders to the dot. If he said push, you pushed. If he told you to relax, you did as told. They all seemed rather nervous with Stephen in the room, like they were scared of failing under his watch.

Eventually after a good twenty minutes, the first baby was out. It was obviously Bucky's, just by the fact that it was a girl. One of the nurses took her over to the other side of the room to clean her off before coming to lay her on your chest.

She was a precious thing, tiny. Though she had just come from the room, she already had a mess of brown fluff on her head. You nudged her lightly for her to take your bud into her tiny mouth so that she would get used to breast-feeding. It was the healthiest choice for them.

She seemed a natural, sucking though she couldn't actually find any milk. The doctor handed her over to Stephen who took her carefully into his arms as another contraction hit and the second baby was on his way.

"Do you have a name?" Stephen asked over the nurses shoulder, trying to distract me a little bit.

"No idea." You muttered through your teeth as you pushed.

"The second one is almost here." The doctor said, smiling at you, trying to reassure you.

There was a lot of pain and the nurse on the other side of you was telling you in undertone that it wasn't to late to take something to knock you out yet.

You refused. You could do this naturally. After all, if mothers could push out a half dozen babies back in the 1800s with no medicine and in the middle of nowhere, you could push out three in a hospital room with none too.

Natural birth. You just wanted your babies to be born naturally.

The second baby was out and the third was very close to coming out as well, slipping out only seconds after his brother.

The doctor chuckled, "Technically, this one is now a single and those two are twins."

You looked at the clock. 12:01. Damn.

Stephen chuckled, coming over to see how you were holding up as they laid the boys down on your chest.

"How are you feeling darling?"

"Fantastic." You huffed with a light laugh and a huge smile on your face.

The second boy was slightly lighter than his brother. He was very obviously mixed, whereas the third baby was much darker.

"Which one do you think is which?" You asked Stephen.

"You'll have to ask Thor." Loki said, appearing visible now in the corner.

One of the nurses jumped, screeching, running from the room. Loki rolled his eyes and Stephen sighed.

"Hi Lokes." You said sternly, trying not to smile. Loki just grinned.

"Can Bucky come in first with Stevie and Sam?" You asked Stephen. "I want him to see his baby girl first since he's been so terrified."

Stephen nodded, carefully placing the little girl on your chest too. Your arms came up to hug all three of them and Loki carefully moved over to put his hand on one of the boys backs.

Bucky came into the room quickly, Steve and Sam shadowing his footsteps. He had dark circles under his eyes, his hair sticking out every which way like he'd been messing with it. His red shirt was wrinkled and a huge smile lit up his face when he saw the little girl on your chest.

"Does she have a name yet?" He asked as he picked her up carefully in his arms.

"No. I didn't know if you had any preferences." You said earnestly. "I mean, I have names, but um. . . they're not very good."

"Can I hear 'em doll?" Bucky asked sincerely. "I named my cat after a plant."

You giggled. "Alpine is a perfectly good name for a cat. I don't know." You said, growing more serious. "I was kind've thinking something sort've. . . old timey, you know? Like Ruth or Daphne. Lucy. Sadie maybe. Angela. Those sorts of names."

[I know a lot of fanfics have them name their kids after like their dead parents but I'm just like- I can't. Like maybe middle names, but not first names. I honestly just can't. Also, every name mentioned here is on my baby list so yeah-]

"I like all of those." Bucky said. He looked at her. "She looks like a Lucy."

You giggled, "Lucy then?"

"Lucy Sarah." Bucky finished.

"Last name?" The nurse asked.

You all looked at each other. Usually soulmates came up with a name that combined the two last names. Yours was just a tad to long to do that.

"Marvel." You finished.

The nurses nodded.

Bucky, Steve, and Sam went to sit in the corner of the room with Lucy while Loki left to go and get Fury, T'Challa, and Thor.

Thor entered first, picking up the lighter skinned baby, before handing him to Fury. T'Challa picked up the darker one in his hands.

"Do you have names for them, my Nkosazana?" T'Challa asked.

"Yes. Fury's is Vincent and yours is Marcel, though I have not decided on middle names." You said. The names had just hit you as you saw your soulmates hold them.

"Vincent Jack." Fury said. He looked around, "Do we have an official last name that's better than than what we have at the moment?"

"Marvel." You said.

He squinted, "You mean Mar-vel?"

"Marvel." You said, smirking and then shrugged. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. has started calling me Mrs. Marvel ever since I've been married to you guys. I think it's better than Mrs. Avenger but ya know."

Sam smirked at you before turning back to Lucy.

"Yomoya." T'Challa said. "It means of the wind. A free spirit. That will be his middle name."

The nurse blushed, "Er- and could you spell that out for me?"

You smirked and then relaxed into your pillows. Everything had gone as smoothly as you could hope.

The others slowly filed in. Elizabeth hung around Bucky and the soldiers, looking at little Lucy.

"Okay." One of the nurses came in with a needle. You saw Elizabeth cringe backwards.

"What's that for?" Tony asked, frowning slightly.

"We always give this to mothers before they leave the hospital with their babies." The nurse said, looking somewhat blankly at Tony. "It's a DTaP vaccine. It's the whooping cough, diphtheria, and tetanus shot. It's just to keep the babies safe as they are susceptible to these diseases easiest."

You saw Elizabeth pale. She stood and hurried from the room.

Stephen's eyes trailed after her, "We don't need it."

The nurse frowned, "It's mandatory."

Since when?

"No, I mean, we don't need it." Stephen said with a charming smile, "We have a private doctor. You'll have to forgive us, but we are the Avengers after all. The only shots we get are from a friend of ours, Bruce Banner, the Hulk. He'll give her the shot when we get back to the compound."

The others just stared at him, not aware of why he was lying through his teeth.

"Oh." The nurse said, looking troubled, "That's fine. . . I guess."

She looked rather taken aback and then left the room.

"Wha-" Stephen stopped Tony from talking with a simple shake of his head.

Bucky stood up quickly, obviously thinking a threat was around, "We can go home now, right?" He held Lucy protectively to his chest.

"Yes, let's go." Stephen said. Rhodey hurried to the front to sign the rest of you out. Clint got you a wheel chair so that you didn't have to walk. T'Challa let you hold Marcel on your lap while Thor rolled you out.

Rhodey drove home instead, Elizabeth finally falling fast asleep in the bus. You smiled as Stephen put a blanket around her shoulders. Then he sat next to you.

"What was that in the hospital?" You asked curiously.

"Bruce does have vaccines if you want them." Stephen said thoughtfully. "I don't know. Hearing Elizabeth's story, it just. . . made me realize some things. It's up to you of course. I want to wait on the kids though, if that's okay. Their organs are still growing so if we want to get them vaccinated, I'd much rather wait till they are around six or eight years old, if that is alright with you. T'Challa won't have his kids vaccinated period, but it is really up to you for Lucy and Vincent."

You nodded, "I [Will/Won't]"

Once you guys pulled up to the mansion, Steve helped roll you inside while everyone gathered there. Hogun stayed just long enough to glance over the babies and find out their names before he was ushering Elizabeth off to bed. Pietro soon followed.

You were slowly falling asleep, having had a stressful, confusing, and also euphoric night. You're kids were here.

And if you honestly couldn't wait to have more.

"Let's go put them to bed, eh?" Steve said to Bucky, clapping him on the shoulder. Bucky hadn't put Lucy down once since you had handed her over. He couldn't see to be able to tear his eyes from her.

"Look how tiny she is in my arms." Bucky murmured, smiling down at the sleeping babe. "She fits just perfectly. And she doesn't even seem to hate my metal arm!"

Your heart melted, a smile coming over her face, "C'mon Bucky bear, let's put her to bed."

Bucky nodded again and you slowly got out of the wheelchair. You were super fricking sore, but Steve and Sam made sure to walk next to you if you needed it.

Inside the Princess themed room, Bucky finally laid the baby girl down in her pink crib. He tucked a pink blanket around her.

The three of them went ahead and climbed into the bed underneath the Princess castle, knowing full well that they were going to have to get up every two hours to feed and take care of her.

In the room across, Nick and Maria were leaning over Vincent's' crib, the both of them smiling. T'Challa had already laid Marcel down, snapping a picture to send to his mother and sister. He put an arm around me and kissed me.

"Are you doing alright Nkosazana?"

You simply nodded, exhausted. "I'll see you guys in the m-morning."

Nick wrapped his arms around you, placing a firm kiss on your lips, "Sleep tight babydoll."

"You too muscles." You winked, before heading back to the room with Lucy and your soldier boys.

You wiggled your way into the middle of them. Steve and Sam wrapped arms around you. Bucky's eyes were open, fixated on the crib. A warm smile and eyes full of love was all you could see.

You snuggled into Steve's chest and promptly fell asleep.

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otomiyaa · 7 months

Note

do you have any ToT fics?

Mr. Mouse

Lee!Marius & NXX Squad ft. Reader

[Fic Reupload] - Haha I thought you were crying but then thought oh right I've been sharing Tears of Themis posts lately. Well I've got one, only one, apart from some drabbles scattered around. I'll reupload the fic ^^ It's not lee Luke though, but Marius. (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 3.1K

The mood was dark and heavy. Though it had been your intention to shift the team’s focus off the complex investigation case just for a little, you did not expect it would arise new complications.

All you had done was suggest a funny game for some team bonding, fun, and to have a laugh, since there was just too much tension in this team and definitely not enough laughter. Alas, there was little to no laughter at all as the men glared at each other, even while playing the game.

"Guys...” you whispered, watching them nervously.

Even with those stupid cards sticking to their foreheads it didn’t look at all like the lighthearted situation it should be. Marius and Artem were exchanging death stares as if they could fly over the table any second and clash. Vyn appeared to be judging their behavior quietly, a little pile of successfully guessed cards of his own proudly placed before him as he stared at the duo with piercing eyes. And Luke...

“Luke,” Marius suddenly called out, glancing sideways at Luke who was, just like you were, observing the two nervously. “I’ll ask again, Luke. Am I Mr. Artem Wing?” Marius asked. Luke was stuttering, but couldn’t get in between them again with a firm ‘no’ or anything else, given the tense atmosphere.

Marius already continued to speak: “Summarizing all of your answers, I am a male, I am old, I am not big, but I do have big earsー”

“Mr. Wing does not have big ears though,” you whispered, but Marius didn’t hear and continued.

“You are also an animal, Marius. You are forgetting a key part of the interrogation,” Vyn said in all seriousness. You should have known. There was no such thing as playing a fun and simple game of Who Am I? with the NXX gang.

“Ah, an animal. Right. I stick to my guess. Mr. Wing is also kind of an animal,” Marius said, shrugging. Artem glared.

“Your insults are getting less and less creative. I suggest you proceed with more clever guesses, or you should just give up and admit you cannot guess the character,” he said. Ah, these two really weren’t getting along! Still, it was hard to fight back your giggles as you felt your lips twitch unwillingly.

On Marius’ forehead was the card that said ‘Mickey Mouse’ and for the past ten minutes it had been him trying to guess the name which was not that difficult. From Elvis to Sherlock Holmes, Harry Potter, Leonardo da Vinci, Darius Morgan, Phoenix Wright and Mark Zuckerberg, everyone else including yourself had already finished some interrogation rounds successfully and guessed the right names.

It was just Marius who was still Mickey Mouse for such a long while since the start of the game that all of you had decided to focus your attention on him alone until he would guess it right. Though usually enjoying to be in the spotlight, Marius did seem to get annoyed and had been trying to wriggle his way out of it by provoking Artem.

“Ask more about the animal’s nature,” Vyn suggested.

“Or his career,” Luke said.

Marius rolled his eyes, a confused look on his face that said ‘an animal’s career?’ but he sighed and growled, “Fine. Am I a monkey?”

“No,” chirped Luke.

“Am I a cat? Or a dog?”

“No and no,” Vyn said.

“A fish?” You shook your head at him. Marius made a wild gesture with his hands.

“A bear?”

“Nope,” Artem said. There was definitely something smug about Artem’s attitude, and unfortunately Marius did not miss this. He lunged towards him and sneered, “Ah I see. You thought of a difficult name for me, just to finally have something I am not better at. Hm?”

“Just keep guessing, Marius,” you tried gently, but Marius was fixated on Artem again and you were kind of relieved that he didn’t catch Luke’s very soft “It’s not that difficult though...” because if he did, Luke would be enjoying all of that attention that was going to Artem now.

“Looks like we’ll still be here tomorrow,” was Artem’s calm remark, sparking Marius’ irritation again. There had been something mischievous about the usual serious Artem all day, something childish yet not more childish than Marius himself, and you were torn between amusement and fear of this all escalating into something bad.

“Rosa~ Help me out here? They are bullying me,” Marius whined like a child, pouting at you. It was hilarious how he really did seem at loss with this game, and it didn’t even seem to cross his mind that you were the one who came up with the idea to play this in the first place. Or better, that it was your very own hand that wrote the name 'Mickey Mouse' for Marius to guess.

“Just keep on guessing. You are really close,” you encouraged him. He wasn’t close though. You could tell Marius had still no idea.

“Perhaps he will need a hand,” Vyn said. Marius let out a sudden guffaw.

“Oh you guys are loving this aren’t you? The only way you guys can beat me is with silly games, or maybe even a prank. I’m not gonna be surprised if I take this off and there’s no name on it. It’s getting shady, why am I the only one who’s an animal?” Marius said, grabbing at the card on his forehead, but Luke reached out swiftly and caught his arm.

“Hey, don’t take it off now!” the brunet warned. Marius was sort of right. The guys were enjoying the hilarity of Marius failing at something as simple as a guessing game, but there was no prank going on here. Marius really failed gloriously and you couldn’t blame them - especially Artem - for rubbing salt into the wound.

“See? You don’t want me to see you’re fooling me huh?” Marius said, trying to pull his arm free from Luke who held him with both hands, but Marius reached for the card again with his other hand. This time Vyn got up fast and stood behind Marius, where he grabbed both his arms and moved them behind the seat.

“You are going to play fairly, Marius. This’ll be a temporary measure to make sure you do,” he said, taking off his own tie and using it to bind his hands behind the chair. Marius laughed out loud again.

“Come on now! As if you guys are playing fairly! This is so childish!”

“Or you are the childish one. Just because you are finally bad at something doesn’t mean it isn’t fair. You’ll have to accept you can’t be good at everything,” Artem lectured.

“Oh yeah? Well, it’s not that I don’t want to play a game, I just don’t want to cooperate with your pranks! I’m going home,” Marius said, but Vyn tightened the light bondage on Marius’ hands and said: “Oh but you’re not going anywhere. And it’s not a prank, Marius. It is a fair game.”

“Rosa, help!” Marius made a scene on purpose, still smug and at the same time dramatic about the whole situation, and you shook your head at him.

Vyn sat down again, but Luke leaned towards Marius and poked him teasingly between the ribs.

“I’ll give you a hint. The sort of animal you are tends to get stuck by human traps as well,” he said, but the poke caused a different reaction than everyone expected. Marius literally squeaked.

Your eyes widened. Marius von Hagen.... Could he be.... Ticklish? Judging from the look on Artem’s face, he seemed to notice too.

“The animal makes a similar sound too,” he said, poking Marius as well from the other side, making him squeak again.

“EEP!”

“The animal does, but the character does not make such a sound,” Luke said, watching how Artem’s single finger poked Marius not one, not two, but three more times.

“Haha-hands off, Artem, you don’t want to face the consequences once I get out of this,” Marius argued, dancing uncomfortably.

“Hm. That’s… quite an attitude for someone in your position,” Artem retorted, and this time he made a claw of his hand, digging his fingers into Marius’ torso and getting him to let out another lovely squeak. Luke snickered.

“Shall we tickle him? he suggested, wiggling his fingers.

“We could. Until he guesses it right.”

It was hard to believe what was happening here. You saw how both Artem and Luke surrounded Marius who sat tied to his chair thanks to Vyn’s bondage skills, and their fingers started to poke and prod his sides. Marius threw his head back, the card sticking to his forehead like magic while he let out the loudest most hysterical giggles.

“GAhaha-guhuhuys! Y-you ahahar the wohohorst!”

You gaped at them and exchanged looks with Vyn. He was smirking. “Amused aren’t you?” he murmured while in the background, Marius continued to laugh because of Artem and Luke tickling him. Artem was calm and collected, tickling Marius with this concentrated look as if he was some kind of work project. Luke was much more playful and smug about it.

“Heehee, take that! Well, aren’t you gonna guess?” he sang.

You chuckled at Vyn. “Yeah. Amused, and confused. What is even happening?” you giggled, amazed that even Artem would do something of such a childish nature. Perhaps everyone would act a little different if a bratty person like Marius was involved.

“Well, I can tell you what’s happening. They are tickling him. What do you say, shall we help out?” Vyn asked you, leaning close as if the two of you were having an intimate and personal moment in the middle of the tickle fest.

“Should we?” you asked, smirking. Vyn shrugged.

“I think we should.” And so you two rolled your chairs towards where Marius was laughing for his dear life.

“I refuhuhuse to plahahay your stuhuhupid gahahames!” he laughed, and he shrieked even louder when you joined in, clawing at his tummy while Artem continued to tickle his ribs and sides, and Luke was playfully wriggling his fingers under his arms, tickling his armpits.

“You’ll have to, Marius. Continue playing, I will be the one to answer your questions,” Vyn said, sitting right before him with his hands on his knees. He squeezed, and Marius let out a loud gasp.

“AHAHah!” His eyes widened, and you could see the realization on his face. He was stuck. He struggled with his bound arms, but even if he were to shake the tie off, you were certain these guys would not let him go easily. Heh. Neither would you. This was actually fun.

“Ahaham I a rahahabit?!” Marius finally laughed, and you couldn’t help but giggle along. He was both cute and hilarious right now, and you continued to dance your fingers all over his belly. Vyn snickered and shook his head.

“No, you are not.”

“S-sehehehe, squirrel! A squirrehehel!”

“No,” Artem said firmly.

“A rahhaahat?!” Marius roared.

Luke giggled. “Close, but no!”

“AHAHAH! A MOUSEehehee! A stuhuhupid mouse!”

Vyn smiled. “Correct.” To help ‘celebrate’, Luke switched to tickling Marius’ neck with scribbly finges as he taunted, “Bingo, finally you guessed something right! You are a mouse!” and meanwhile Artem continued to squeeze and pinch at different spots on Marius’ torso, from his upper sides to lower sides, his hips and back up towards his ribs, causing him to bounce hysterically.

“Thehehen stahahhap!” he laughed.

“You are not there yet, Marius. You are a mouse, continue guessing.”

“WHahahaht!”

“Like I said, ask about his career!” Luke said, going back to tickling Marius’ underarms. Marius was giggling and snorting adorably, the grin on his face bigger than ever and a huge blush spreading on his cheeks.

“GAahahah-- a cohohop!?” he asked. Vyn shook his head.

“Can you name any mouse cop? You’ll have to do better than that, Marius,” he said, and he spidered his fingers all over Marius knees and thighs, making the poor ticklish heir bark out some more hysterical cackles.

“GAAGAHha! Not thehehere!” he roared. You were still tickling Marius’ tummy, gently and not too harshly, but you couldn’t help but move up his shirt a little and scribbled circles around on his stomach, fluttering all over the soft bare skin. Marius seemed to get even more flustered at this, and he shook his head. The card threatened to fall off, but Artem slapped it firmly back on Marius’ head, making the guy yelp out loud.

“HAHAHA! Artehehem you ahahaass-ahaha!”

“Marius, remember the questions I asked when I was Harry Potter,” you tried to help him fondly even though you couldn’t stop your fingers from tickling Marius’ sensitive tummy without mercy.

“HEYAhah!” Marius squealed and shook his head again, but this time the card was glued firmly to his forehead, and he continued his hysterical laughing fit.

“Hahahha! Ahaham I on T-Teehehee-TV?!” Marius laughed, indeed succeeding to copy your questions from earlier.

“Correct.”

“OHOhoh! Ahaham I Jeheherry?!” Marius really appeared like he thought he finally guessed correct, but Vyn’s answer was a teasy “No~” and he punished the wrong guess with fierce squeezes right above Marius’ knees, making him howl for his ticklish life.

“AHhahahah! Nohhoho thihis ihiihisn’t fahahahair!” he laughed. You smiled, wonderstruck by how attractive the young heir looked laughing his head off like this.

“It’s a little fair, Marius. Continue guessing, you’re so close,” you encouraged.

“Come on man, can’t you really think of any other famous mouse on TV?” Luke asked - his tickles were the most energetic, switching from rapid pokes and finger wiggles and switching spots even when it would cause his hands to bump against yours or Artem's.

“PIHIHIKACHU!” Marius roared. Luke frowned.

“That’s a mouse?” he asked, to which you nodded.

“Actually it is. But wrong guess, Marius!”

By now Marius was really turning beet red as he continued to laugh and struggle. Artem had been quiet for a while, tickling Marius with concentration and focus of a typical lawyer, and he smirked as he drilled his fingers between Marius’ ribs.

“I think it is a talent in itself that you give so many wrong guesses, Von Hagen,” he said, triggering Marius but all the graduate student could do was laugh and giggle more as he was attacked from all sides. You only noticed now that his arms were already free again after so much struggling, but both Artem and Luke were holding an arm each, and Marius could do very little with the strength he had left.

Using their free hands, both men continued to tickle him, making him giggle and squeal even when he was nearly out of breath.

“Guess it right, or give up,” Artem said. Vyn made a face at that.

“Mr. Wing is right,” he said teasingly. “If you would like, you can give up. It means you lose the game.”

Marius made a face that expressed his surprise and confusion that giving up was still a possibility. But then he shouted “Nahaha-neheheever!” while continuing to squirm in between them.

“Then have it your way~!” Luke said, getting up from where he was sitting so he could tickle his armpits more comfortably.

“Heeehehehehe! Nahahaha!” You were getting the impression that stubborn Marius was going to laugh himself to death here if he couldn’t still guess the character that wasn’t even so hard.

Maybe you were enjoying yourself a little too much by bullying your ticklish partner like this, and not just for evil reasons. But when you looked at Artem, Luke and Vyn, you recognized expressions that matched your mood as well. They all looked fond to have the usually arrogant heir laughing like this and refusing to give in.

“Ahahaahahlright I gihihive! Guhuhhuys, enahahaa-enough! I gihiive uuhup!” he finally wheezed. Surprised he still didn’t guess it, you were the first to stop tickling his stomach, and you sat back. Luke also stopped tickling, so did Artem, and finally Vyn stopped the squeezing and digging movements his hands were making on Marius’ legs.

Leaning forward and bending his head, Marius panted and wheezed, catching his breath tiredly. And as he did, the card finally let go of his sweaty forehead and twirled down onto his lap. It fell with the text upwards, and you could see the realization on Marius’ face as he read it:

Mickey Mouse.

“N-no way,” he panted.

“Not so hard, huh? Can’t believe you didn’t think of the most famous mouse in the world,” Luke said smugly, patting Marius’ shoulder.

“Like I said, you can’t be good at everything,” Artem said, patting his other shoulder.

“Unbelievable... Mi-Mickey Mouseー” Marius panted, and he raised his head suddenly and glared at everyone.

“You wrote my card, didn’t you-- R-Rosa?” he panted, smirking at you despite his exhausted state. You blinked your eyes.

“King,” you said, using his codename like he kept using yours, and you smiled nervously.

“She did,” Vyn said, standing behind you with both hands on your shoulders.

“Anything you want to tell her, Mr. Mouse?” he asked. You giggled at the new nickname for Marius, but noticed this certain teasy remark wasn’t necessarily directed at Marius. Gulp. You looked up at Vyn. Why was this situation suddenly getting suspicious?

“It was also not our idea to play this game. You can’t blame us,” Luke suddenly said. You gasped, turning your head towards him. Wha--?! Yes, it was your idea, so...? You finally looked at Artem, your eyes begging for his help, but you blushed to see the smirk on his face.

“Clever. You perhaps knew that such classic pop culture is Marius’ weakness? Are you the mastermind behind all this?” he said. You started to stutter, blushing like crazy. They were placing the blame for their stupid quarrels and the tickle incident ー which you joined but that wasn’t the point ー on you!

“N-no of course nohot! Marius I thought it wahahasn’t difficult, ahaahah M-Mariuhuuus!” you whined when Marius lunged at you and started to avenge whatever was left of his dignity by tickling you, the one most responsible for his predicament just now.

“Guys, I might just forgive you for what you did to me if you help me out right now,” Marius purred, smirking at the others. It was no surprise after what all of them said, but still to suddenly have the tables turned with you ending up in Marius’ position of the one tickled by all of the NXX squad, well, that was something you could never ever be properly prepared for.

“HAHahaha- guuuuys!” you howled, but these four had the time of their lives wrecking you, and you were surprised at their well-played teamwork.

Well all in all, you had achieved your goal though: team bonding, check. Having fun, check. Having a laugh? Thanks to Mr. Mouse, double check!

#reupload #tears of themis #tot #tickling #tickle fic #marius von hagen #x reader #vyn richter #luke pearce #artem wing #otomiya!writes #lee!marius #ler!artem #ler!vyn #ler!luke #ler!reader

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