#TYSM I LOOOVE U | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luv4fushi · 5 months

Note

omfg i litr read everything uve written off ur masterlist I NEED MOREEEE. i love the way u write megumi especially, i couldn’t get enough of it. i hope you write more of him, my heart aches for more tbh 🥹 tysm for being such a good writer and feeding us starved readers well

tysm! i'm sooo glad i can be a good source of megumi content for you >_< i looove writing megumi so you'll be seeing sooo much more of him, dw! happy holidays!

this december

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

it’s always colder on your own, especially around this time of year. you should be at home, bundled up with a warm cup of hot chocolate, but here you are in shinjuku, exorcizing curses with your ex boyfriend two weeks after your breakup with him. great.

content: post break up, aged up megumi (19/20), megumi is terrible at feelings, getting back together, fluff if you squint, a bit of angst, miscommunication, one bed (but it isn’t the main plot point sorry), megumi calls you baby like once, gojo is the best wingman, SHIBUYA ARC NEVER HAPPENED AND LIFE IS GOOD, not proofread im very sorry guys pls forgive me, kinda a word dump sry

word count: 5.8k (sigh this was supposed to be 2k words max)

click on my masterlist for more & merry christmas to those who celebrate!

it’s december 19th when satoru gojo tells you that he has a mission just for you. you’re less than ecstatic about it to say the least. the last thing you want to do is be sent to your death just shy of christmas day. you just want to rest your sore muscles and bask in the presence of your best friends. you’re not in the mood to kill any curses, mainly because you’ve just recovered from a previous mission.

“why me?” you groan.

gone are the days where you used to be a goody two shoes for satoru. you’re old enough to talk back now, not like when you had been a shy fifteen-year-old girl. besides, you’ve been around the silver-haired sorcerer long enough to know that he doesn’t mind the bite.

“sorry, kid,” satoru says with a shrug. at least he sounds genuine about it. “the higher ups requested for you specifically. they say you’ll get the job done in the cleanest way. we can’t have things getting messy before the holidays, right?”

“and you wouldn’t be the best choice?” you quip.

satoru only laughs. he ruffles your hair. even with your growth spurt and merciless training, he still towers over you. in a way, he’ll always be your mentor. “hey, i’m going out of town that weekend. give me a break.”

you huff petulantly. something about this mission seems fishy to you. you’re not nearly the strongest sorcerer out of the bunch of kids under satoru’s wings (not that you guys are kids anymore, but sometimes it’s hard to feel otherwise). hell, there’s the kyoto students. it feels like they never have to do anything. you wish that you were rebellious enough to chew utahime out for it.

“why couldn’t they just make yuta or megumi go?” you mutter under your breath. you stammer out megumi’s name and hope satoru doesn’t catch on to the way you can barely say it.

satoru knows about the breakup. why wouldn’t he? he’s basically megumi’s dad, even if the raven haired boy refuses to admit it. satoru’s six eyes mean you can’t hide anything from him (he’d been the first to know that megumi was head over heels for you).

satoru raises a brow. “oh, right. megumi’s coming along too.”

your face twists and you immediately whip around to glare at him. “you’re lying.”

“i wish,” he jokes. “i was really hoping i’d get a wedding invitation one day, you little rascal. i can’t believe you two broke up. maybe this’ll be a good thing!”

“i appreciate your honesty, but—”

“but megumi’s an emotionally constipated kid, yeah, that i know,” satoru laughs. he makes his way to the exit of his office which has you furrowing your brows. is your former teacher actually gonna just leave after making you come all the way here? how rude and so very in character of him.

“please, gojo,” you call out after him, “i don’t wanna go with him.”

“sucks for you,” satoru responds halfheartedly. “merry christmas. try not to take more than a week on this. you’ll have to pay the rest of the fee for accommodations if you do.”

“gojo!” you whine.

“it’s not a hard mission!” satoru insists like it’ll make your life any easier. “y’know, this time of year is when things get ugly. think of it as saving as many people as you can while putting in the least amount of effort!”

and then he teleports. your former teacher teleports away rather than being normal and walking out of the door. you roll your eyes and hope that he can sense it (you know he can’t).

so that’s why you’re here now. with your ex. on the elevator to your assigned room on the tenth floor. you’re so glad that it’s a normal hotel and not a love hotel. lord knows what you’d do if you had checked into a love hotel.

megumi hasn’t spoken a word to you since he broke up with you two weeks ago. it had been in the doorway to your apartment a few days after a particularly rough mission assigned to the both of you—the one you’re still recovering from. he’d pulled you in for a hug, whispering sweet words into your ear. he gave you a look, one of those looks that made him soften his usually sharp eyes.

“i think we should break up.”

and then came the pathetic whimper of yours. he had wiped your tears, even kissed them tenderly, before telling you that it wasn’t your fault—it was his. how cliche.

now as you stand next to him, you want to beat yourself up for not asking for closure. neither of you had explicitly stated that you two were going to be no-contact, but it hurts a lot less to push the idea of forever with megumi away to the back of your mind. besides, you two aren’t confrontational like that. not with each other, anyway.

“need help?” his tone is soft, tender—the tone he reserves specifically for you, the one that tells you he still cares.

you stare down at the luggage at your feet. you’ve always been a chronic overpacker, a habit that megumi knows of by now. he watches you curiously, hands itching at his sides. you can tell that he wants to reach out and grab your suitcase like he always does. he thinks he isn’t obvious, but you can always read through the lines, especially when it’s megumi.

“i’m okay,” you croak out, clearing your throat awkwardly.

the elevator dings and you make your way to your room. as much as you hate to admit it, you’re sort of glad that you and your ex boyfriend are sharing a room. perhaps his’ll be a good way to get closure, though you’re not really sure what closure entails.

what you don’t expect is to unlock the door and be met with a singular bed.

if satoru gojo didn’t have a layer of infinity coating his body (and if he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive), you would’ve wrung out his neck.

megumi simply walks into the room, setting his duffel bag down on one of the dressers opposite from the foot of the bed. he doesn’t comment on the lack of double beds, seemingly already aware of the set up.all he does is puff out a weary sigh. you suck in a breath and follow him inside, slipping your shoes off at the entrance.

you lug your suitcase in after you along with your duffel bag and backpack. you stumble forward and megumi’s arm snakes around your waist, steadying you.

“careful,” he mutters, nonchalantly taking your bag off our your shoulders.

it’s a quick series of movements; he swings your bag over his shoulders and places it on the dresser next to the one he’s claimed while guiding you softly to the side of the bed so that you’re not standing in the middle of the doorway.

you scrunch your face, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage. it’s stupid how he still has such a hold on you, even after two weeks of not seeing or talking to him. he’s just so caring, so gentle. it stings, like little the little cuts you get when fighting curses, when you realize that this is something you’ll have to learn how to lose.

“thanks,” you manage to mutter. you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. you know from the way your throat tightens that you’ll be crying soon if you force yourself to talk any more.

“i can take the couch,” megumi says.

it’s that easy with him; he’s a gentleman, so of course he’d take the couch. that’s the way megumi fushiguro is—he offers a solution before you even have the chance to complain. in your year and a half long relationship, that skill of his had been a saving grace.

“no, don’t bother,” you croak. “i’ll book another room.”

“really?” he asks. he stands up a little straighter, awkwardly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “i mean, i don’t mind sharing a room with you… we’ve..”

we’ve shared a room countless of times before.

megumi doesn’t have to continue his sentence for you to understand what he’s implying. you part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out except for a long, heavy sigh. your shoulders drop as you let the exhaustion seep into your bones. there’s no use arguing about it, not when you don't’ mind sharing a room with megumi, either.

“we’ve broken up,” you remind him in a quiet voice, like you’re afraid saying it out loud will make it truer than it already is.

megumi pauses. you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “i know that, but … it’ll be fine. we’ve shared a room as friends before.”

he’s right, like he usually is. you two have shared a room before as just friends, but that had been as teenagers—back when you both harbored such hardcore crushes on each other that you two somehow didn’t notice.

“right,” you find yourself agreeing with a small nod.

“you should go get ready for bed.” megumi begins grabbing a few or the decorative pillow off of the bed. he places them gingerly on the brown couch tucked in the corner of the hotel room. “we’ll be getting up pretty early to deal with the brunt of the mission.”

to finish this mission as quickly as possible, you think.

and so you oblige and head to the bathroom. it’s december 19th, just a few days shy of christmas day, and you’re in bed with your ex boyfriend on the couch just a few feet away.

december 20th greets you with megumi hovering over you. he peers down at you with his messy bangs covering his eyes. they’re piercingly blue as he blinks. his lashes flutter perfectly, even in the early morning. your eyes meet his and you jolt awake.

“good morning,” he says. “your alarm has been ringing for a bit now, so i turned it off.”

you blink rapidly, getting the tiredness out of your eyes. “oh.”

he chuckles softly, just enough for you to catch it with your ears. he rises from his crouched position and heads to the front door. he spares you a glance over his shoulder before he heads out, presumably giving you the privacy you need. you let out a strangled breath before you swing your legs over the bed and head to the bathroom.

by the time you’re finished putting on your uniform, you swing the door to your hotel room open and see megumi leaned up against the wall, tapping away on his phone. his dark blue eyes flicker up to you and he turns away to head down the hall.

you furrow your brows. you can’t help but think that he’s being a little cold to you. it isn’t like you initiated the breakup. despite your frustration with his behavior, you can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want to be sweet around you; you two aren’t dating anymore and so it makes sense that he’d go back to being aloof in your presence, the usual way he acts around everyone else. losing that position in his life makes your stomach churn for reasons you’re less than willing to uncover.

your mission is a vague one; all you know is that it’s a clean-up mission. rather than a level 1 curse (or even a special grade), the mission consists of an acclimation of weak curses surrounding shinjuku. these missions are normally given to younger, more inexperienced sorcerers with the help of a senior sorcerer, but for an odd reason, it’s been given to you and megumi this year. megumi could’ve probably handled it himself. actually, you could’ve handled it yourself.

you bite your tongue to hold back on your complaints as you walk just a step behind megumi. he pauses regularly, waiting for you to catch up to his side. you roll your eyes in secret. does he not realize that you don’t want to walk next to him?

“it’s all just bars,” you mutter.

with that, you earn a tiny laugh from megumi. “well, yeah. this is the red-light district of shinjuku.”

you pale. “this sucks.”

“why do you think i wanted to come out here in the morning rather than at night?” he says, his tone strangely light.

“to deal with the brunt of the mission,” you repeat his words from last night sarcastically. you’re unsure as to what he’s talking about, so you think that it’s okay to give him a little bit of attitude.

he raises his brow but doesn’t comment on your sarcasm. instead, he says softly, “no, stupid. it’s because this is the red-light district. it’s unsafe for anyone, especially a pretty, young girl alone at night.”

your first thought is to coo and tease him. you think i’m pretty? it takes you half a second to remember that you two are broken up. you scoff, “i’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“i never said you weren’t,” megumi shoots back. “it would just be annoying explaining to the higher ups why you were fighting people and not curses.”

“i’m sure they’d understand,” you retort, frowning. you cross your arms.

“don’t be so pouty,” he says in that stupid, gentle tone he uses with you when you’re acting bratty.

you both decide to split up. well, it’s more like you demand the two of you to split up. you say it under the pretense that it’ll get the job done faster. besides, you both want to be home before christmas day, right?

there’s about two curses you cross paths with every hour. you’re starting to lose your mind. shouldn’t the streets be infested with them? you don’t even need a veil! all you have to do is give the weak curses just one punch and they vaporize on the spot. your head is running with hundreds of thoughts.

that’s when it hits you: the first years at the tokyo jujutsu school did come out here a week prior! maybe they did a bad job? but you remember nobara had been the one to lead the group. she may half-ass almost everything in her life, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her underclassmen for the sake of her freetime.

so why on earth are you here? it’s not like there are enough harmful curses for a mission to be assigned to you right before christmas, and to you and megumi of all sorcerers. you’re both strong enough to the point of having some kind of importance in the jujutsu world. the higher ups wouldn’t send the two of you on some stupid mission for the sake of it unless they’re planning some sort of secret execution. but even then, satoru gojo should’ve known through their lies to not send you or megumi. unless…he wants you two dead…?

you shake your head and bite your nails. the sun begins to set and you realize that you’ve been out here for longer than you expected. you’re starting to feel a chill in your bones—you had argued petulantly with megumi earlier about not wanting to wear your jacket despite it being the dead of winter; “it’s gonna get in the way!”

you always seem to forget the the sun sets earlier in the winter. it’s stupid how bright all the lights are in shinjuku. there isn’t a square foot of anything that isn’t lit up with neon signs reading out the names of clubs and bars. you see couples and large groups of people walking along the streets.

it’s lonely, you realize. it would’ve been less lonely with megumi.

you make your way to the meeting spot with megumi. you both share a few small words before retiring for the night. megumi says he wants to go sightseeing, even though there’s really nothing much to see. he doesn’t return to the hotel room until late at night.

when he slips into the only bed that the room offers, you chalk it up to the slight alcohol you smell on his lips. it feels so natural that you don’t push him away even though you should. his body is warm and you fit so perfectly against his broad chest that you think it’ll be okay for you to be a little selfish tonight.

“g’night,” megumi mumbles in his sleep.

you smile and nuzzle closer.

it’s december 21st as you realize how late it is in the day. megumi is back on the couch. you feel a tinge of disappointment in the bottom of your stomach.

to no one’s surprise, the sun is barely peeking over the buildings when you’re finally back in the red-light district. you’re doing the last bit of cleanup, but there’s really nothing much for you to clean.

tomorrow, you’ll be heading to a shopping mall, so you suppose you should do your best to sniff out the rest of the curses littering the place unless you want to stay here an extra day. the day is, yet again, slow.

it’s nearing 8 PM and you're finally sure that you’ve gotten rid of all the curses in the general area. you’ve been done for quite a while now, but you just haven’t found the courage to let megumi know that you’re ready to go back to the hotel room. a little sightseeing on your end wouldn’t hurt, right?

“hi, pretty.” a gravelly voice, battered by cigarettes, whispers in your ear.

you jump in surprise. you need to remember not to get too far into your head. you should’ve felt his presence coming from a mile away. it’s a terrible habit and satoru has scolded you for years about it.

“hi,” you mutter, pushing past his larger frame.

the man isn’t as nicely built as the men you know (but then again, your friends are jujutsu sorcerers, so it’s kind of hard to beat that), but he still towers over you. he’s got a squad of rough-looking guys behind him, smirking down at you.

“why’s someone like you alone?” he says, shoving his arm to loop around your waist.

you roll your eyes, getting ready to punch the man square in the nose. will you get in trouble? probably yes. will it be a funny story to tell? also probably yes.

“don’t touch my wife.”

the group of men turn their heads along with you to see megumi. his expression is shrouded with a mixture of anger and frustration. you blink in confusion—megumi usually looks pretty pissed off, but this is the most angry you’ve seen him in a while. and ‘wife’? what’s up with that?

“oh, my bad,” the man chuckles. “didn’t know this pretty thing was married.”

“this ‘pretty thing’ wants you to let her go,” you say with an overly sweet smile. your teeth clench and you hiss, “right now.”

the guy scurries down the sidewalk with his buddies trailing along, making fun of him for hitting on a married woman. nobody mentions the lack of a ring on your finger. nobody mentions the lack of a relationship, either.

“wife?” you scowl. “we’re broken up.”

“guys tend to back up when they know a woman is married. it’s the only way you can really, uh, get them to go away around here.”

you glare at him. “and how would you know? you come here often with girls?”

“...no?” he blinks, unable to comprehend your sudden burst of jealousy. “i sometimes get missions around here, though. pretending to be married was the easiest way—”

“we aren’t, though. we’re not even in a relationship.” you seem to be throwing that into his face a lot more than you should. you can’t help it, though. you still feel a little bitter about not getting a real reason as to why megumi wanted to break up.

“i was trying to help you.” he’s calm and collected, as heard through his voice. he walks up to you and takes your freezing hand into his much warmer ones. “let’s go home.”

“i don’t want to,” you argue.

“stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “you’re cold and you’ve been out here all day. if i hadn’t stopped those guys, you probably would’ve beat them up pretty badly.”

“i’m not a fucking brat!” you try to retract your hand, but megumi’s grip only tightens.

“baby, stop,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease. megumi sighs softly and pulls you to his chest. “why are you so worked up, hm?”

from the way he speaks, you can tell that he already has an inkling. the breakup. cuddling last night. hugging you now. everything.

you don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes his thumb under your eye. he has the audacity to have an amused grin plastered on his stupidly pretty lips. your vision is blurry but if it hadn’t been, you would’ve thrown a punch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “it’s all my fault.”

“it is,” you whimper pathetically. all the tears and the emotions you’ve been holding back bubble up to the surface.

“don’t be upset,” he almost pleads. “let’s go back, okay?”

the night ends with megumi on the couch. neither of you bring up the argument or the fact that he had slept in your bed with you last night. you two don’t talk about the usage of pet names, either.

when you open your eyes on december 22nd, you’re surprised to see that megumi has already headed out for the day. you click your tongue in annoyance—he’s always been good at avoiding his problems when it comes to dealing with them, especially problems involving his emotions. you already know where you’re supposed to be headed, so you suppose that it’s for the best that he’d left before you.

the shopping mall is a long line of vendors and stores among other things. the snow on the ground is fresh—it must’ve snowed late last night after you’d fallen asleep. it crunches underneath your beat-up sneakers with each step you take. you’re not shocked when you end up wandering aimlessly, dipping in and out of stores with no real urgency to finish your mission.

there’s nothing to do anyway.

you’ve killed about 3 curses total and it’s really starting to look like you’ve been sent out here for busy work. you really should’ve figured that out the first day of the mission when you had to practically beg the curses to come out and fight you.

you find yourself in the front of a jewelry store, eyeing a pretty bracelet that you know would look stunning around megumi’s wrist. it’s one of those bracelets that clasp tightly. there’s a thicker band in the center with pretty carvings that seem to resemble some sort of swirly heart. it’s pretty, you have to admit.

without much thought, you buy the gift.

the seller has to clear her throat to get your attention when you don’t answer her question. “um, would you like this to be wrapped?”

you nod absentmindedly. “oh, yes. sorry. please wrap it.”

she nods in return and proceeds to wrap the bracelet in a tiny box, adorning it with a festive bow. you ask her to change it out for a different color, explaining that it isn’t a christmas gift and instead, it’s for someone’s birthday. she offers you a warm smile before switching it with a muted blue ribbon.

you return to the hotel, having to take an expensive taxi. you don’t mind—the bracelet has already made a decent-sized dent in your wallet. why not spend an extra amount on getting home? it’s not like jujutsu sorcerers are paid poorly.

reality hits you when you finally get back to the hotel room. you want to punch yourself for being so stupid. did you really just buy a birthday present for your ex-boyfriend?

you’re thankful that megumi hasn’t arrived yet. he seems to be determined to avoid you for as long as he can. you can’t blame him, either. you did give him quite a hard time yesterday.

you toss the box on to the dresser and head to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on to your face. maybe that’ll wake you up enough to clear your mind. you’ve acted out once during this trip already and you’re not really looking forward to any other possible outbursts.

you rinse your face and pat yourself dry with one of the face towels provided to you by the hotel staff. you hang it over the rack again and tiredly make your way to your bed. you halt your movements when you see megumi standing by the dresser, admiring your gift.

he looks up at you in surprise with the smallest grin on his face. it’s so subtle that you would’ve missed it had you not been dating him for nearly two years.

“is this for me?”

“no,” you quickly deny. his face falls and you cough out, “um, i mean.. yeah. i-i didn’t… i… happy birthday.”

he brightens, lips pulling up into a real, genuine smile. “you remembered?”

“why wouldn’t i?” you blurt gently. you bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from saying anything more.

“i dunno.” his voice is distant and low, like he’s trying to hold back his tears. “i just…i didn’t think i was deserving of a gift from you. thank you. i like it.”

you stand awkwardly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “yeah, well…”

“can you help me put it on?” he asks, sitting at the edge of your unmade bed.

you feel your body heat up. part of you screams for you to stop. you shouldn’t do that. it’s far too intimate and you two are broken up. you’ve never been good at making decisions, though, so you sit next to him and feel the mattress dip.

he gives you a grateful look, one that you willfully ignore, and gives you his wrist. you clasp the bracelet on, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. your heart skips a beat and you have to inhale sharply before pulling away.

“thank you,” he whispers.

december 23rd is a sore reminder that life goes on. you had half-expected something to spark between you and megumi. perhaps he’d beg for you back, or maybe with less wishful thinking, he’d give you his real reason as to why he doesn’t want you anymore.

“i don’t think we need to go anymore,” megumi says when you come out of the bathroom after freshening up.

“huh? why not?”

“there’s nothing out there.” megumi’s voice is flat.

“i know, but we’ll get in trouble if we…”

“gojo probably sent us out here for fun.”

your lips part. megumi turns to you with a slight frown.

“don’t you think so too?” he asks, but you know it isn’t a question he’s looking to find an answer to. “why would the higher-ups assign a mission like this to a special grade sorcerer and a grade 1 sorcerer? if they needed that much manpower, this mission would’ve been deadlier. instead, we’re playing cleanup crew.”

“yeah, but..” you trail off, unable to think of a statement to refute his words. “if we go back now, we’ll get chewed out.”

“it’s just a scolding. you’ll be fine.” megumi stands up and stretches his arms.

you watch him cautiously as he begins to fold his clothes and throw them into his duffel bag. he doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence overtake the room.

“...are we leaving, then?” you ask meekly, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in your voice.

he pauses slightly. “do you want to stay here until christmas? this mission is stupid and you know it. there’s no point.”

why is his tone so cold all of the sudden? it’s as if you two hadn’t shared a moment last night before bed. does your gift not mean anything to him now that he’s cleared his mind with a good rest?

your eyes flicker to his wrist. the gold glimmers underneath the light and you realize that megumi doesn’t seem to hate wearing it. so why is he acting so … unpleasant?

you feel a lump in your throat. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s able to upset you from just the tone of his voice. even his body language, usually fluid and smooth, is rigid with your presence. you want to tell him that you’ve enjoyed your time with him. you want to shake his shoulders and tell him that if you two cut your mission short, you might not get another chance to be near him again.

“do you still care about me?” you whisper instead.

he stills completely. “what?”

“this entire time,” you begin shakily, “you’ve been nice to me. you treat me like you always do. you’re always hovering over me even though you pretend you aren’t! you obviously still care, megumi.”

his adam's apple bobs as swallows. a beat of silence. then two. then three.

“i do care,” he admits sorely.

“then why did you break up with me?” you blurt. there it is, the question you’ve been meaning to ask. you both had seen it coming.

“because…” megumi winces as if he’s the one getting hurt from the ordeal. “because you deserve someone that’s normal. someone that isn’t a sorcerer. i can’t give you that life.”

you feel your chest swarm with anger. why does he always think he needs to sabotage himself to make others happy? this is something you’ve tried working with him on, but it seems like old habits are hard to kill off, just like your habit of loving him.

“why the hell would you decide that for me? when did i ever say i wanted a normal life?” you snap. your hands clench at your sides.

“it’s too early for this,” he says, his voice straining as he finally musters up the strength to look at you in your eyes.

“tell me, megumi. if that’s the real reason, then that is the most pathetic excuse for a breakup i've ever heard.” your voice cracks and you gulp down the oncoming sob that’s threatening to explode from your throat.

he inhales slowly and makes his way to you, holding you close against his chest. you should push him away, but you would rather let him hug you. you know that you can’t fight him, anyway.

“you…once said you wanted a regular relationship. when you got hurt a few weeks ago, i realized i couldn’t be that for you,” he confesses lowly. “i knew that you’d never find it in yourself to leave, so i figured i should just let you go for your sa–”

“are you kidding me?” you shout incredulously. “i said that when i was fifteen, megumi! before i even knew what being in love was like!”

he flinches against you. “but i…”

“you and your damn savior complex! i don’t need to be in a regular, normal relationship! i don’t need any of that, megumi! i’m a sorcerer, I won't ever get to be normal! in fact, it’s even better that i’m with you because you at least know what this life is like, you idiot! you’re always ruining the good things in your life because you—”

he takes his fingers to grab your chin and he pulls you in for a kiss. if the kiss is a ploy to shut you up, you hate to admit that it’s working. his tongue slips into your mouth and you melt against him. your arms loop around his neck as you desperately drag him down closer to your body. his hand grip your waist while the other clings to the small of your back.

you whimper out of instinct and he pulls away, lips bruised and breathless. it’s been so long since you’ve tasted him and you frown, tiptoeing to capture his lips again. you need to savor him, to feel him lips against yours again.

“baby, wait.” his chest heaves as he looks down at you. “don’t…don’t do this to me.”

“do what?” you ask, an edge to your voice. did he just reject you? even after all that?

“w-we gotta report back to—”

“we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” you interrupt.

the gears shift in his head. “fine, but—”

“i’m still really fucking mad, but i just need you to kiss me right now,” you whine impatiently.

all megumi does is laugh when he swoops down to press his lips against yours.

it’s december 24th when you two find yourselves in satoru’s office. steam is practically rising from your ears as you try to compose yourself in front of your former teacher.

“... i wanted a wedding invitation.” satoru shrugs.

“you set us up!” you whine angrily. “gojo, are you serious?! isn’t this a little immature?”

megumi stays silent, averting his gaze. he suddenly finds the succulents on satoru’s desk very interesting. he’s never noticed that they’re all nearly dead! how cool.

your eyes shoot daggers at megumi's silence.

"we aren't gonna get married any time soon..." megumi mutters when he feels your pointy glare on him.

satoru raises his hands in mock surrender. “you two can’t blame me! it worked out! you two are back together now, right?”

“but did you have to make us look like fools out there?” you groan.

“you should’ve figured it out on the first day that the mission was a sham!” satoru exclaims, offense taking over his features.

“but still!” you’re borderline hysterical at this point, unable to believe that your former teacher of all people had to set up an entire fake mission so that you and your ex could talk your feelings out. “we would’ve figured ourselves out sooner or later!”

megumi nods. he feels like he should at least give you a little support even if he’s embarrassed out of his mind.

“oh really?” satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm. “you guys should be thanking me—”

“you’re so not getting an invitation to our wedding!” you grumble.

“wha—hey! i’m the one that got you two back together! besides, i’m megumi’s guardian! you can’t just not invite me.”

“watch me!”

“megumi, tell her that she can’t do that—hey! where are you guys going? invite me, you rascals—why are you guys leaving? we aren’t done discussing this! megumi, don’t you dare take her side! she isn’t even your wife yet—don’t slam my door!”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk megumi #megumi fluff #not my best work tbh

801 notes · View notes

leclsrc · 1 year

Note

congrats on 2k!! <3 can i have a [five brushes] with mick in some sort of friends to lovers scenario? tysm :*

hold my hand – ms47

genre: fluff, 2k celebration

auds here... sry this was a 4+1 and not a 5! love u

send for the for the five times our muses almost hold hands and the one time they do.

Maybe it was the chill of November, or the shots of vodka you’d thrown back to celebrate the start of month.

It’s vague when you try to pinpoint when all this started, this wholly new light on your best friend of your entire life, Mick. It’s hazy at the edges, like it’s still a dubious thing—is it really him? Mick? The one you’d watched fall into the lake when you were twelve?

Or maybe it was the popcorn Gina had brought in for the both of you to enjoy as a late Halloween snack. Yes, maybe that.

“It’s butter,” she says, following the wafty scent of popcorn into the living room. “No salt. Sorry. Mick’s trainer’s been on him about dieting.”

“Mmm, I heard,” you say, stuffing a fistful of the snack into your mouth. “You’d think he’s dancing ballet or something.”

“You two just looove talking about me like I’m not here,” pipes up Mick, clicking his tongue. Gina laughs, apologizes in German, and then makes up some excuse to leave you two alone.

Freddy Krueger is just about to kill an unsuspecting dreamer when you and Mick seek popcorn at the same time, and your fingers brush against each other in the sea of butter. You jolt immediately, a reaction as instinctive as it is foreign.

“Thought you were on a diet,” you tease lowly, snatching the bowl away.

So maybe that was it. And that was that. Except it really, really, wasn’t.

—

“Code red,” pants Mick breathlessly into the phone, “Red. I’m on my way to your hotel room.”

You and Mick share an emergency code system, modeled after any other, and used in cases where one needs the other’s help badly. There’s code blue (no fare for the bus/train, no gas money), code green (need to ditch this date, no ride home), code orange (creep is following me, fan has been stalking me), and code red, which covers about anything urgent.

Granted, you both created the system at thirteen, but is anyone really complaining when it’s being used at 23?

It also means code red is never used by either of you, reserved for dire situations. Like now. Your door is pushed open and Mick emerges, sweaty and fussed. “I need,” he says, breathless, “um, a—” But he whispers the last word quietly.

“Sorry. What?!”

“A, you know—” he does it again, scandalized.

“Mick, what do you need?”

“I can’t find a private enough space for me to buy a pack,” he says conspiratorially, “of condoms.”

Your chest caves in. “Oh. Why?”

“Eva asked me out.”

“Huh. Eva, Eva?” You dig through your bag. “Paddock engineer’s sister Eva?”

“Yes. Cool?”

“Yeah, yeah. Yeah,” you say, tossing him a rubber and walking closer. “But you look a mess, Mick.”

“Right. Fix me up, would you?” He smiles, raising his arms up.. “Code green.”

“You’re using up all your codes,” you mutter, pinching the hem of his tee and tugging at it to fix the wrinkles on the bottom. Then you move upward, to the collar of his polo, smile and tease him a bit to get his wound-up nerves loosened up a little more. “Good luck.”

You accidentally fiddle with a button the same time he does, and your fingers stick to each other. Your breath catches a little, but it’s nothing, you tell yourself, avoiding the grip. It’s quiet, your eyes both evading the other’s, your hand scratching absently at your jaw.

“I should—I should go.”

“No, right, yeah.” You clear your throat, nodding and shooing him away. GOOD LUCK VIRGIN BOY you text him when he’s gone, to alleviate the tension.

Went pretty well! :) He texts back two hours later.

“You sure you’re not up for a date?” Eva asks disappointedly across him.

“Sorry. My mind’s elsewhere,” he says. And that’s that. Except it’s really, really, not.

—

“You two used to dance a lot. Michael and I had a tape of your and Mick’s favorite songs.”

“Gina told me,” you giggle, reviewing a photo album with Corinna. “God, it’s crazy. I can’t even imagine Mick dancing now.”

Of course the declaration leads to Gina finding an old tape player in the stockroom and playing it for everyone to hear, so Mick can put on a show of lanky limbs and awkward dance moves for you, his sister, and his mom. It’s awfully endearing, sickening the way he manages to look cute even while botching the dance.

You and Gina join eventually, to appease Corinna’s pleas. In between one scratchy song and another, you both lose yourself in the music and your fingers almost tangle.

You flex your pinky when it almost locks on his. Sorry, he whispers, low in your ear. Your stomach erupts with thrill and excitement. Your mind’s focused on the rough pad of his finger, the whispered rough apology you haven’t quite accepted.

You hug Gina instead, dancing with her, and that should be that. Except it really, really, isn’t.

—

“If you keep moving it’ll look ugly.” You readjust your grip on Mick’s pinky, painting an angry red on the nail there as a totem of good luck for the race weekend. You take the chance to do it when you can, the tradition started in Formula 3—paint the pinky nail red.

“You’re taking forever.”

“Fine, good luck DNF-ing again on Sunday.”

You poke your tongue out in a fit of concentration and finally finish dotting over the tiny mistakes. Your eyes glide up, and then stop where Mick’s already meet yours behind a blond curtain of damp post-shower hair.

What? You ask, mind clouded it feels like your voice is disembodied. His gaze is so intense, all blues and soft edges and a smile that reaches his eyes.

You do know the nail lacquer is just placebo, right? I have another good luck charm, and that one actually works.

No it isn’t, and no you don’t, and whatever the charm is—no, it doesn’t.

Except it really, really, does.

—

The fine line between friends and whatever lies behind it—when is it crossed?

How many times will your fingers brush in a chaste dance? Your eyes flit down to lips, chapped or smooth, like it’s water in the desert? How many times will Mick dance, even if he hates to dance, because he likes the nearness of it? He wakes from dreams of you. He wakes waiting to text you.

It may have been doubtful before, but now it’s anything but: he’s in love with you. And love is dizzying, it’s blurry and miraculous and could cloud even Einstein’s brain, but Mick at least knows the answer to one of his many questions.

Four. Four brushes of your knuckles.

“Hey. Code red,” he says into the phone, walking to the lobby elevator.

Seriously, again? What is it this time?

“Just open the door when I get there,” he says, smilingly. “You won’t believe what I’m going to tell you.”

#f1 #mick schumacher #leclsrc2000 #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher imagines #mick schumacher smut #f1 x reader

425 notes · View notes

sumsumstrashbin · 9 months

Note

hi! just wanted pop in here and say that i looove ur writing, especially how u really immerse us into the setting and the atmosphere of the fic :)

since ur requests r open, i wanted to ask if u could maybe write about 1 of the marauders (idm who!) & reader meeting at a masquerade ball & falling in love? ik it’s cliché but i’d love to see ur take on it if u’d be willing to write it!

tysm for reading this & for all of ur writing! 💜

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ~ 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭! <𝟑 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐚𝐛𝐬��𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢'𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭!

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟐.𝟓𝐤

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞-𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐫𝐲, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐫𝐲, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐮, 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝-𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟎, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐢 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

The Malfoy family was known for their lavish parties full of prestigious, pure-blood families. This included your family, so you were quite familiar with their party scene. Your parents were very well known and highly respected in the pure-blood community, which meant that they dragged you along to every single party, big or small, rain or shine. They would always insist that it was important for you to attend, for the image of the family.

The Potter’s, however, were very lenient with their son James. You knew Fleamont and Euphemia Potter very well, as they were the most interesting people to talk to if your "friends" weren't there.

You had been to so many parties that you had no choice but to make some acquaintances with the other people in your age group to keep yourself from going insane. You and Narcissa Black had grown up as close friends, despite her being a few years older than you. You had just recently attended her wedding with Lucius Malfoy, who you had also grown up with. Your parents made sure to express their distaste to you that Narcissa got married “so late”, and that the prime time to get married was from the ages of eighteen to twenty. If you couldn’t tell already, your parents were just as egotistical as some of the other pure blood families.

On a typical occasion, your parents didn’t have to tell you to prepare, they just expected that you would be ready before it was time to leave. However, this time they made sure to stress to you how important it was that you looked your absolute best for tonight’s masquerade ball. They had even provided you with a brand new dress and a matching mask.

By their request, you made sure to put extra effort into your look for the night, styling your hair differently for a change. Once you were completely ready, you met your parents downstairs in the foyer of your estate. The three of you exited the house, getting into your carriage with the helping hand of your footman. You set off on your journey to Malfoy Manor in silence, the carriage quickly taking off as the thestrals began to fly. You gazed out the window to pass the time, watching the landscape underneath you.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

After a short journey to Wiltshire, the carriage descended onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor. It came to a stop at the main entrance, and your footman opened the door to help you out, followed by your parents. You waited for your parents to walk towards the doors first before following behind them, keeping your shoulders back and your head held high as your mother had reminded you many times on the ride over.

A servant of the Malfoys led the three of you to the main hall before leaving you to mingle with guests and enjoy some refreshments. Your eyes scanned the large ballroom, observing the high ceilings and grand chandeliers. The walls were covered in large windows, draped with luxurious curtains that were pulled back for the night. You excused yourself from the company of your parents, approaching one of the windows and looking out.

Outside of the window was the Malfoys’ vast garden, one that you had spent a lot of time in as a child. You could remember running through the winding paths as if it were yesterday. You had spent a lot of time at Malfoy Manor in the summers, as your father was good friends with Abraxas Malfoy. You were in deep reminiscence when a voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“You must be Y/n L/n.” An unfamiliar voice spoke.

You turned to face the source of the voice and were met with a slender, dark haired man. He wore a black mask that covered the right side of his face, and was adorned with gold detailing to match the intricacies on his outfit.

“I am. How did you know? I thought that the whole point of wearing a mask was to conceal our identities.”

“Not exactly. The only purpose for the masks on this occasion is for the extravagance.” He stated, glancing behind him for a moment before continuing. “Your parents steered me in your direction. That is how I knew who you were. I am Regulus. Regulus Black.”

You tried to conceal the shock on your face, nodding slightly. “That is why I didn’t recognize you. You don’t typically attend these events, and on the rare occasion that you do, I’ve never had the opportunity to speak with you.”

“You are right about that. It is not my typical scene, but my parents insisted that I be here today so that I could introduce myself to you.”

“Oh? Why would that be?” You inquired, looking past his shoulder to find Orion and Walburga Black watching the two of you attentively.

“Did your parents not tell you?” He questioned, sounding a bit perplexed.

“Tell me what?”

Regulus stared at you, trying not to make it too obvious that he was completely bewildered. He took a moment to find his words before answering your question.

“We are to be betrothed, Y/n.”

Your eyes widened at his statement, but everything began to make sense: your parents insisting that you look your best for this event, the criticism of your posture on the ride over, the new gown, and the fact that both Regulus’ parents and yours had been watching you ever since he approached you.

“...I’m sorry, could you please excuse me for a moment?” You managed to spit out, not even waiting for an answer from him before rushing out of the ballroom as calmly as you could.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

You ended up in the middle of the garden, standing and staring at the flowing water of the fountain. You managed to blink back any tears that had threatened to spill, inhaling and exhaling slowly in an attempt to compose yourself.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice a man emerge behind you from one of the openings into the centre of the garden. He slowed his steps when he spotted you, looking at you curiously.

“Hello.” He spoke, putting his hands in his pockets. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

His voice startled you, causing you to turn abruptly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He continued, offering you a polite smile. You didn’t recognize him, as you’d never met the son of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.

“That’s alright.” You answered, clasping your hands in front of yourself. “It is a beautiful night.” Your tone was soft, and you offered a slight smile back, but James was able to notice that it didn’t truly reach your eyes.

“You don’t seem very enthusiastic about it. It’s a beautiful night, and you’re at a beautiful event, and yet you’re out here sulking in a beautiful garden. Not to mention you’re also wearing a beautiful dress.” He teased slightly, attempting to lighten the mood while also trying to decipher the reason for your unpleasant mood.

“If I’m being honest, I’m not. I received some very unwanted news just a few moments ago and it has completely ruined my night.” You sighed.

“Whatever it is, it couldn’t possibly be bad enough to ruin this lovely evening.”

“I found out that I am going to have to marry a man that I know absolutely nothing about.” You stated flatly.

“...Okay, so I was wrong. That is bad enough.” He chuckled awkwardly. “That is rough.”

“That isn’t making me feel any better.” You crossed your arms.

“I didn’t know that I was obligated to make you feel better, but alright then. Would you like to accompany me back to the ballroom, where you’ll join me for a dance? I am a great dancer. That will surely lift your spirits.” He grinned pridefully, offering you his arm.

“I don’t want to go back inside and be ambushed by my parents.”

James thought about your comment for a moment, a lightbulb going off in his mind. “You know, a friend of mine is exceptional in transfiguration spells, and he did teach me a thing or two about human transfiguration…”

You shook your head immediately. “I am not going to let a stranger experiment with transfiguration on me. No way.”

“I wont do anything too risky, just a hair colour change and maybe a different outfit. And if this is scary because I’m a stranger to you, then let's not be strangers. I’m James Potter.” He said, looking at you expectantly.

“...Y/n L/n. You’re a Potter?” You asked curiously, as you had heard a lot about him from Fleamont and Euphemia.

“You’re a L/n? I’ve never met one before.”

“I’m very familiar with your parents. They’re pretty much the only sane adults at these events.” You replied. “You’re lucky to have them. They’re good people, and clearly they don’t force you to come to these parties.”

“I am lucky. But I wish I had come to one sooner, so that I may have had a chance to meet you before your unfortunate predicament.” He remarked, glancing at you.

You nodded, agreeing with him. “Very well then. As long as you can change my hair back at the end of the night, it’s alright.”

“Wonderful!” He grinned broadly, taking his wand out. “Now, what colour should we choose…”

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

James led you to the ballroom, bringing you to the dance floor. Your hair colour had changed drastically, and your dress and mask had transformed into a colour that complimented your new hair. You surveyed your surroundings nervously, hoping that you hadn’t been recognized. Thankfully, his charm had worked well: your parents and the Black family hadn’t noticed that it was you. James slid his hand onto your waist, taking your hand as you placed the other one on his shoulder.

He led you through the waltz, dancing along to the elegant music being played by enchanted instruments. The world blurred around you, allowing you to enjoy yourself without the pressure of your parents’ scrutinising gaze for once.

“Have you ever considered leaving home?” He asked, glancing at your parents.

“Where could I possibly go?” You questioned, looking up at him. “Besides, they would never allow me to just peacefully move out. And running away without warning is not a viable option because I’m a L/n, so the entire country would search for me.”

“Why not just make a grand exit by making it clear that you’re cutting them off? My best mate is Sirius Black, and I'm sure you’ve heard of the scandal with his family disowning him and all that. Of course it was hard, but he’s happier now, living with me. If your parents are going to force you to marry someone then I’d say you’d probably be happier away from them.”

You stared at him, surprised at his statement. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again.

“I apologise if I’ve overstepped-”

“You haven’t. You’re right. I probably would be happier away from them.” You responded, offering him a faint smile. “But again, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“...Well, I know we don’t know each other very well, but I do have a flat in London with an empty couch.” He chuckled nervously, awaiting your reaction.

You pondered on the idea: it would be crazy to move in with a man you barely know, right? To leave everything you’ve ever known behind and start fresh? When you thought about it as a way of starting fresh it honestly sounded like a dream come true. Is the option of staying with your parents and marrying Regulus Black any less crazy? Not really.

After a few moments, you sighed. “Let’s just enjoy the night and we’ll see where things go.”

James nodded, smiling at you warmly. As the song ended, he dipped you carefully. You leaned your head back, closing your eyes as your options ran through your mind: should you run off with a stranger and cut your parents off, or stay back and marry a stranger? Either option means you end up with a stranger. As you weighed your options, you heard a few gasps and mumbles from the crowd spectating the dance. James lifted you back up, his eyes widening as he did so.

“What? What’s wrong?” You asked nervously.

“The charm reversed.” He answered, taking a strand of your hair with his fingers to show you that your hair had returned to its original colour. You looked down at your dress, noticing that it too had returned back to normal. You heard your parents calling out to you, and you cursed under your breath.

James made a quick decision, one that you certainly didn’t expect. He took your hand, making a run for the door. You stumbled to keep up with him, kicking your heels off to prevent a broken ankle and lifting your dress with one hand.

“What are you doing?” You managed to blurt out, glancing behind you at the ballroom doors.

“I didn’t think you wanted to be interrogated right now, so we’re leaving!” He exclaimed, leading you out the front doors. “Thank Merlin Sirius let me borrow his bike.”

James led you to a bush in front of the manor, stopping. He then walked around it, bringing Sirius’ enchanted motorbike out from behind it. Before you could comment, he stopped you. “No time for questions, just get on.”

You stared at the bike for a moment, completely baffled. He ushered you onto the back, getting on in front of you and starting it. The bike roared to life and he switched the headlight on. You instinctively held onto him, bracing yourself.

He sped off immediately, driving out the front gates before quickly taking off into the sky. You yelped in surprise, shutting your eyes and shoving your cheek against his back. “You could have warned me!” You shouted.

“That’s no fun though, is it?” He quipped, looking back at you with a grin before returning his gaze to the sky in front of him. “This bloody mask is blocking my peripherals.” He grumbled before reaching a hand behind his head, pulling the ribbon to undo the tie of his masquerade mask. You opened your eyes to watch as he pulled it off, blindly tossing it behind him.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his careless action, deciding to do the same thing. You tossed your own mask behind you, trying not to watch it fall many, many feet down onto the gravel path of Malfoy Manor beneath you.

James looked back at you again, and you were met with his face in full glory. He was more handsome than anyone you'd ever seen, with beautiful hazel eyes that sparkled in the moonlight. A grin spread across his face as he looked at you. “You’re even more beautiful than I expected.”

“Keep your eyes on the skies!” You exclaimed, feeling your face heat up at his words.

He chuckled, shaking his head before turning his head to face the front again.

The wind was making a mess of your hair, and your dress was half torn at the bottom from James’ spontaneous runaway plan, but you loved it. You had never felt so free in your life. You held on tighter to James, smiling broadly. It was about time you started living for yourself.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 :) 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

#james potter #the marauders #marauders #maraudersera #prongs #james x reader #james potter x reader #james potter fic #marauders x reader #prongs x reader #harry potter #harry potter oneshots #james potter oneshots #hp #hp fanfic #regulus black #masquerade ball #malfoy manor

92 notes · View notes

isaacz · 2 months

Note

hi!!! i just wanna say i looove the way u draw flowey. ive been an undertale fan since like early 2016 or so, and he's always been my favorite character. i think you really really capture his general demeanor in ur fanart!! specifically i really love the little fang you give him. it calls to mind asriel in a really good way, nevermind just being a really cute detail. your flowey design in general just captures asriel in a way that i think is really well done and unique. and he also somehow really feels like a kid? which i imagine isn't simple to do one way or another when he's a flower, so i really respect it!!

this is genuinely so fucking sweet wtf ,,,

TYSM!!!!! i'm glad you like my flowey, i try to make him silly as possible ;)

exhibit A and B:

#zac ask #tysm for the kind ask #this lightens my day dude

41 notes · View notes

brettslovelymalewife · 1 year

Note

HIIIIIIIIIIIIII

How are you?? I was wondering if some headcanons for the 4 main eddsworld boys with a reader that loves cola (and sodas in general, like even has a whole tier list of them) would be possible! tysm and have a good day/night<3<3

the eddsworld boys with a reader who loves soda

a/n: this reader is so me. im obsessed with dr pepper and im not afraid to admit it(help me.) but tysm for ur request!! i hope you have a good day/night aswell <3

edd

-honestly? you guys either get along or you absolutely hate each other. - bc like?? you LOVE cola??? SO DOES HE!!!!! - but,, as long as you dont get into HIS cola, you guys should be good. - he prob gets into urs though, lol!!! - if you dont prefer cola though, HE WILL GET INTO A FIGHT WITH YOU ABT COLA BEING BETTER. - is down to check out ur tier list and to make one himself. - COLA DRINKING CONTEST!! - you lost. L - but its okay bc u got an cola lover friend in return :))

matt

-he doesnt actually,, care all that much - but sometimes hes nice enough to buy you a soda at the store - or buy like idfk, cherry pepsi and say it tastes bad and give it to you - he likes to stare at himself in the soda cans reflection. its great trust me - nothin much to say pretty much??

tom

-"huh. cool" - he notices, but doesnt say much abt it - but he will do small things!! - just like matt, he'll buy ya soda - ,,,but wont say much - will buy it and it on ur bed - or when youre upset, he'll just,,,, awkwardly give it to you and step away hoping it makes you feel better. - this man, doesnt like soda all that much. but will drink it to time to time - and will check out ur tier list. and WILL judge it heavily - "you like pickle flavored soda??? what the actual fuck is WRONG WITH YOU??"

tord

-this guy LOOOVES debates abt soda, just like edd!! all three of u guys will have arguments over it and its great - but he doesnt take it as personal as edd - you guys try out those disgusting soda flavors too - like the pickle flavor. ew. - but for teasing, he'll take your soda and will just start chugging it out of nowhere

#eddsworld #eddsworld x reader #eddsworld edd #eddsworld edd x reader #eddsworld tom #eddsworld tom x reader #eddsworld tord #eddsworld tord x reader #eddsworld matt #eddsworld matt x reader #yippee #drinking dr pepper as i write this

205 notes · View notes

icypenguin · 5 months

Text

★~ Wriothesley winter headcanons!

HELLOOO how r u guys doinggg? im so sorryyy but i’ll be replying the requests next week 😞😞😞 but anyway this takes place in modern au bts so please enjoyyy!

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

- I FEEL LIKE WRIO LOOOVES SNOW LIKE LIKE YK WHEN DOGS GET OUT AND PLAY SNOW?? I’M SORRY BUT I COULD IMAGIEN HIM PLAYING LIKE THAT- (well not exactly like LIKE that but yk…)

- He would make sure to keep you warmmm! you guys have matching scarfs and beanies!

- when he doesn’t have any work to do… SNOW FIGHTSSSS! you both will play in the snow and not minding if anyone sees you both like some children playing around.

- on lunch time, you both will walk through the snowy streets together to find a place to eat. as well as telling some random facts. he would hold your hand, making sure you’re not cold.

- on weekends, you guys will bake cookies or cupcakes! you would put a frosting on wrio’s nose as you both played around. wrio would try to make a gingerbreadman shaped cookie but it turned pretty wonky- but either way, it still tastes good!

- before bed, you will cuddle near the fireplace while sipping on hot cocoa with marshmallows! it’s a routine now.

- one day, when you walked down the streets, a bird nestled in wrio’s hair. you both laughed afterwards. the bird even slept in wrio’s hair awwww!

~ small drabble ~

“wrio, let’s make christmas cookies!” he chuckled by your excitement. “okay okay, we don’t have cookie cutters though”, “who caresss? we could just make them by our hands! easy peasy”. yeah… easy peasy. wrio was making a gingerbreadman while you were making a snowman. “wrio, can you guess what this is?” you showed your cookie to him. “um… a rounded christmas tree?” he looked confused. “NOOO! it’s a snowman.. how dare you :(“ you pouted as he chuckled at your sad expression. “i’m sorry love, guess i just couldn’t put it in my mind”, “fine fine.. i forgive you.. well what’s yours? it looks like a chubby scarecrow” you giggled. “what? are you trying to back fire me, now?” he chuckled. “no, it’s not a chubby scarecrow. it’s a gingerbreadman!” he exclaimed. “a gingerbreadman? well.. okay i can see it now i guess” you shrugged in response. well atleast after you bake the cookies and put icing on it, it tastes good.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

THANKYOU FOR READINGG TYSM FOR ALL THE SUPPRTS JEHSHJS ANYWAY ADVICES ARE ACCEPTED THANKYOUUUU!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley x you

50 notes · View notes

dykeferatu · 2 months

Note

Hi, River! :)

What's your favourite NIN song(s) my dude? (If I may call you my dude.)

hello! god this is like asking me to choose a favorite child except i think that would be easier. if i was a parent. it's hard to chose only a few faves but it will TRY to keep this limited... (note from future river: i failed)

fuck this is actually so difficult... ok i have to get closer out of the way

obviously..... predictable choice but it's a hit for a reason ok!! it was my top song on spotify last year and i literally only started listening to nin in october. so good... i saw u respond to my post about track transitions and the transition from closer into ruiner makes me go crazyyyyyyy. i love ruiner as well but again. trying to keep it limited..

ok nearly every song on tds is a favorite so i'm just going to highlight a few more and then i'll give other releases a chance 😭

reptileee.. UGHHH. yeah this one just does something to me. the machinery sounds. yum. that guitar bit that lines up with that one machine sample that's playing throughout (3:43 if u don't know wtf i'm talking abt)... and i like the muffled yelling in the outro

there are songs on tds i guess i technically like listening to more but there's something about this one that makes it special to me. it's comforting somehow! the intro is meditative, and the meat of the song is cathartic. i like how we get the same muffled effect as on reptile, but here even the instrumentals are muffled

BURN!! one of my first favs. so good and aggressive. grraaahhhh

ok gonna try to limit myself to one song per release from here on out bc i really do love so many.....

so fun and funky. the nursery rhyme lyrics are a little silly but i love it. also love the part where he just screams

so many good things abt this one... the first things that made my ears perk up were the synths on the chorus

there's just a weight to the sound of this one that i'm obsessed with atm. also, the crunch is real good

ok already breaking my promise but the fragile has so many songs and i haaave to highlight please. underrated as hell!!! hearing that chorus for the first time changed my brain chemistry (<- could say this about a lot of nin stuff lmao)

breaking my promise AGAIN because LA MER...... such a beautiful song. does things to me. has made me cry. whatever........

gotta love only. the beat. the rambling verses. the chorus. the reference to down in it. fun!

i ran out of embeds but THAT WON'T STOP ME...

Me, I'm Not - i woke up with this song stuck in my head once and then i listened to year zero and finally Got It

Discipline - just a banger

Various Methods of Escape - hesitation marks is CRIMINALLY UNDERRATED

The Background World - i do kinda with there was a version with a shorter outro bc i looove this one but it's hard to put on playlists. great way to end the ep tho

God Break Down the Door - PLAY THAT SAX TRENT!! i also love his voice in this one

OK i'm done. i agonized over this and i still wanted to include more 😭😭 tysm for asking and thanks to anyone who got to the end of this post <3 ily

#inbox #can u believe i (still) held back

8 notes · View notes

kiivg · 6 months

Note

i looove the art u did of ur V in that hammock bed with the screens in the background and Jackie below, but what's ur V up to exactly? is he editing the recordings? whats his job?

.Tysm!!!! My V, Gianluca Vargas, is part of my 3Vs AU, so he’s not my main V canonically, but he’s probably the one I like playing the most because I get to run around in flashy suits and kiss Takemura 💋. My actual V is Gianluca’s ex, and Sunny’s half-sister (never going to play as her, I just need someone to be mean to Johnny, be hardcore pro-Arasaka, and then die at the end.)

.So his job is basically an AI (or digital idk) sex worker kind of thing, (idk if that’s what a Brain Dance is because they’re confusing af), where he basically controls a private area of the net that’s his own, and caters mostly to rich clientele. He has default programs that he’s made himself which the AIs run on and he can dip in and out to control them to make the whole situation more personal. On the picture he’s controlling LynchMO8 as his main, but he’s running three others at the same time, and recording BeccaMO6 for further purposes (maybe blackmail, maybe to sell on to others as a separate BD experience). Essentially, hardly anyone knows he’s the one who’s running the whole operation, and WHY would they, he’s a scumbag Valentino from The Glen harhar. Each one of the AIs has Cerdita tattooed however (that’s his left hand, which is basically an AI in its own right,) so it’s like his brand I guess? But I think I called his business Mañana Vices?

.Gianluca is also low-key obsessed with Delamain, and the way he controls and entire fleet of vehicles with little to no issue, (until the big old quest, which maybe I solely concentrated on so I could get all the dialogue of Delamain rediscovering everything again hehehe..) So he runs as many AIs as he can, and has five sockets in his head where he can jack straight into things. He’s never going to be Delamain (as much as he wants to be) but he’s going to keep trying.

.He’s definitely a skilled Netrunner, and the majority of his money came from hacking companies and stealing it, so he could support his sister as she went through the training to become a member of Trauma Team. But then he was like “Huh I LIKE money” so he just kept stealing. He is the one who does all the netrunning in my 3Vs, like he helps to catch the Peter Pan guy for River, helps to interrogate Anders before Takemura shows up, actually probably does 80% of Takemura’s questline because V is too busy elsewhere.

.The link with Jackie is literally that Jackie was really close to V, and she and Gianluca were mostly sweethearts growing up and then she went corporate, and now they’re just friends with benefits. Which is basically if she needs something hacking, she’ll just rock up and things go from there. So him and Jackie are like acquaintances, but they’re close enough to just chill out together every so often, I don’t think he and Misty get along though since she read his tarot and hit a little too close to home. Plus I like to think that Gianluca has a dad who’s sweet on Mama Welles hehehe.

.Anyway, on the subject of Gianluca, here’s a little kind of smutty thing of him and Takemura 👹💋💕. (Also I’m posting off my phone so maybe the formatting is awful.).

When the knock came at the side of his van, Takemura was quick to gather his weapon, finger hovering over the trigger, concealed within the darkness of his vehicle. His mind had slipped elsewhere, thinking through the realities of what they were planning to do, what they had to do, and how it could very easily go so wrong. He keeps his mouth closed, trying to discern footsteps from the heavy patter of rain, waiting for the intruder to either pass along or open fire. There was every chance it was a drunkard in the night, and every other chance that it was a bounty hunter seeking his head. He steadies himself as he had been trained to do, slowing his breath, slowing his heart rate. It had been done a thousand times before, waiting to strike like a viper in the shadows.

The knock appears at his window, a pale shroud of a man slapping a flat palm against the dirtied glass. He points with a finger to the locking mechanism with the same hand, his other raised above his head, holding a jacket aloft to keep himself somewhat dry. The man knocks again, more urgently, gesturing somewhat wildly to the rain that pelts him from above, before trying the door handle futilely. Takemura can see the man’s lips moving, glinting in reflected city light; but the words he could not hear.

It takes a moment, far longer than just a moment, for Takemura’s eyes to adjust to the way the lights of Night City dazzle upon the pale shroud, illuminating him in a halo of advertising pinks and purples, to recognise him; V’s netrunner. The one she has saved in her holo as “Gives Good Head”. A fact Goro had not wanted to know, and yet, it was a thought hooked into the back of his head every time he had seen the man. With a golden triangle tattooed onto plump lips, a set of golden teeth behind them, always fiddling with something; a cigarette, the nails of his organic hand, the straw of an ungodly sweetened drink he had already drank and thrown away, putting anything he could between those lips to keep them busied.

Takemura lets him in.

A button pressed and the door unlocks, he leans over to pull the handle, unlatching and leaving it open just a touch. His weapon is slipped quietly into his holster, safety back on, and he removes what debris he can from the passenger seat. Old papers from a previous owner, a corporate magazine with Yorinobu’s face plastered across it, the wrappers of several burgers he would not willingly admit to eating. There is a fumble as the man, Luca, climbs in, jostling a vinyl bag into Takemura’s lap, and slamming the van door behind him with a heavy sigh. The bottom of it is dripping with rainwater, no doubt left on the floor as he had tried to beg his way into the safety of the vehicle.

Gianluca’s cheeks are flushed, from the cold or the rain, but with the heavier breaths Takemura assumes he had been running. “Were you followed?” He asks, fingers pressed to the ignition. He glances in the mirrors, and then in the screens that show him the rear of the vehicle and the sides consecutively. Nothing but the rain and all that accompanies it.

“What? No, it’s fucking raining,” Gianluca gestures to the outside, “mierda.” He squirms in the passenger seat, attempting to swipe the rain from his impromptu umbrella-cum-jacket, soaked through, and trying to pull the fabric of his slacks away from where they cling to his skin, also soaked through. If Takemura was a man of lesser standing it would be hard to tear his eyes away from the sight, and yet, he doesn’t, knowing that would be far more suspicious than simply staring. Rather he replaces his confusion with a frown, silently chastising the younger man for his shuffling and wiggling as he tries to readjust himself into a comfier situation.

Gianluca was wearing white. Or a close enough colour to it. In the low light of the rearview screen it looks green, and when an advert for Us Cracks billows brightly above Night City it turns pink. Yet it remains white in Takemura’s mind; white slacks, white jacket, white shirt; all wet and now significantly opaque, offset with black and gold waistcoat, tie and shoes. And with a glance down, black underwear, visible now, thanks to the sudden onset of heavy rain. If the man notices Takemura staring, he says nothing, only settles in his seat apologetically, trying to steady his uneven breaths.

“I bought coffee, and food,” he gestures to the bag, a peace offering, a patterned red thing, “I figured you should stop trying to find Japan in Night City, so I got patatas bravas, empanadas, tamales, and churros, for after.” He takes foil lined boxes out of the bag as he speaks, shaking each one to hear the rattle of food before he discerns what it is. It does not go unnoticed that the churros are placed closer to himself than Takemura, the man’s incessant sweet tooth staking a claim on the sugary snacks. Each box leaves a small ring of steam on the inside window, fighting valiantly against the chill of the weather outside.

“I am not hungry.” Takemura lied, returning his gaze to the building opposite, thinking back to the task at hand, and not of Gianluca’s spread position as he plucks at the fabric between his thighs. From the way he sits, each inch of clothing is either a creased hill of bunched fabric, or a damp puddle of tattooed skin blended beneath a synthetic silk mix.

He glances back to Gianluca when the man lurches forward, tugging off the waistcoat and unknotting his tie. He hangs his jacket from the back of his headrest, the van rocking as he turns to check and see there was nothing back there that would cause it damage. His waist coat is next, and his tie is rolled up, held in his tight fists until water droplets run down into the cuffs of his shirt, and then placed on the shoulder of his seat. Part of Takemura wants to chastise the man for taking over a space that was not his, and the other part, the part which likes knowing the three words V had resigned the man to, likes watching tattooed hands run across the damp shirt, wrinkles smoothed, pulled taut and damp over hardening nipples.

“You don’t have to eat now, Takemura, but it’s good food, and I promised abuelita I’d, you know,” he gestures limply and without definition, grabbing the bag and setting the boxes back inside. He hesitates with the small box of churros, lamenting the treat he would have to leave in the hands of another man. It’s something to distract him, focusing on the smell of the food, and then the strong bitterness of brewed coffee as Gianluca pulls the decorated flask out. Without his optics he cannot smoothly translate the words carved in Spanish, but the small upturn of Luca’s lips tells him they were written fondly.

It’s more of a planned picnic than an impromptu dash around the streets for something that resembles a meal. Homemade, Takemura thinks, a twitch in his stomach that can’t decide whether to swell with affection or curdle with jealousy. His own grandmother had raised him as a child, before Arasaka, and he can see love in the way Gianluca handles the boxes, the flask, the way he pours coffee from it and into the small cups. Abuelita, he thinks, trying to conjure an image that would suit the title, trying to figure out how Night City had bred a woman who would give her fully grown grandson, a thief, a ganger, and more even, a perfectly wrapped meal and send him out on his way knowing full well that he had his own concealed weapons at hand.

The coffee itself is stronger than he would have liked, and it burns a trail down his chest when he drinks it. Gianluca himself, drops in three pill capsules to his own, and they fizz as they disintegrate, black coffee now swirling with little flecks of pink and blue. A puddle of the night sky held in his palm. He declines one of them when Gianluca offers, smiling to himself when the man drops the fourth in; muttering to himself about how it is only sugar.

It is more than sugar, V had told him when they had met in Tom’s Diner, concentrated and synthetically made. Absurdly sweet, to the point that it made her gag when she had first tried one. Gianluca split the pills himself, one capsule held the contents of three. Different flavours to make one overall combination of saccharine granules. An abomination, Takemura had thought, wondering how he felt as if he could now smell that over the bitterness of his own drink.

“You have told your grandmother about me?” Takemura asks, glancing back at the red bag, placed closely in the rear of the van. How much? He wonders at first; Saburo-sama’s failed bodyguard, an Arasaka outlaw, a rat from Chiba 11 who was given everything and failed his only purpose.

“No,” Gianluca says, sighing as he swallows a gulp of coffee, shrugging as the warmth blooms in his chest too, “well, just a little.” His smile is coquettish as he glances over, cradling his plastic mug in hand, blowing the steam as it rises to his lips.

“You should not have done this, anyone who knows-” Takemura starts.

“Is at risk, si, si, I said you’re a friend of a friend who’s a little run down.” His worries are not dissuaded off by Gianluca’s limp wave, nor by the way he shrugs out his admittance. “Anyway, she’ll be pissed if you don’t try some.” He points a thumb at the food, raising his brows in a way that relayed his message in all seriousness.

For a moment Takemura feels a pang of something in his gut, a slight worry over disappointing the faceless figment of a grandmother of the man beside him, over being judged by the same woman. The pang sets in the scales of his stomach, balanced out by Gianluca’s behaviour, which tells him that the younger man had spoken of him fondly enough that said grandmother had made him the equivalent of a packed lunch. Or perhaps she was simply like that, perhaps Gianluca was simply like that. Helpful; and in Night City? The words don’t sit comfortably together.

“A friend of a friend?” He asks, sipping at his coffee, watching the way Gianluca swirls his own by tipping his wrist, stirring the sugar as he pours himself a second cup. Personally, he didn’t believe that friend of a friend described him accurately enough. He wasn’t friends with V. Their relationship was one of purely business. She had seen what had happened at Konpeki, and Takemura needed her statement. There was little more to it.

But Gianluca, he hadn’t been there. Takemura didn’t need the man. And yet, throwing him from his van hadn’t even crossed his mind. Granted, his mind could easily excuse it; Gianluca was an exceptional netrunner, the man had skills and a certain know-how of a great many things that neither V nor Takemura knew how to do. Even V had explained to him, if there was a way of getting Gianluca to the parade float without danger, he’d be able to hack it without the daemon that Takemura had purchased, and he’d probably do it faster than V could upload it. But he was a coward, his chosen implants spoke to that, and was mostly useless in a firefight.

He would be useful in other, more specific ways, is what V had told him, as she had first shared his contact information. Not that Takemura had been tech savvy enough to be able to change the name of him, and with his pride and previous blunders, hadn’t asked anyone to help him to do so.

So he remains, Gives Good Head.

And if Takemura had to explain that to anyone, he’d struggle beyond what was reasonable. Because there would be no way for him to know either way, despite the flirtatious nature of the man, despite the way he mouthed at everything and anything he could. Takemura couldn’t simply just ask; and there sits the struggling thought, because he didn’t know what he would ask, specifically. If he questioned the title, then Gianluca would either have to lie, or be believed to be lying, or demonstrate if the monicker lived up to standard.

“You did not mention V?” Takemura asks, holding his dwindling cup out to be refilled, staring at the black liquid as it decants, eyes flickering from it to Luca’s hand, to the damp collar of his shirt, to the way his hair dries awkwardly around the face. He can see the soft whirring of cybernetics on his pupils, a dimly lit gold as he runs through whatever data breach he explores.

“Why would I? She doesn’t like her, she’s not making any of this for someone like V,” he offers another smile, plump lips pulled taut, “just accept the food, Takemura, not everything needs to be dissected.” He holds up his own cup, tapping it against Takemura’s, before downing it himself. He hums in undecided agreement, staring at the steam that rises from his cup. Perhaps it did need dissecting. If Gianluca couldn’t hack the float by himself, more or less even have a reason to do so, why was he still here? Bringing coffee and food like this was something else, as if they weren’t scouting for information on the parade floats, as if he was a friend of a friend.

From the corner of his eye he can see Gianluca readjusting himself, pulling at the crotch of his slacks, picking at the damp fabric. Thumb held behind his belt as he stops it from digging into his gut, trying to relax and ignoring the squelch of wet fabric against wet fabric as he moves.

He was handsome, Takemura knew this, Takemura had seen this. Takemura knew that Gianluca also knew he was handsome too. It had been easy to see the way he had flirted with those around them, with street food vendors and passersby, with the NCPD when they got a little too suspicious, a tilt to his hips, a wink, his tongue pressing against that golden triangle. Like a peacock, he thought. Brightly fanned tail feathers like a shield around him. Takemura held reserve on it all, trying not to think of the contact on his holo, trying not to look when Gianluca raised his hips to pluck his slacks from where they uncomfortably cling to his arse.

“You and V have a history?” Takemura asks. He already knew, her holo contact, but there was more behind it. Which meant there was more to all this, and Gianluca was wrong; this did need to be dissected. Because if she was paying him, then that meant she might be paying others, and that was an endless list of people who might know where Takemura was. And if not that, then blackmail, if V had something to hold over Gianluca, surely the man, coward or not, would find a way out of the trap she had set for him.

“Si.” He admits, thumping back down into his seat with a bounce, angling himself to the side so he could look at Takemura head on. He sits on one side of his hips, legs crossed at the ankles, his clothes were drier now. Still damp, still smelling of Night City’s rain water, but less see-through, whiter now.

“If there is more to this, then I would like to know.” Takemura explains, his voice lowering a tone, trying to convey the words he didn’t want to speak. “If it could affect what we aim to do.” He adds.

“Are you asking professionally or…”

“Yes.” He says quickly, not wanting to entertain the idea of this being anything but business. There had been many within Arasaka’s training camps who had felled their own training over a lover, over quick trysts in silent corners. Takemura had not been one of them. Where the urge arose he squashed it down, and when he couldn’t deny himself any longer, when his body thrummed with arousal and desire, when heat and sex and lust dropped off of him like sweat, like an overfilled cup of coffee, like rainwater off a white suit, he pushed it down again. Further, deeper, and restrained himself mentally in ways that would so often break other men.

Takemura had patience and willpower, an uncanny ability to simply deny the part of him that wanted to lose himself with another for just a few moments. A few moments back then would have cost him a lifetime, a few moments now; he dared not entertain, and yet-

“We had a thing back when we were teenagers, she was my first proper output, gave me my first blowjob a couple blocks from here,” Gianluca’s words fall so unapologetically from his tongue, wet and organic in a self imposed gilded cage of teeth, “she got a job with Arasaka, I stayed in the Glen, we fuck when she gets a little homesick.” Takemura has to chew on his own tongue, he was homesick, he was only a couple blocks from a couple blocks away, he was trapped in his own vehicle with a gilded man dripping onto the centre console, talking about fucking a woman, talking about giving head, giving Good head.

“And you two are…” He clears his throat awkwardly, unwilling to say the next words. Because Gianluca was beautiful, and V was beautiful, and Takemura’s hormonal balance regulators had been turned off along with everything else, and he had unwittingly grown used to them thrumming away in his body, limiting the things he had taught himself to deny naturally.

“Are you asking professionally? Because I’m sitting in your van, in this pinche clima, in this soaked suit, and compiling all the information I can get off the Arasaka compound; and I’m not doing it just to get that puta to ride my dick.” Gianluca inches over, leaner closer, lowering his voice from where it had been raised in disbelief and annoyance. “There are easier ways to… mierda, Takemura, pa ti. That’s why.” He jabs a finger in Takemura’s direction, pointedly enough that he looks down, and then back up into Gianluca’s eyes. Golden lines turning as he tries, fails, to connect with Takemura’s own disabled optics, a hitch in the download as he turns his gaze back to the building beyond them.

He readjusts himself again as he sits back in the passenger seat, and Takemura’s gaze does not flee his form, not immediately. Because perhaps he had fooled himself, and he was a lesser man than he thought he was, because now the only image in his head was V writhing in Gianluca’s lap, head thrown back, arched and panting and wanton and brimming with lust and decorated with sweat. And so easily does she fade, replaced by his own body.

A part of him laments the image, laments the desire to take Gianluca’s cock in hand and press it inside of himself, and so he turns back to the building in the distance. Because it should be the other way around, he should have Luca on him, his status would demand it. He could not debase himself in front of a lesser man, a younger man, to give his most intimate parts up so freely to someone like Gianluca. A larger part of him doesn’t care, because the images playing in his mind increase twofold. Of being inside of Luca, of being on top of Luca, of being underneath Luca, of being spread legged with wide tattooed shoulders under his thighs, and a mouth, lips tattooed, tongue organic, teeth gilded, pressed open against his cock.

“I knew it was going to rain, waited for it, even.” Gianluca whispers. A soft admittance under the patter of raindrops. And when Takemura turns he sees the man dissected, his reasons laid bare.

He had the foresight to bring a vinyl bag that wouldn’t crumple with the weight of water, and not an umbrella to save himself the same misery. To bring food that would keep its heat, coffee the same, enough to warm himself that he would need another reason to shed his clothes; his damp clothes, pale and sticky against darker skin. He had sat in Takemura’s van drenched in sheer fabric, tugging and pulling at it, guiding his gaze in a dance across his body, a display, an allure; hands pressed against his thighs, his groin, his chest, sat lower in his seat so his hips pushed up, black underwear a stark contrast to everything he was and wore.

With tentative fingers he pulls a glittering datashard from his neck, eyes settling to their natural colour, and offers it to Takemura without need for recompense. For you, pa ti. A compilation of what he had gathered from the compound, a gift to help with the sabotaging of the parade.

He is dissected. He is lain bare. He is dressed in raindrops and distant city light.

And Takemura kisses him.

He grabs the offered wrist and pulls him close, pressing chapped lips to Luca’s own tattooed ones. His breath is sugary, his tongue more so. Takemura claws his hand around the back of Gianluca’s neck, pulling him closer like a chained dog, fingers digging into organic flesh and cybernetics alike. He can feel the stubble of hair growth as he grips harder, pressing himself closer; encouraging, if not forcing the younger man to open his mouth fully and share what lays there.

The heavy thrum of his heartbeat is felt through his wrist, a rising thudding beneath Takemura’s fingertips. It sings in time with Luca’s desperate grunt, the sound of his rings clacking against Takemura’s own neck. And when he squeezes harder he hears Luca’s moan over the sound of raindrops, open mouthed and whining, stuttering as Takemura’s tongue pressed in against his own. He yields so easily to him, letting him grab and take and pull, pushing against him with the same ferocity, keening into the state of being devoured.

Gianluca bites at Takemura’s lip as he tries to pull away, following him with kisses to his cheek, his jaw, golden teeth catching against the cybernetics of his neck. He bites down where flesh meets metal, upper teeth scraping his jawline, decorating the plates with his tongue as Takemura groans into the open air.

“You planned this.” Takemura heaves, accusing him as if he hadn’t instigated the kiss himself, catching his breath deep in his lungs. Gianluca pulls back, only the inch that the other man’s grip would allow, and offers a shining smile, he licks his lips, that golden triangle, and nods.

“Si,” he whispers, “but it’s going better than I expected.” He laughs breathlessly, kissing at the hand around his wrist, laving his tongue against the metalwork, trying to pull the fingers into his mouth. He stares at Takemura all the while, watching those dark brown eyes fall heavy, how his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth.

With a shuddering breath he releases his grip, and instead, points three fingers together, his fourth curled into his palm, and lets Gianluca take them into his mouth. He kisses them at the joined tip, lets the flat of his tongue drag across them. Lips press down towards the cuff of his jacket, and he inhales deeply. It must smell of synthetic leather and sweat, but Gianluca rises with a smile, nipping at the palm of his hand, of the bumps and callouses there. The edge of his nose pressed against the three fingers as he returns to his beginning, and slowly he nips at those too, opening his lips to take them to the first knuckle.

He grins around them easily enough, forcing his tongue between the trio, curling it, flattening it, letting his saliva coat the inch he has in his mouth. Takemura still watches on, knowing almost entirely what both of them are thinking of, using most of his restraint to stop himself from pressing his free hand against the throb of heat below his gut. His whimper is embarrassing as Gianluca takes the fingers in further, to the second, the third, until his lips are flush against Takemura’s knuckles, and the only thing stopping him from going further is the fourth finger he had not taken. He swallows. And Takemura can feel the constriction of his throat against his fingertips, and the way his cock throbs against the inside of his slacks.

Gianluca pulls off, ever so slowly, allowing Takemura to set the pace as he takes his fingers from between the lips, each one sticky with sugared saliva. It’s sinful, the sight of them, glistening in the lowlight, a match to his lips, damp themselves, and open with staggering breath. It’s mesmerising almost, the ethereal nature of it broken when the datashard is pressed against them; all the information he needs, the reason why they where both here, a veritable tower block against the sight of a flush-faced Gianluca.

“Touch yourself, Takemura.” Gianluca whispers, eyes flickering the to fingers he had swallowed.

“I am.. I am not sure.” He says lamely. It seems inappropriate, what he just did was inappropriate, Gianluca’s hands trailing down his own body, catching on damp wrinkles of his shirt, thumbs pulling open his belt buckle, the sound of his slacks zipper being pulled down, it was all inappropriate.

His internal conflict must be written plainly on his face. The way his eyes skitter back and forth, from his hands to Gianluca’s own, to the younger man’s glossy eyed appearance and down to his own lap; and back to the soft frown that graces Gianluca’s brows, and the sound of a zipper being tugged back up. The sound almost echoed in Takemura’s gut, like a pendulum that swung between regret and relief. He’d never had someone… do that before. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have even entertained the mere thought of it before, and had he done so, Arasaka would have noted the stimulation in his endocrine system and flagged it up to be reviewed, as they always had done.

That in itself came with a sickening feeling of relief. It felt dirty. It felt dirty to want to do what Gianluca asked of him. It felt dirtier to hear those words in his head, over and over, and wonder if he could just take a hold of his own sex in spit-slicked fingers, apologise, and ask the younger man to watch, to touch, to taste.

“Is it me, or… this wasn’t a transactional sex thing, you know,” Gianluca clears his throat awkwardly, swiping a hand back through his hair and muttering to himself, “qué cabrón.” He looks over at Takemura, still holding the datashard aloft in wet fingers, his cock half hard in his slacks, and a heat decorating his cheeks.

A moment sits between them in the lowlight. Neither of them quite knowing exactly what to do. Whatever intimacy had stirred between them had been stalled by Takemura’s hesitance, and with each glance between them, fleeting, nervous, like two deer stuck in each others headlamps, it stalled again.

“Let me…” Gianluca says, turning in his seat to grab his pocket square and pluck the shard from Takemura’s fingers. He takes Takemura’s hand in his own, wiping away the excess saliva he had left, distracting himself by semi-detailing the metal work across his knuckles. “Listen, I can walk home,” he drops the datashard into the empty ashtray, “and, that’ll probably need to be filtered through, I can recheck the guard rota the day before V goes in just for extra safety, might even throw in a weaponry jammer if any open fire on the night and-“

“Gianluca.” Takemura says, halting the man in his stumbling words. He doesn’t know what he is going to say, nor how he intends to speak it in forced English. Instead he turns his hand in his own, bringing the organic knuckles to his lips. The kiss is chaste, less so when he reaches over to press against his lips. “I will drive you home.” He opts to say, knowing that it is merely a delay tactic, and one that is foolish in itself. The small smile at least is worth the detour, even if the words are abstract from their meaning.

With a press of a button the van splutters to life, rattling in protest of not yet being allowed to die its death. And he waits until Gianluca has tossed what remains in their cups from the window, and replaced the flask in the patterned red bag, before he moves off from their location.

The navigation system pings to life, a sultry female voice telling Takemura to take a right in so many kilometres, and congratulating him with flirtatious laughter and innuendo every few commands. An echo of the previous owner’s taste, and one that fully wilts any desire that might have been thriving in Takemura’s mind. “You, uh, you chose her, ¿si?” Gianluca asks behind a closed fist, stifling his laughter. Takemura fixes him with a stare, his face unmoving even as the navigator compliments him on his driving.

It is enough to settle the tense atmosphere they had both created. Even as Takemura’s shoulders grew tighter with each command. At the very least it had been a short drive, and the patter of rain had died down to a slow drizzle. It didn’t, however, give Takemura the time he needed to figure out what the plan for this was. Because he has seen Gianluca knocked back by some of those in Night City, and he had always brushed it off with a grin. Perhaps it was because this was private, because it had just been the two of them. And he didn’t know if it was him by himself, or the lack of onlookers which changed it.

With a wanton moan their navigator announced they had arrived at their destination, and Takemura happily punched enough buttons to shut her off, and then the ignition.

“Try the food, Takemura, it’s good, prometo.” Gianluca says with a reassuring nod. It’s enough to stop Takemura from saying, or doing, anything particularly foolish. He taps his fingers against the ashtray, a quiet reminder that Takemura still had work to do, and plucks his discarded clothing from the back of his seat. “You have my contact, right?” He asks faltering as he grasps the handle, hearing the click of the van door opening. He nods silently, thinking back to the name in his phone, back to the way he had swallowed his fingers. Takemura didn’t know whether to thank V or curse her for those three words of sexual wisdom.

Gianluca lingers as he clambers out, his clothes folded over his arm, a dazzling white now he stood under the city lights. He hovers a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip as if the words he wants to say fail to form on his tongue. Takemura wants to say something himself, but find no words can actually help him in this situation. And were it some soppy screamsheet nonsense, he imagines he might have kissed him farewell, but that was not life in Night City, not for Takemura. No, life for him was watching Gianluca step away, shut the door, and hurriedly enter the apartment complex he lived in.

Takemura punches the ignition button again, waiting for the van to regrettably sputter back to life before pulling away. He had work to do, and he was hungry.

#goro takemura #male v #cyberpunk 2077 #answer #mxm #fanfic #gianluca vargas #takemura x v #v x takemura

12 notes · View notes