#(as is normal in his age and perfectly predictable)

[balrogballs]

I'm still sad about this heartwarming and mildly amusing little section where feral adolescent Aragorn brings some joy to Maedhros in his unhinged little way, which I had to cut out of Cast in Stone for structural reasons, especially as I had gone to the trouble of illustrating it!

But I realised it reads perfectly fine standalone, so you guys can have my crumb of Maedhros-joy instead. No context required: Maedhros and Maglor are temporarily staying in the Shire during the late Third Age, Maedhros had a horrible night of traumatic dreams and was being maudlin — until young Aragorn, aka Elros II and the bane of his life, turns up like a bad penny, as he often does. Enjoy!

---

"You look unhappy," said Estel, sitting down before Maedhros, legs crossed. "Does your hand hurt? Surely it can't be as bad as when it got chopped off, can it?"

"No, but leave me be, Estel, I have —"

"All right, but let me ask just one question. I promise, then I'll go away. I just remembered something from my lessons, and every time I ask Ada he looks up at the sky and asks the Valar where he went wrong in raising me," Estel moved closer, looking around for eavesdroppers. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I would like to know."

Maedhros frowned, swallowed the lump in his throat and dragged in a breath. "What?"

"Fingon rescued you on one of those enormous eagles, didn't he? On that mountain with Morgoth and all of that. It was one of those, right? Manwë's Eagles."

"Yes. He did. I do not wish to answer any further questions on the matter, clear off."

"And it was quite a long journey, wasn't it?"

Maedhros grunted.

"I've always had a question about it… and again, you don't have to tell me if it's too traumatising," Estel's eyes shone, as though he were about to hear a state secret. "And I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Spit it out, boy, or leave me now. I am in the mood for neither company nor memory."

"Did it… you know…?"

"If you're trying to ask me if losing the hand hurt, yes it did," Maedhros snapped. "Now leave me alone, I've had enough reminiscing for a damned century. Get off home, now!"

"Oh, shut up, I wasn't asking about your stupid hand, I don't understand why you think everyone sits around thinking about your hand," Estel scowled, pursuing his lips, before deciding his quest for scientific knowledge was more important than whatever had crawled up Maedhros' arsehole and died. He widened his eyes conspiratorily, looked around again. "My question has nothing to do with that! I just wanted to know, did the eagle… you know?"

"Estel, I am not going to repeat this, get out of my sight right this —"

"Did it take a shit?"

"Did… what?"

"Did it take a shit?" Estel flushed as he said the word, Elrond's parental touch finally taking hold, though in a predictably useless manner. "And if it did, how big was it? As in, was it normal bird crap, or was it, you know — like a bucketload of it?"

Maedhros blinked. Estel held his hands out to demonstrate.

"I've always wanted to know that about them, you know," the boy continued, stroking his chin like a philosopher. "Manwe's eagles, that is. Surely if they're big enough to carry two people, one being a towering beast like you, their droppings must be massive."

"What…?" Maedhros couldn't formulate words, a state of being Estel clearly had no familiarity with. "Their… what?"

"And yes, I know they're divine, all of that, but surely they can't be toilet trained, can they? I just don't see Manwë having enough time to toilet train an eagle, you know. Could you imagine just… going about your day, and having this massive tub of birdshite fall on your head? Oh, it could drown a person, I'm sure of it!" Estel grinned, as if said occurrence would be the best day of his life, had it happened to him. "So, did it? And if it did, did you see if it went on someone?"

Maedhros sat there blinking at the boy in complete silence before rising quietly, taking the now-extremely-familiar ear, and slowly — like he were a corpse — leading Estel to the village gate. He didn't say a word, only gestured weakly and put up three fingers, a signal the now sulky boy was very used to.

And as Estel, muttering darkly all the while, neared the completion of his first punishment-lap of three around the village green, he heard something that sounded like a donkey in immense pain. It was a sound so tremendous and unexpected that it brought Maglor running from the house, gaping at the source, having not heard such a thing in centuries. It was no donkey, but Maedhros in complete hysterics, sitting on the ground exactly where he was when he beckoned Estel to run, sobbing with laughter, actual tears pouring down his face, which itself was screwed up and flushed so pink he looked like he'd been badly sunburned. He was trying to explain the situation to Maglor (who had been glaring at Estel as if he had personally killed his brother, and now looked upon him like he was Iluvatar himself) but Maedhros was howling too hard to even stand, let alone form coherent words.

Estel pretended not to notice, and started on his second lap. Though objectively speaking, the laugh itself sounded like something between a foghorn, a pig and whatever noise he imagined Ungoliant would make — there was something rather lovely about it that brought an inexplicable little smile to his face.

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

"hi, I'm gojo, your favorite sorcerer, and I think shoko is gonna be the drunkest tonight."

if shoko ieiri has one undeniable talent, it's bringing people together—though her plans often border on catastrophic. so when yaga steps out of class to take a call, you aren't surprised to see a sly grin spread menacingly across her face. turning in her seat, she wastes no time laying out this week's plan—meticulously crafted, as always.

she breaks it down into a comprehensive, four-step process:

convince her older cousin to buy her alcohol tomorrow during her family’s visit

sneak said alcohol into the school and stash it under her bed

host a party in her dorm friday night while yaga is away overnight

blackout.

you and gojo exchange amused glances, already on board. shoko's plans are always a healthy mix of brilliance and disaster. geto, predictably, looks hesitant.

"is this really a good idea?" he asks, brow furrowing. "what if something goes wrong? most of the tokyo staff will be gone with yaga. no one will be here to help."

shoko leans back smugly, her arms crossed. "and that's why I'm a seasoned expert in reversed curse techniques. relax, geto. that's literally my whole thing."

geto rolls his eyes but doesn't argue further.

"don't fret, suguboo!" gojo interjects, puffing out his chest dramatically. "they call me the strongest for a reason. I'll take care of you when you inevitably get wasted." he flutters his snowy-white eyelashes for emphasis.

geto deadpans. "me?"

"you heard me. waaastee—" gojo drags out the word, but the sound of yaga’s approaching footsteps cuts him off.

you react instinctively, smacking the back of his head. "quiet, idiot."

by friday, the plan had unfolded without a hitch. well, almost—gojo got smacked up several more times for being oblivious, and shoko nearly had a heart attack when one of the shopping bags threatened to burst under the weight of the bottles on school grounds. still, by the time you helped her stash the loot, everything was ready for what she dubbed "operation blackout."

at 9:44 pm, shoko's message pops up in the group chat:

Ieiri Shoko | Today at 9:44 PM evrybdy head over!! 🥂

when you open the door to her dorm, you’re immediately struck by the startling transformation. the normally cluttered space was spotless, the floor gleaming as if polished. a low table sits in the center of the room, draped in a burgundy tablecloth and surrounded by eight matching cushions. twinkling lights crisscross the ceiling, and the scent of something delicious wafts from the kitchenette, where shoko is bent over the stove.

utahime stands at the counter, pouring drinks from a tall pitcher into glasses. an empty sake bottle sits beside her.

"wow, you aren't playing around, sho," you say, stepping closer.

shoko spins around, startled. "shit, don't sneak up on me like that! almost dropped a bowl."

you smirk, peeking at the tray she's prepared. perfectly arranged katsudon bowls—crispy fried pork over rice, garnished with scallions.

"well, don't just stand there," shoko says, snapping you out of your awe. "make yourself useful. operation blackout starts with a heavy meal and a sake cocktail to warm us up."

"yes, ma'am." you salute before obediently grabbing the tray carefully from her outstretched hands to place at the table.

the gang filters in one by one, each person reacting with impressed remarks at the eloquent setup.

"I thought this was going to be a trashy frat-party experience," mei mei said, sliding into the last open seat. "this actually warrants my attendance."

utahime scoffs, "backhanded compliments are your specialty, huh?"

"I mean," gojo chimes in, grinning, "considering shoko's goal of total blackout, I figured we'd be doing keg stands before forcing suguru to let us ride rainbow dragon to mcdonald's at three am."

"as if," geto mutters.

nanami raises an eyebrow. "keg stands, gojo really? this isn't some coming-of-age teen drama, you watch way too much tv."

gojo glares, a flush creeping up his cheeks. "you never know."

haibara jumps in, grinning brightly. "kento, hush! anyway, great job tonight, shoko! this is amazing."

"I second that," you say, pulling out your phone. "and to commemorate the night, let's make a bet. let's each record a video saying who we think will get the drunkest tonight. we'll review the footage later to see who was right. deal?"

with this group's competitive streak, everyone immediately agrees.

you prop your phone against the bathroom sink, angling it perfectly. with a satisfied nod, you return to the others in the dorm. "alright, who wants to start?"

"ME! ME! ME! ME!," gojo's hand shoots up, waving frantically.

you catch nanami's exaggerated eye roll and laugh, "alright, satoru, the floor is yours."

00:03 ==⬤---------------------- 04:01  ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻  gojo: "...and we're live! hi, I'm gojo, your favorite sorcerer, and I think shoko is gonna be the drunkest tonight. I mean, c'mon—she's literally an aspiring alcoholic!"

geto: "hello, viewers. geto suguru here. my prediction? gojo will be the drunkest. sure, he's got impressive stamina in combat, but let's be real—that doesn't translate to drinking."

you: "hey, y'all! it's me. so, I know gojo's gonna be the drunkest tonight. he's giving strong lightweight energy."

nanami: "to whom it may concern, my name is nanami kento, and I believe yu haibara will be the drunkest tonight. right now, I confidently estimate my prediction to be of 70% certainty."

haibara: "haibara here! after careful consideration, I think our dear host, shoko ieiri, will be the drunkest tonight. she literally said she wants to black out!"

shoko: "the moment you've all been waiting for—ieiri shoko: sorcerer, host, chef, and event planner extraordinaire. holding for applause... okay, I'm predicting utahime or gojo will be the drunkest tonight. they're both way too hot-headed and competitive."

utahime: "h-hi! I'm iori utahime, and I think gojo's gonna be the drunkest tonight. he's always bragging about being the strongest, but that can only get him so far. so I guarantee he'll be the weakest tonight."

mei mei: "they saved the best for last. I'm mei mei, and I think sweet utahime is going to be the drunkest tonight. low tolerance vibes. and with that, let's reconvene later for updates..." 04:01 =================⬤ 04:01  ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

when mei mei returns your phone, shoko has already begun her toast to the evening. "here's to a messy, sloppy, drunken night," she says, raising her glass. "may I be passed out on the grass by four am!"

utahime doubles over laughing as everyone clinks glasses. the bitter, tangy scent of sake fills the air as the group shouts, "cheers!"

the conversation drifts into speculative territory as gojo leads a heated discussion about principal yaga's alleged secret love child. evidence cited includes muffled crying or squealing sounds overheard from his office and trashed crib packaging. the theory dies down as the meal takes center stage. the katsudon, perfectly seasoned and artfully plated, is a hit—a warm, savory comfort that pairs too well with the strong drinks.

plates empty and glasses drained, you observe the scene. gojo, is even chattier than usual, his words tumbling over each other at lightning speed. haibara's cheeks glow tomato red, and utahime twirls a braid around her finger, sneaking glances at shoko. very, very interesting.

meanwhile, shoko, geto, mei mei, and nanami seem relatively unaffected—or are just better at hiding it. you decide it's time to turn up the chaos.

"guys!" you tap your glass with a pair of chopsticks, drawing their attention. "we still have four bottles of tequila to get through. who's up for a drinking game of truth or dare?"

the suggestion is met with enthusiastic cheers from shoko, gojo, mei mei, and utahime. haibara looks excited but hesitant, while geto and nanami exchange weary glances, clearly bracing for disaster.

"as host," shoko declares, waving her chopsticks like a wand, "I command full participation. let me pour some shots. who needs a mixed drink?"

shoko and utahime get to work. plates are cleared and replaced with a neat line of shots. utahime's heavy-handed pours prompt a dramatic gasp from mei mei.

"damn, 'hime," mei mei says, inspecting the shots. "you trying to kill us?"

shoko returns with two mixed drinks, sliding them toward haibara and nanami. "classiest of the group," you mutter with a grin.

you smooth your hands over your hair, leaning forward to begin the game. "alright, let's start this right. host sho—truth or dare?"

"dare, duh," shoko replies instantly.

"hmmm..." you glance at gojo. "what did you bring as a chaser?"

with a flourish, gojo pulls a bottle from beneath the table. "strawberry ramune, my favorite~ why?"

"perfect. shoko, I dare you to drink gojo's chaser."

shoko grabs the bottle without hesitation, but just as she tilts it, you interrupt.

"oh, by the way—gojo adds five packets of sugar to sweeten his ramune."

the table erupts in laughter. nanami smirks, and shoko sputters as she swallows the disgustingly sweet concoction.

"blegh!" shoko slams the bottle down, grimacing. "gojo, who does this shit?!"

reaching for a shot, she drowns it in one go—and then grabs another.

"two shots to chase ramune?" haibara asks, incredulous as he shrugs off his sweater. "that bad?"

"it was that bad," shoko confirms, her voice muffled as she pours herself another drink.

"let's..." shoko wipes her tongue with a napkin, grimacing. "let's just move on. I'm asking... geto. truth or dare?"

"after witnessing... whatever that was," geto gestures vaguely toward shoko's earlier tequila ordeal, "I'm gonna play it safe and go with truth."

shoko grins mischievously, tilting her head as she looks geto up and down. "okayyy," she drawls, clearly deep in thought. "hmm... got it! you're the only guy here with ear piercings—such a bad boy," she teases, earning a visible cringe from geto. "so my question is: do you have any other piercings we don't know about?"

you press your lips together to stifle a laugh. as close as you are to geto, you already know the answer. he's going to drink.

sure enough, geto opens his mouth to respond but then, without a word, picks up a shot and downs it in one smooth motion.

"WHAT?!" shoko shrieks, half outraged, half delighted.

"naughty," mei mei murmurs, leaning her chin into her palm, her smirk growing wider.

"sugu's such a tease. its just a—" gojo starts, but you slam your hand over his mouth before he can spill the details.

"don't you dare," you hiss.

gojo bites your palm in retaliation, but you refuse to let go, glaring at him.

geto clears his throat, grimacing slightly at the tequila's burn. "and there's my cue to move on," he says, brushing past the topic. "since satoru seems eager to air out my business—truth or dare?"

you cautiously release your hand from gojo's mouth, glancing at the raw bite marks on your palm. gojo scratches his chin dramatically, as if pondering some great mystery, then grins, his azure eyes lighting up.

"dare! cuz I'm not a pussy".

geto laughs, unbothered by the jab. "alright, satoru. this one's easy—I dare you to eat all the scallions you picked off your food."

the table collectively turns to look at gojo's napkin, overflowing with at least twenty pieces of scallion he meticulously removed.

"suguruuuu," gojo whines, slumping in defeat.

geto merely slides him a shot, patting his fluffy white hair. gojo glares at the drink, nose wrinkling as he takes a tentative sip. he shudders visibly, sticking out his tongue. "so gross."

as he sets the glass down, his eyes narrow. he scans the group, zeroing in on utahime, who's laughing a little too hard at this expense.

"utahime," he announces, and her grin instantly vanishes. "yeah, not so funny now, huh? truth or dare?"

she groans. "ugh, truth"

gojo clasps his hands together like an evil mastermind, his grin nothing short of diabolic. "who here, out of all of us, would you say is the weakest link in jujutsu society?"

"uncalled for," you mutter, yanking on his ear like a scolding parent.

"stop picking on her, satoru." shoko adds, rolling her eyes.

but utahime surprises everyone by taking it in stride. she lifts a shot, downs it without hesitation, and wipes her chin with a satisfied smirk. "moving on. your turn," she says, turning to you with a pointed look. "truth or dare?"

"dare," you reply confidently. "give me a juicy one."

utahime exchanges a mischevious look with mei mei before whispering something in her ear.

"got it," mei mei says, sitting upright. "give us your phone. utahime and I get to send one text to anyone we want—and you can't take it back until the end of the night."

you take a steadying breath, weighing your options. it's only utahime and mei mei, you reason. how bad could it be? if it were gojo, the tequila would already be halfway to your lips. finally, you unlock your phone and slide it across the table.

"go ahead. do your worst."

mei mei snatches it up gleefully, her fingers flying across the screen. you pointedly look away, unwilling to torture yourself by imagining what chaos they're unleashing.

"alright," you announce. "let's keep the game rolling. haibara—truth or dare?"

haibara flushes an even deeper shade of red than before, the color creeping onto his neck. "I'm a little nervous," he admits shyly. "truth."

"don't be nervous," you say with mock sincerity. "we're your closest friends! we'd never judge or be offended by anything you say or do. that said... who here is your least favorite person?"

haibara gasps, clutching his chest. "noooo! I can't answer that—it's too mean! I love and respect you all equally!"

nanami, ever the calm voice of reason, places a gentle hand on haibara's and nudges it toward his drink. "take two sips, yu," he says simply.

you chuckle as geto flicks your forehead. "harsh, but fair."

haibara obeys, taking two large gulps. he sets his glass down, visibly tipsy now, and beaming at nanami.

"okay, nanamiiin~" haibara slurs slightly, drawing out the nickname, "truth or dare?"

nanami raises a brow but humors him with a small smile. "dare."

"alrighty," haibara begins, leaning in conspiratorially. "for some backstory—I heard you singing in the shower a couple weeks ago when you thought no one was around."

the table collectively perks up.

"so," haibara continues, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper that's still loud enough for everyone to hear, "I dare you to sing for us. don't be shy, ken. you have a beautiful voice."

the group falls into stunned silence. nanami's ears turn bright red as the color spreads across his cheeks. it's possibly the first time you've ever seen him blush.

after a pause, he clears his throat and picks up his glass. "you got me there, yu," he says smoothly, before chugging the rest of his drink in one go.

haibara's face falls, his disappointment palpable. "aww, but I really wanted to hear it!"

nanami leans over, resting an arm on haibara's shoulder. you catch a faint, "later," murmured under his breath.

and with that, he nods toward mei mei, signaling the game to continue.

"alright, mei mei, truth or dare?" nanami asks, his tone measured, as always.

"dare, of course," mei mei replies smoothly, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.

nanami straightens his collar, clearly crafting something calculated. "I dare you to do your best impression of someone at this table. if we don't guess it right, you drink. no talking allowed."

"regulated and thorough," mei mei says with a smirk. "I would expect nothing less from you, nanami. very well, I'll begin."

she stands, her violet off-the-shoulder sweater swaying with her movement. turning her back to the group, she pauses for dramatic effect. then, with a sharp turn of her head, she flutters her eyelashes, blows an exaggerated kiss, sticks her tongue out, and pretends to push up invisible glasses.

haibara is the first to pipe up, "I got it! 's gojo-senpai, that's really g'd, mei mei!"

"how the actual fuck is that me?!" gojo exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

mei mei curtsies, her smirk widening. "correct, haibara. it was an easy choice—gojo's the most dramatic one here."

the group hums in agreement. shoko, sipping from her drink, adds dryly, "since we guessed it right away, shouldn't gojo drink? he's technically the loser."

"you can't just make up rules, sho!" gojo protests, looking around for support. his gaze lands on geto, who shrugs and slides him a shot.

"sounds fair to me, satoru. unless... you can't handle it?" geto teases, his grin lazy but pointed.

with a theatrical sigh, gojo downs the shot, grimacing as he does. nanami ever the thoughtful one, disappears into the kitchen, returning with a cocktail for himself and glasses of water for both gojo and haibara. gojo accepts his water with a reluctant nod, taking slow sips while you rub soothing circles on his back.

"your kindness is admirable," mei mei drawls, watching you with amused eyes. "but since you're being so tenderhearted, I'll send some chaos your way. truth or dare?"

you immediately withdraw your hand, straightening in your seat. "truth."

mei mei leans forward, violet eyes glinting mischievously. "I’m feeling messy, so… who would you fuck, marry, and kill among your fellow third-years? choose wisely."

the table erupts into a mix of gasps and laughter. haibara nearly chokes on his drink, and nanami quietly hands him his water. all eyes turn to you, expectant.

you lean back, arms crossed. "alright, I'll answer with my whole chest. first, marry shoko—duh. she’s special-grade wife material. she cooks, cleans, and nurses you back to health."

utahime's grin falters slightly, but you press on. "fuck suguru—" you gesture toward him, "I mean, look at him. plus, we all know he swallows."

the table howls with laughter as shoko nearly falls out of her seat. geto arches an eyebrow at you, looking both flattered and mildly concerned.

"and I guess that leaves gojo, so... kill him." you shrug. "though honestly, I don't even know how I'd manage that."

gojo clutches his chest, aghast. "why me?!" you just admitted you can't even kill me yourself! and what, am I unattractive to you?!"

you roll your eyes. "relax, bookie. you're fine as hell, but you're more 'all-up-in-your-face' fine. suguru's more... nonchalant fine."

the group hums in agreement, fueling gojo's indignation. "what does that even mean?!" he whines, flailing.

geto places a calming hand on his arm, his voice even. "relax, satoru. I have my own concerns—" his gaze flickers to you. "—about the swallowing comment."

feigning nonchalance, you glance at your wrist as if checking an invisible watch. "oh would you look at the time? moving on. shoko, truth or dare?"

"dare," shoko says immediately, lifting the tequila bottles. "and as host, I declare a new rule: from now on everyone drinks every turn, no exceptions."

a collective groan rises from the trio of haibara, gojo, and utahime, all clearly tipsy. you, mei mei, geto, and nanami grunt or nod in agreement.

"lovin’ that energy sho, so to up the ante," you say, digging into your pocket, "I dare you to smoke this." you toss a poorly rolled, but fat blunt onto the table. "and take a shot after. getting crossed should help you reach tonight's goal."

shoko's eyes light up as she snatches it greedily. "the girls are really coming through tonight! you're a godsend."

gojo scoffs. "godsend? how? she brought literal drugs to your party! isn't it called the devil's lettuce?"

shoko snorts, rummaging for a lighter. "this, from the guy who probably can't even stand up straight."

"I just don't feel like standing right now," gojo mumbles, pouting.

shoko gives him a withering look. "fine. truth or dare, satoru?"

"well, now I know what the dare is, so... truth."

"alright. who at this table have you had a sex dream about?"

the table falls into stunned silence. nanami chokes on his drink, and gojo freezes, eyes wide as they dart around the group. his gaze lingers a bit too long on you and geto before he quickly looks down, blushing furiously.

shoko smirks, satisfied. "definitely tabling that reaction to circle back to later."

gojo groans, face hidden behind his hands. "'m drinking. everyone drink."

you clink your glass with geto's, smirking. he wasn't fooling anyone.

shoko makes her way to the sliding backdoor, tossing a casual remark over her shoulder. “I'll be back in a flash—just gonna step outside to finish my dare. keep it going, and don't forget my shot when I get back." she winks before stepping out and taking a seat on the back steps.

inside, gojo hiccups, his high-pitched squeak drawing laughter around the table. his cheeks flush a shade brighter. you smirk, knowing your prediction about his tolerance was proving accurate.

clearing his throat, he wobbles a little before announcing, "who'd I wanna choose next... hmm... nanamin~! my dearesst kouhai, trussted friend, and bl—"

"I'm afraid to let you finish that sentence," nanami cuts him off dryly, already raising his glass. "so, I'll just drink. everybody?"

the table burst into laughter, raising their glasses to join him. haibara clunks his cup down a little too hard before slumping over, his head landing heavily on nanami's shoulder, some tequila dribbling from his lips onto nanami's sleeve.

nanami sighs, staring down at the mess before resigning himself. "haibara, maybe stick to mini-sips for your next few drinks. you can't even hold yourself up anymore."

haibara hums in drowsy agreement, leaning further into nanami, who chuckles heartily—a rare sound that surprises everyone. turning to geto, nanami raises a brow. "geto-senpai, truth or dare?"

geto, looking unbothered as usual, undoes his bun, letting his inky-black hair spill over his shoulders. he tucks a loose strand behind his gauged ear with a casual flick. "dare, nanamin~."

nanami considers this, his words tumbling over each other as the alcohol dulls his normally precise tone. "how about I... you... okay, I dare you to ride your manta ray curse around the school right now."

geto blinks, waiting for a punchline that never comes. "wait, you're serious? now? like, right now?"

"I don't know how I could be any clearer."

"dick," gojo mutters.

geto shakes his head, airing out his shirt. "as much as I would—and have, by the way—I think that might qualify as drunk driving. or, you know, drunk flying."

"or drunk swimming," you chime in.

"semantics." geto waves it off. "fine, everybody drink."

at this point, the alcohol is catching up with you. tilting your head back to take your shot makes the room swim a little. you fan yourself, suddenly flushed. gojo notices, leaning close to blow cool air onto your face like a fan.

you giggle, slurring, "satoru smells like str'berriesss~."

geto shakes his head at the chaos and turns his attention to utahime, whose head was face down on the table. "utahime, get up. truth or dare?"

utahime rolls her head sluggishly to the side, revealing a face flushed deep red. "fucking dare."

"language," geto teased with a mock pout. "there's no need to cuss. let's bring out that sweet side of yours. I dare you to kiss shoko when she comes back."

utahime shoots up, wide-eyed. "what?! k-kiss—shoko?!"

"that is what I said," geto replies, calm as ever.

mei mei nudges utahime, smirking. "do it, and I'll finish that paperwork for your mission on monday."

after a moment of hesitation, utahime grabs her shot, muttering, "fine. fuck it," before tossing it back. she slumps over dramatically.

the backdoor slides open just then, shoko reappearing with a dreamy sway. her eyes bloodshot and reeking of weed, she gives a languid nod when you ask, "damn, sho. you killed it, huh?"

she slumps into her chair, blinking slowly. "soooo, where are we?"

utahime stiffens but manages to squeak out, "my dare is... to kiss you."

"oh." shoko's lips curl into a lazy smile. "'kay. go ahead." she tilts her face. presenting her cheek.

utahime leans in, delivering the quickest peck possible.

"boo," geto jeers.

"yeah! boo!!!" gojo joins, cut off by another hiccup.

"tomato, tomato, tomato," you tease.

shoko blinks in confusion, looking one breath away from falling asleep. haibara's muffled voice comes from nanami's shoulder, "s'not the kiss we's looking f'r. try again—on th' lips." he clumsily raises his hands in a heart shape.

shoko turns back to utahime with a sleepy "'kay," puckering her lips and closing her eyes.

utahime hesitates, side-eyeing the group before her expression softens. smitten, she closes her eyes and leans in. their lips meet in a soft peck, but shoko isn't done. she grabs utahime's jaw, pulling her into a loud, smacking kiss.

"arrgh."

everyone turns to gojo, who is clutching his stomach. he gags loudly.

"what the fu—gojo, are you okay?!" geto asks, concerned.

"arrgh, aargh—"

"are you seriously gagging?" you ask, wide-eyed.

he sputters, cheeks puffing up like a chipmunk before bolting for the bathroom. the door slams shut behind him, and moments later, the unmistakable sound of vomiting echoes.

the table sits frozen. shoko and utahime remains in their pose, hands still cradling each other's faces. the faint sound of retching fills the silence.

geto breaks the tension with a deadpan, "so, gojo's homophobic."

from the bathroom comes a strained yell, "'M NOT HOMOPHOBIC! it was just bad timing! I've never drunk befor—"

he gags again.

nanami buries his face in his hands. "jesus."

geto stands. "I've got him." he slips into the bathroom after gojo.

you push yourself up, retrieving water and chips from the kitchen. "I'll give him a hand," you say, heading for the bathroom. "sounds like he needs it."

the fluorescent bathroom light buzzes faintly, its harsh glow making your head pound as you step inside. gojo is bent over the toilet, panting heavily, his white hair sticking out in a chaotic mess. geto is knelt beside him, one hand rubbing circles into his back, murmuring softly, "you're okay, satoru. just breathe."

you ease down onto the cold tile floor beside them, your hand brushing gojo's sweaty bangs off his forehead. "you'll feel better soon," you say gently.

after another minute, gojo finally stops heaving. he reaches up with a trembling hand to flush the toilet, the sound of rushing water echoing in the small space.

uncapping a water bottle, you tilt it to his lips, letting him take a few cautious gulps. then you nudge geto over slightly and lean your back against the base of the toilet. gojo groans before collapsing across your laps, his head resting on geto's thigh and his chest presses into yours.

"the room is spinning, guys," gojo mumbles, voice hoarse. "make it stop".

geto smooths his palm over gojo's cheek, his voice low and soothing. "I know, satoru. just close your eyes and focus on your breathing."

reaching down, you find gojo's hand and lace your fingers with his, pulling it to his chest. you trace small circles over his knuckles. "you're okay, satoru," you murmur. "this happens to everyone."

gradually, his body softens in your hold. his breathing evens out as his eyelids flutter shut. geto hums a low, calming tune, and you rest your head against his shoulder.

"I think he's out 'ru," you whisper.

geto's arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. "always looking after you two," he says quietly. "you owe me."

you snort, muffled against his chest. "'m comple'ly fine though!" but your own head was spinning, and the warmth of geto's hand tracing your arm lulls you toward sleep.

outside the bathroom, nanami notices haibara ceasing all movement, slumping lifelessly against his shoulder. concerned, he asks shoko for permission to use her room. once inside, he gently lays haibara on the bed, propping him up with pillows. fetching a glass of water and some bread from the kitchen, nanami coaxes small bites and sips out of him.

by the time haibara's color returns and his glassy eyes gain some clarity, nanami feels his own nerves ease. haibara grabs his wrist, tugging him onto the bed. reluctantly, nanami allows it, settling beside him. haibara's breath evens out as he drifts off, his forehead presses into nanami's side. nanami sighs, resigning himself to the makeshift role of caretaker once again.

shoko and utahime decide the night isn't over and stumble toward shoko's small couch with utahime's speaker in hand. shoko fiddles with her ipod shuffle browsing through her music gallery. she settles on her indie playlist, and excitedly stands on the couch pulling utahime clumsily up with her. what starts as vibing out quickly ends with them passed out together, limbs tangled and mouths agape, soft snores punctuating the quiet.

as the only one remaining at the table, mei mei is busy with her usual mischief. having memorized your phone's passcode earlier, she unlocks it again and frowns at the failed transaction she made from your dare earlier. not one to be deterred, she fiddles with the wi-fi and tries resending the payment. her face lights up moments later when a notification buzzes on the screen.

Mei Mei | Today at 2:14 AM this is an automated message. your apple cash amount of $[100.00] was processed successfully.

she smirks, scrolling through her personal wishlist for potential splurges. after adding a few items to her cart, she looks around the room, noting. the rhythmic snores of her friends. satisfied as the night's clear victor, she turns to your phone's camera and swipes to video, ready to document her triumph.

00:06 ==⬤---------------------- 01:22  ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻  mei mei (whispering): "once again, we have saved the best for last. everybody else just can't hang—it's quite unfortunate. as the rightful victor, I conclude that gojo satoru was the drunkest tonight, given his stint bent over the toilet. let's take a look, shall we?" [the camera pans to the bathroom. gojo is sprawled across the laps of geto and you, his face pressed against geto's thigh. geto's head rests against yours as all three of you snooze peacefully.] mei mei (whispering): "look at these cuties, snuggled up on the bathroom floor. gojo looks so peaceful, you would never know he was just expelling his entire stomach's contents barely an hour ago."

[the camera cuts to the couch, where shoko and utahime are tangled together in a chaotic sprawl, drooling and snoring loudly.] mei mei (whispering): "and here are the lovebirds! snorting and drooling all over each other. utahime is definitely going to remember this tomorrow. shoko? I sure hope so, because I can't go back to those constant longing stares, ugh!"

[the shot moves to shoko's room, focusing on haibara clinging to nanami like a lifeline.] mei mei (whispering): "and here's haibara, glued to his big, strong man who saved him from being gojo 2.0. nanami, ever the hero, still played babysitter. truly wholesome content."

[the video cuts back to mei mei, her face smug.] mei mei: "and that's a wrap! should I keep sending myself money off everyone's phones? hmm... haven’t I earned it? anyway, bye now!" 01:22 =================⬤ 01:22 ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

[wallofchynax]

JEALOUSY AND REGRET

Synopsis: Shawn Michaels breaks up with you for your own good. Your career in the company is taking off and you both have a bit of an age gap. He thinks it's for the best. However, seeing you flirt with another man, a man more age appropriate, makes him reconsider everything

REQUESTS CURRENTLY CLOSED

CONTENT WARNING: PiV sex, oral sex, possessiveness, jealousy, break up (right at the beginning but you get back together obviously), age gap relationship, power dynamic (he's like your boss)

You remember the moment it happened because Shawn called you into the office at the Performance Centre.  

He sat behind the desk, arms crossed over his chest, every inch of his body exuding a tense, restrained energy. You stood there before him, arms hanging at your sides, knowing that something was different. Normally, if Shawn called you into his office, it was so you could both have some alone time but, Shawn sat there struggling to meet your gaze. 

"Well," You said, biting your lip, "Say something. What did you call me in for?" 

Shawn sighed, running a hand through his golden hair, the strands still stubbornly thick despite the years. "We can’t keep doing this," he said, the words like a hammer dropping between you. 

Your stomach tightened. "Doing what?" 

His blue eyes flickered up, sharp but conflicted. "This. Us." 

It didn’t make sense. Hours ago, his hands had been on your hips, his mouth on your throat, his voice in your ear, whispering how good you felt beneath him. Now, he was looking at you like something fragile, like something he was afraid to hold onto any longer. 

"You don't mean that," 

You crossed your arms over your chest. Shawn's jaw tightened as he looked at you. You were standing there in your workout clothes which meant tight leggings and a tight top that brought attention to your figure. He had to force himself to stop looking at you like he wanted to have you right there. He was a man of control these days but even now, he was struggling as his body was tense. 

“You deserve someone much younger,” Shawn tried to say as a matter of fact, but you knew by the tone of his voice, he didn’t truly believe that. 

It was bullshit. It was so predictable, and you knew that he knew that. 

The words cut through to him and you can see the way his brows twitch. He doesn’t argue. Deep down, Shawn knew you were right. He wasn’t pushing you away because of your age, he was pushing you away because he was terrified of what this all meant. You were at the start of your career, and he was past his prime. He was one of your bosses, and he was afraid if anyone ever found out, your career would suffer for it. He didn’t want to do that to you because he had no control around you.  

You approached the desk and leaned in. You were at eye level with him. The smell of your perfume in the air.  

“Tell me you don’t want me,” 

You watched as his throat bobbed, his gaze flickering over you, taking in the smooth stretch of your legs beneath the small shorts you wore, the way your body curved so perfectly, the way your lips parted just slightly as you waited for him to say it. 

“Tell me last night didn’t mean anything,”  

And he almost gave in.  

Almost. 

He exhaled harshly, turning his head. 

“It’s over,” 

A small bitter smile curled on your lips as you straightened back. 

“Liar,” 

But you didn’t want to fight anymore. Time would tell if Shawn Michaels was really thought with you.  

You took a slow, deliberate step back, giving him one last lingering look before turning on your heel and walking out of the room. 

Shawn didn’t watch you go. But he heard the click of your boots against the floor, heard the door close behind you, and when he exhaled, it was shaky. His fingers flexed, still aching to grab you, to pull you back, to kiss you breathless until you forgot why you were leaving in the first place. 

But he let you go. 

And he hated himself for it. 

He had made a mistake.  

Because when he saw you under NXT lights, you weren’t just surviving without his guidance, you were thriving. Every week, you stepped into the ring looking stronger, more confident, effortless and you knew it. You turned heads wherever you went. He tried to tell himself that it was the same way he always saw you, the way everyone say you but deep down he knew better. 

You were trying to prove a point to him and him alone. 

You didn’t need Shawn Michaels to thrive.  

He stopped you backstage standing in a hallway with a few of the NXT guys. They were younger, built, fresh to the business, their bodies still untouched by the wear and tear of years on the road. One of them, a cocky up-and-comer Shawn had barely tolerated to begin with, stood way too close to you, his hand resting against the wall as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. 

You laughed. 

It wasn’t forced; it wasn’t polite. 

It was real. 

And fuck, if that didn’t feel like a punch to the gut 

All he felt were all those instincts he felt when he had you, but the problem was that he didn’t have that right. You weren’t his anymore. He broke up with you. But watching another man hover near you, watching him take in the way your body fit so perfectly into your tight ring gear, watching his gaze drop to the smooth stretch of your thighs, the curve of your hips, the way your top hugged the swell of your breasts... 

Shawn turned on his heel and stormed off. 

The pattern repeated. 

Every week, he saw you with someone else. 

A training shot with another rookie standing beside you, hands on your waist as he guided you through a move. A post-show celebration where you sat at the bar, legs crossed, head tilted back in laughter as another guy leaned in just close enough to make Shawn’s blood boil. You weren’t even doing anything wrong. That was the worst part. He had no claim on you, and he made sure of that. 

But still, every time he saw you, flipping your hair over your shoulder, moving your body in an effortless way that always drove him crazy...he felt the same instincts he had back when he had you.  

And when your eyes met his across the room, when you held his gaze for long, just a little bit too long before looking away, he knew. 

You felt it.  

You still felt it. 

But you were trying not to. 

It was only a matter of time. Something had to give. 

These post show parties were something that Shawn since outgrown. They were different to what he remembered from his day. A lot more controlled but the atmosphere was still a lot. Shouted conversations mingling with the scent of alcohol and sweat. He was dragged here by Hunter, who was giving him his flowers about the work he was doing with NXT. It was nice but...truthfully, as much as he told himself he was here to unwind and celebrate another successful NXT show, it wasn’t true. The real reason gnawed at him and made him feel bitter and restless.  

You were here. 

And he had no right to be looking for you, but his eyes sought you out anyway. 

And there you were. 

You weren’t just part of the crowd 

You owned it. 

Seated at the bar, legs crossed, back straight, exuding confidence in that way that had always driven him insane. The dress you wore clung to you like a second skin, hugging every sinful curve, stopping dangerously high on your thighs. He swallowed hard as his gaze dragged lower, taking in the smooth stretch of your legs, the sharp heels that accentuated them. 

He saw who you were talking too. 

Some guy.  

He didn’t know who. Just some guy who saw you but he was getting close to you, leaning in close with one arm resting on the bar, posture too casual, too comfortable. His hand lingered on your knee. You laughed again. 

Real. 

Just like before. 

Shawn felt heat creep up his neck, something dark and possessive twisting in his gut. His fingers flexed at his sides. His jaw clenched. 

His body moved before his brain could stop it. He wasn’t thinking. Not logically anyway. His body had already made the decision before his mind could catch up, his feet carrying across the bar, his presence cutting though the crowded space with ease. By the time he reached you, he was already too close as his broad frame casted a shadow over you and the poor bastard who decided to flirt with you.  

"Go." 

The word was clipped, firm. Not a suggestion. 

The guy hesitated, looking between you and Shawn, brows furrowed in confusion, lips parted like he was about to say something. But then he made the smarter decision. 

He left. 

The moment he was gone, you turned in your seat, a slow, knowing smirk curving your lips. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what just happened. 

"That was unnecessary," you mused, swirling the drink in your glass. 

Shawn ignored you.  

Instead, his eyes raked over you, drinking you in properly. His gaze dragged along the length of your legs, the smooth curve of your thighs... 

“You didn’t stop him,” he said. 

You scoffed, shaking your head, “Don’t have a reason,”  

He arched a brow, tilting his head slightly, “No reason?” 

You took a slow sip of your drink, your other hand resting lightly against the bar. He could see the way your fingers tightened, the way your throat bobbed slightly as you swallowed. It was subtle, so subtle that no one else would have caught it. 

But Shawn? 

Shawn knew you. 

Even now, after everything, he knew you. 

“You’re jealous,”  

He huffed, a small humourless laugh. He looks around and when he sees that no one is around from the company, he touches your knee. Softly. Barely there. 

“You think so?” 

The touch was barely there, but you reacted, your body tensing slightly, your breath hitching just enough that he felt it. 

You swallowed hard.  

"You don’t get to do this." 

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your skin. "Do what?" 

"Act like you have a right to be mad." 

He hummed, tapping his fingers against your knee in a slow, rhythmic motion. "Funny, considering you haven’t pulled away yet." 

You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying to ignore the way he’s making you feel, “Because I want to hear what bullshit excuse you have to explain your behaviour right now,” 

He leaned in then, just enough that his breath ghosted over your ear, warm and teasing, his voice dropping to something low and sinful. "Tell me to walk away, sweetheart." 

You didn’t. 

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move, didn’t tell him to stop, didn’t shove him away. Instead, you turned your head slightly, just enough that your lips almost brushed against his. 

"Say it," he murmured. 

You let the silence stretch, the tension between you thick, electric, charged with something neither of you had ever been able to control. 

Then, slowly, you placed your drink on the bar and stood up, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress, letting your fingers trail teasingly over your hip. 

Shawn watched your movements, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

You turned to him, tilting your head, “You want me to tell you to walk away,” 

Shawn said nothing. 

You smirked, stepping closer, lifting a hand to toy with the chain around his neck, your fingers brushing against his collarbone. His breath came just a little heavier, his pupils darkening. 

"Or do you want me to come with you?" 

The corner of his mouth twitched. "What do you think?" 

You let the silence hang between you for just a second longer, enjoying the moment, enjoying watching him squirm. 

Then, with a tilt of your head and a knowing smile, you whispered, "Not a chance." 

And just like that, Shawn had you again. 

The second the door to his hotel room clicked, he had you right up against it. Your back hit the wood with a soft thud as his body pressed into yours, caging you in with his hands already holding onto your waist, sliding lower, gripping the curve of your hips like he was afraid he would lose you all over again. 

"You’ve been driving me crazy," he murmured, his voice rough, his breath hot against your ear. 

You shivered, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt. "Good," you whispered, tilting your chin up, lips brushing his jaw, teasing him. "You deserved it." 

His answering laugh was low, dark. "Is that so?” 

You barely had time to answer before his mouth was on yours. 

And fuck, if it wasn’t the kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs. 

It was rough, deep, desperate. Like he was trying to make up for every second he had spent without you. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, gripping the bare skin beneath. You moaned against his lips as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist, his strength undeniable as he carried you toward the bed. 

“Let me look at you,” 

You landed on the mattress with a soft bounce with Shawn following closely behind as he hovered above you. He dragged his eyes over your body. Your dress had ridden up, exposing your soft smooth skin, the curve of your thighs, the barest trace fo lace underneath. 

Fuck.  

His fingers trailed down your leg, starting at your knee, moving slow, too slow, tracing the line of your calf, your thigh, finally stopping at the hem of your dress. 

"You wore this just to torture me, didn’t you?" 

You smirked, breathless. "Wouldn’t you like to know?" 

Shawn groaned, his grip tightening. "You're such a brat," he muttered, but there was no real venom behind it. 

Just raw, unfiltered desire.  

Then with one deliberate movement, he pushed your dress higher exposing yourself fully to him. His breath hitched as he drank everything in. His hand skimmed over your thighs, parting them just slightly, his fingers tracing over the lace of your panties. He’s barely touched you and he can feel that your soaked through the lace. 

“Soaked for me baby?” It wasn’t really a question. 

You bit your lip, parting your legs more, “Shawn...” 

He hummed, his thumb pressing just a little harder, making you jolt. "Say my name again." 

Your breath hitched. "Shawn." 

"Good girl." 

And then he was on you. 

His mouth replaced his fingers, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your skin, teasing, torturing. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down at an agonizing pace, his lips following the fabric’s path. 

"Been dreaming about this," he murmured, his voice reverent as he kissed his way back up. "Missed the way you taste." 

And you missed this. No one could ever replace Shawn’s experience. Dating a guy your own age was all well and good, but no one could compete with an older man’s touch, especially when that older man was Shawn. A ragged gasp tore from your lips, your fingers tangling into Shawn’s hair, pulling, as if you needed something to anchor you against the sheer pleasure of it. 

He groaned against your skin, his tongue flicking, circling, tasting you like he was making up for lost time. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you in place as he devoured you. 

"Shawn,” 

He hummed in response, the vibration sending whole new waves straight to the head of your core. He loved hearing you say his name, so breathlessly and needy, loved the way his body reacted to him so easily, even after some time apart. One of his hands slid higher, fingers pressing into your stomach to keep you still, while the other trailed between your legs, joining his mouth, teasing, playing, knowing exactly how to wind you tighter and tighter. 

"You always fall apart for me so beautifully," he murmured, lips ghosting over your skin between kisses. "Still mine." 

You should have protested, should have reminded him that he was the one who left, that he had been the coward. 

But with the way he was touching you? The way he was breaking you down piece by piece? 

All you could do was feel. 

His fingers slipped inside of you, stretching you out and filling you enough to get a gasp out of you. Your body arched into him, heels digging into the mattress as you were getting closer and closer. However, just as you were apart to reach your peak, you felt Shawn remove his fingers and his mouth from you which earned a whine.  

"Not yet," Shawn murmured, his voice rough with command, laced with something dark and teasing. 

You whimpered, body trembling, aching for release, but he only smirked against your inner thigh, his breath hot against your overheated skin. His fingers trailed along the slick heat between your thighs, spreading you open just enough to make you squirm. 

“You’re always so impatient,” he mused, his thumb brushing against your clit in lightweight circles. 

Teasing. 

Torturing.  

“Shawn...!” 

He tsk’d. Fucking tsk’d. 

“I said not yet,” 

You let out a frustrated sound, arching into his touch, but he only chuckled, his hands sliding up your sides, teasing over your waist, your ribs, until his fingers were tracing the swell of your breasts. 

“You think I’m just gonna let you cum that quickly,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your skin, “After the hell you put me through...” 

You swallowed hard, your body tingling under his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers rolled over your nipples, teasing through the thin fabric of your dress. 

He hummed, shaking his head. "Nah, sweetheart. I missed you." His hand slid lower, down your stomach, stopping just shy of where you needed him. "And I'm gonna take my time with you." 

You gasped as his mouth found yours, hot and demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue slipped inside, claiming you all over again. His hands trailed lower, gripping your ass, pulling you flush against him so you could feel just how hard he was, how much he needed this just as much as you did. 

“Feel that?” he rasped against your lips, grinding to make you feel him, “That’s what you do to me,” 

Your breath was ragged, fingers tightening in his hair, “Then do something about it,” 

Before you could even react, he flipped you over, pressing your stomach down against the mattress, your legs spread, your ass up and you were completely at his mercy 

Shawn’s hands roamed your body, rough palms dragging over your skin, gripping, possessing, making you feel how he had missed you. His fingers traced along the dip of your spine, down to the soft swell of your ass. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger, “You were made for me, weren’t you,” 

You whimpered, pressing back against him, seeking friction, but he only chuckled, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you still. 

"You don’t get to rush me, baby," he rasped, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles over your skin. "Not after the way you made me suffer." 

His hand came down in a sharp smack against your ass, the sound echoing in the room. You gasped, a sharp mix of surprise and pleasure shooting up your spine. 

Shawn groaned, his grip tightening. "Yeah, you like that," he mused, his tone dark, knowing. "You like when I remind you who you belong to." 

And with that, he finally gave you what you needed. He undid his trousers, belt coming off and chucked to the side as he lowered them enough just to let his cock spring free so he could sink himself inside of you, slowly. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs as he sank in till he bottomed out, “Fuck...you’re so fucking tight baby,” 

You whimpered, your fingers fisting the sheets, your body stretching, moulding around him, taking him so well. 

"That's my girl," he groaned, his grip tightening, his pace still agonizingly slow, dragging it out, making you feel every inch of him, torturing you. 

"Please-” 

“Please what?” 

"Fuck me," you gasped, nails digging into the sheets. "Don't tease" 

That was all he needed. 

Shawn's patience snapped, his fingers tightening on your hips before he pulled back and slammed into you, setting a brutal, unrelenting pace. 

You cried out, your body jolting forward with each thrust, the sheer force of it overwhelming, intoxicating. 

"That’s it," he rasped, his hand sliding up your spine, fisting into your hair, pulling you back against him, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "This is what you wanted, huh?" 

His lips ghosting over your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin, claiming you.  

"Because you're never getting away from me again." 

Once again, you wanted to correct him. It was him that broke up with you, but you couldn't. Not when his pace grew rougher, his movements desperate, reckless, like he couldn’t get enough. You couldn’t bare it. You were so close, and Shawn could feel it. You got tighter around him, barely able to form words. You were just about ready to explode and then- 

“Come for me,” He rasped, his own pace beginning to splutter the closer that he got, “Let me feel it baby,” 

It was like he flipped a switch but the moment he said it, the pleasure exploded, slamming into you with sharp, blinding force. Your vision went white, your entire body convulsing, trembling as your orgasm crashed over you in waves. 

Shawn groaned, feeling you tighten around him, his own release tearing through him, his hips stuttering, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled deep inside you. 

For a long moment, all that could be heard was heavy breathing. Shawn brough you close to him, lying next to you and pulling you from his knees to a position he could spoon you from. He helped you get comfortable, helped you undress from that dress before he got undressed himself and pulled your body close to his. Nothing was sweeter than close body to body contact.  

"Fuck," he muttered, his breath still ragged, his arms wrapping around you from behind, holding you close. "I missed you." 

You smiled sleepily, turning your head slightly to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Good." 

Because this time, you weren’t going anywhere. 

[manicandobsessive]

Icarian | L.H

Prologue: Nobody’s Soldier

Summary: You’re a human in a school of mutants, your backstory unknown. You never were keen for being anything less than independent. That is, until he came along.

Warnings: Fem!reader, reader is human, light swearing, mentions of religion and god

AN: Hi!!! Been working on this for about a week, feel free to give feedback! Enjoyyyy 🤎🤎

WC: 1.9K

Home. 

What a weird fucking word. The definition drastically different for any and every person. 

Now, Logan, he found it to be bullshit. ‘It’ being whatever cheesy-ass explanation he’d been given to explain what home exactly is. He never felt it- at home. Not that he desired to. He was- or seemed to be, perfectly content living as a nomad. Settling down made him vulnerable, predictable even. And if there’s one thing Logan Howlett fucking hates, it’s being tied to an assumption. It made him feel weak. Getting to a point where he lived the most mundane routine? Not for him, he discovered. Although ironically enough, he spent over half his long, very long, life wishing- praying for peace. 

The thought of him even considering there being a higher deity is laughable now. Of course, being 182 going on 183 he’s had his fair share of beliefs and a hell of a lot of experience. More than the average man could even fathom, let alone endure. He had spent time on bended knees, begging for a sense of normalcy. He’d listened to stories of all types, those who were “saved” by this being. Divine intervention never seemed to reach him though. He went to the extreme and considered becoming a fucking priest for the hell of it, seeing if all this was just complete bull.

He pulled himself out of that mental spiral pretty damn quick.

Contemplating divinity never seemed to be on his list of priorities, yet he always ended up back there when the silence was too loud. On one hand, he subconsciously knew he was unable to help but be there and give whatever he had left- which he thought to not be much, to whoever or whatever was in need. His biggest antagonist was his damn conscience, which he was all too aware of. 

He believed himself to be the worst of the worst. One of those men who deserves nothing more than what they were given. He had so much blood on his hands, so much pain he’d caused. How could anyone see otherwise? Beat the fuck out of him. 

Maybe the life he’d been living was Hell. 

If so, he couldn’t disagree that he deserved it, after all. Regardless, he wondered if any of that would’ve happened had he been born ordinary. If he grew and died like the rest of the world.

Then again, Logan was never normal. Normal doesn’t exist for a person like him. Normal? Not a word in his vocabulary. 

As the mansion came into view, he rolled his (Scott’s) bike into the abnormally and- dare he say, excessively huge garage. But what was old Chuck if not generous? He stopped wondering how many vehicles were there a long, long time ago. Needless to say, too many for a school full of prepubescent assholes, as Logan liked to call them. 

As always, failing to slow the fuck down, he may or may not have (purposely) sideswiped the mailbox and one of the old Ford pickup trucks towards the front of the garage, where he often left the motorcycle. Much to Scott Summers’ dismay.

  He swung the door open, greeted with an ominous silence. Too quiet for a place as grandiose as this. As his brain caught up with the rest of his body, he realized it was, in fact, spring break, the entire reason he decided to visit at this time anyway. “Fuckin’ Idiot” He murmured to himself, contemplating his cognitive decline as he bounded down the halls. 

Maybe his advanced age was finally catching up to him. 

His feet may as well have been cement, becoming increasingly heavier with each movement. Not that he hated it here, no. This was the closest he’d come to any kind of stability, let alone family. He felt as comfortable as he could, being the person that he is. Which was a rare win in his book.

 He was slightly relieved to find Marie was MIA as she normally welcomed him with some form of loud squealing and a tight, unyielding embrace. He was never opposed, he loved the damn kid like she was his own, but today wasn’t the day for a warm greeting. And it was probably for the best she didn’t see him this rigid. 

He needed to speak with Charles, ASAP. 

His mind and legs were working overtime, practically stomping his way to the professor’s office. The high ceilings and warm, wooden architecture were more apparent than ever. 

He couldn’t be bothered to care.

 Still, he pressed forward, not a single student or staff (of the total 5 he came into contact with) bothered to mutter as much as a ‘hello’, not like he paid much- if any notice to it. 

The closer he came to the overly large- and slightly intimidating, double doors of Charles Xavier’s office, he heard muffled sounds. Shouting? Who would be here at this time? A flurry of questions invaded his head. His senses picked up faster than the average person, and as a result, he noticed a distinct smell. Vanilla and-

Hold on.

What the hell.

Ororo always had a musky vanilla-lavender scent about her, but this simply wasn’t it. Something more potent, floral almost but insanely and undeniably sweet. In a good way. A great way. 

Fuck, what is that?

 His head was spinning at the mere idea.

Since when did he like sweet things?

He furrowed his brows, his nose crinkled as he sniffed the air, the voices becoming more pronounced. That of a woman, one he’d had yet to hear.

Seriously, who the fuck is this?

He stopped outside, his hand meeting the cold metal of the rusted doorknob. Straining his hearing slightly, he caught the middle of a seemingly heated argument.

“You’re kidding me, right? I’m a grown fucking adult, who do you think you are?”  The woman spoke, her voice somehow defiant, confident, and gentle all in one. He found himself wanting- no needing to know what she looked like. 

What’s his problem? Get it the fuck together. 

The logical side of his brain took control, knowing he was here for more than to fantasize about this girl whom he hadn’t even known existed seconds ago. Though he couldn’t shake the curiosity. 

He found himself throwing the door open before you could so much as finish a reply to Scott- whom he was already sick of hearing speak. The poor man said nothing more than a simple phrase: “Just leave it be,” to which you groaned, rolling your eyes and opening your mouth. Your irritation was evident in your voice alone. Looking just about ready to verbally rip him apart until he questioned everything down to his fucking conception. 

Logan, despite having no idea who you were, gathered from your tone you were at your wit’s end. 

“Scott, I swear to fuck-”

In he walked, unceremoniously, contrary to the dramatic swinging of the door. His eyes immediately landed on her- you. 

Woah.  

~

This conflict was fucking useless. You’re a full-grown fucking adult, being babied by your fellow friends for simply wanting to go out. To a record store of all things. 

Sure, being human in a mutant school doesn’t exactly scream safe. Especially with the threat out on mutants now, making you and anyone taking refuge in this school a direct target. Hell, the fucker in front of you could blow your head off with a blink of his eyes. Despite that fact, you found yourself tuning him out and finding peace in the golden light gracing the windows. You’ve always been a daydreamer, your mind can’t help but run a mile a minute at all times. Was it an undiagnosed disorder? 

Probably, but that never stopped you.

While yes, you were the odd one out. The one person that roamed these halls, lived in these quarters, lacking what the rest had. The X-gene. It never bothered you much, ironically being the “unique” one in a school of people with enhanced or special abilities. Maybe you were jealous, wishing you had something that made you just as powerful. Intimidated? At first, absolutely. Now? Knowing the people around you, fuck no.

 If you’d learned one thing from living here it was this: they were just as scared as you were. You found comfort in knowing nobody was out to make you feel unsettled, unsafe, or unwelcome. Though your past remained something you kept to yourself- and only yourself, you’d made a home in this little part of the world. 

Scott Summers, however, never failed to push you to the brink of psychosis. 

“Are you even listening right now?” He snapped in your face, once, twice. He stopped mid-air the third time, noticing your menacing glare. 

He really thinks he’s the second coming of Christ, doesn’t he?

Scrunching your nose in disgust and folding your arms in front of yourself defensively, you replied, your tone that of indifference. As you spoke, you ran a hand down your face, exasperated from this brief interaction alone. “If it’s the same bullshit spiel I get every time I ask you if I can leave, as a grown woman, then no, I’m not.” To that, he simply scoffed in disbelief. Though his eyes were covered, you could sense the egotistical once-over he gave you. Fucking men.

After knowing you long enough, Scott had known you only acted like this when you were truly upset, and well, he just had a way of bringing the worst out of you. “I’m trying to keep you safe, you know that. The professor would say the same thing.”

 Now that is what sent you flying into the deep end. Head first. Hands off the wheel. Eyes closed.

The professor would’ve handled the situation with grace and patience. Allowing some kind of compromise as opposed to weaving off your request like  it was a bother. Your eyebrows raised, composing yourself- you inhaled through your nose as you took a deep breath before speaking. 

Scotty was in for a treat.

“You’re kidding me, right?” You huff in irritation, a grimace on your face. Your disappointment was apparent. “I’m a grown fucking adult! Who do you think you are?” 

You found yourself somehow growing more irritated by the millisecond. Flailing your arms and scoffing. Scott heard it in your voice, how hurt you genuinely were by this. He knew you hated being disappointed, especially after having a set plan and idea. You were one of the most optimistic people he had met, which was why, in contrast to his outward actions, he hated doing this to you. He knew not to push you farther, fighting with you went nowhere after all. You had concrete arguments. And you were stubborn as all hell. Nobody would tell you what to do, no matter the circumstance, it’s how you are. 

He felt the words fall from his mouth before he could think them over, immediately regretting it. 

“Just leave it be,”

 And to that you flushed red with anger. It was one thing having your feelings being disregarded, but a whole other beast when a man, of all people, talked to you like that. Like they know what it’s like being spoken down to. You opened your mouth, your voice cracking slightly, but furious nonetheless. 

“Scott, I swear to fuck-”

Your head snapped to the door, damn near giving yourself whiplash. Your eyebrows pinched together, huffing at the interruption. Waiting on whoever the hell dared to cut you off in the middle of a very tense- and much-needed discussion. In waltzed: him. 

Oh.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

So, in addition to a preview of the Norm one-shot, I've got this look at part one of a long-form two-shot that's been sitting in my drafts since I was about halfway through my first run of the show. I have a (now quite old) ask that fit the vibe of it perfectly, and I've been whittling away at it when the inspiration strikes. I still have quite a bit of work to do on it, including edits, as I'm predicting a final length between 13k-15k words. Could end up more, as I'm really terrible at this sort of estimation, but I wanted to let everyone know I'm still hard at work in the smut mines even if posts have been light lately. Please enjoy a preview from this upcoming Cooper Howard/The Ghoul piece:

Faim Pour Deux

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), angst, drug use, jealousy, mild violence, age gap, sexually rusty old men, amateurish strip teases, nipple play, fingering, dry humping, reader not-so-subtly trying to tempt Cooper to fuck her until he snaps.

"Why don't you get a little more comfortable, darlin'?" Cooper asked, his tone brighter now, a step closer to the normal, cocky timbre you'd known him to have, but still soft as the patter of the rain on the dilapidated roof as he gestured to your unzipped vault suit. "Hop up and take that off for me."

You didn't hesitate to follow his instructions, though you struggled to figure out how to back up off of his lap as your feet dangled off the floor. Cooper offered no assistance, sitting back to watch you slide yourself backwards towards his knees, your cleavage spilling out of your undershirt as you pushed yourself with your hands. Once you found your feet, cheeks already hot from your fumbling dismount, you toed out of your boots before clearing your throat, hands coming up to your navel to grab at the cool metal zipper where it hung, half-undone.

"Take a couple steps back so I can see all of you."

This command took you somewhat by surprise, but, again, you obeyed, double checking the floor behind you before taking two steps back, avoiding his eyes. Rethinking your approach, you grabbed your left sleeve by the wrist in your right hand, tugging it awkwardly to free your arm, jerking the tight material down over your sore bicep in a rather unsexy move before twisting to repeat the move on the right.

Twilight was quickly turning to night, and the few chem lamps you'd set up only provided enough light to see well a few feet in front of you. Shyly, you stole a quick glance his way, struggling to make out any details at this distance, save for the shape and slight glint of his flask as he lifted it to his mouth and took a long draw off of it. His entire upper body was almost completely shrouded in the deepening shadows, but you could see those eyes, sunken deep into that face, glittering darkly at you, trained on you.

"Slowly, now." came that rough voice once more, slightly muffled by the back of his hand passing over what remained of his lips. "Gimme a little show."

You felt your face instantly flame up twice as hot as it had been, your already fluttering heart shifting up another gear into a full-on thunder. You had no idea what he meant—undressing itself wasn't enough of a show? Were you supposed to sing and dance while you did it? Recite US Presidents?

A handful of heartbeats passed, and you realized you were hesitating, but the ghoul in the corner didn't say anything. Your focus shifted, warily, back to removing your remaining sleeve, choosing to work it down from the shoulder instead, this time, focusing on the "slowly" until you could figure out the "show" part. After a few moments, you'd worked the top half of the grimy vault suit down to your hips, letting the arms hang loose at your sides.

If Cooper objected to the way you were going about things, he kept quiet about it, which would be uncharacteristic. He sat, still staring at you, reclined back in the chair as he reached for something else on the table beside him. The familiar sound of a shaking Jet container filled the air as you grabbed the stained, barely-mended tank by the hem, peeling it over you head, leaving you in nothing but your now sad, ratty bra above the waist. The hiss of the canister buzzed down your spine as the material passed over your eyes, giving you goosebumps as you looked to him once more, feeling drawn to that gaze. Your hands moved back to your waist to push the garment the rest of the way down, brushing across your soft abdomen on the way.

The ghoul interrupted you, wordless, his mouth fixed in a sort of pucker as he held the hit of Jet deep in his lungs. He snapped quickly, sharply, his free hand raising up off of the scuffed chair arm, his sewn-on index finger pointed to the ceiling, drawing a series of tight, quick circles with it. You'd seen that gesture before, you realized, feeling that squirming feeling in your gut again. Quickly, you turned to face the door, your back now pointing at your companion.

The feeling of his intense stare still burned into your back, but knowing that, at least for a moment, he couldn't see your face, couldn't read every single thought and emotion off of your like he seemed to so often be able to, let you breathe slightly easier. The arousal that simmered between your thighs was rolling into a boil as you pushed your rear out, back towards him, bending forward ever-so-slightly at the waist as you slowly, slowly rolled the increasingly restricting suit down over your buttocks.

You could swear you heard him sigh in the dark.

Shimmying until the entire garment hit the floor, pooling around your ankles in a faint cloud of dust, you stepped out of it as delicately as possible, sliding it beside your bag with your foot. As you straightened back to your full height, you decided to turn and face him, making eye contact as he took another hit from the inhaler, setting it aside as he leaned back fully into the chair. He tilted his head sideways at you, studying you for a few quiet seconds.

"Let your hair down." he said, voice strained with exhalation.

It took a moment to wrestle your hair down from the old elastic that kept it out of your face, but when the tendrils tickled down your back at last, it made you shiver, your body tingling.

The old man was silent for several seconds, looking you up and down with an expression that was tough to decipher. You'd almost begun to worry that he didn't like what he was seeing before one of his hands snaked down from the arm rest into his lap, palming at his crotch visibly. The other hand extended towards you, that deadly trigger finger crooking towards you commandingly, his gaze never leaving you.

"C'mere, kiddo."

[pillo-makes-art]

YAY bishop game, let's goooo! I would like to know about: 16 (mostly over your Kallamar, I've seen him being an a-hole with people, but what about his siblings?) and 27!

Thank you 💙

HELLO I hope you’re ready to read five billion words because MAN I wrote a lot about these four. The first question in particular got SO LONG I’m going to put most of it under a readmore because otherwise I’d have everyone scrolling for a year.  Check the game where these questions came from!

16 - Which sibling relationship is the strongest? Which is the most complicated? 

Okayyyy this is going to be a bit of a disappointment because… the Bishops aren’t siblings in my AU. It’s more like a faith thing, like nuns and friars call eachother brother or sister despite not being related. Their bond is of the political kind, not familial (at least when they were still bishops) they’ve spent literal millennia hating eachother and had to form an uneasy alliance when Narinder started dabbling in forbidden magic. And they still don’t like eachother! 

And I know this directly contradicts canon and people are going to be upset, but this is my circus and these are my monkeys. This is not to say I don’t like when people actually follow canon and treat them as siblings, but there are countless amazing artists and writers (like you!!!!! aaaaa) who are doing that already, and I wanted to do something different for myself! I hope you can understand. 

Here's a very simple graph about everything that will be explained under the readmore.

I’d say the most interesting relationships between the Bishops are the feud between Kallamar and Heket and the relationship between Shamura and Narinder. Leshy, being the youngest to come into power, is just kinda there, and nobody was really interested with him, until they needed him to seal Narinder away.

I’ll start with Kallamar because I’m predictable he’s my favorite. He’s a power hungry bastard who doesn’t really care about anyone except himself, and has no problem using his power to bend people to his will. He wasn't particularly friendly with any of the Bishops, but he had no problem liking some asses (aka Shamura) if it means it’ll help him gain power or maintain a normal life. Except Heket. He loathes her, considers her a barbaric stain on the lands of the Old Faith and while he woldn’t mind acquiring her lands, Kallamar thinks the whole of Anura should be wiped out the face of Earth. If she sends a famine to his cult, he’ll send a plague to hers. They’ve been locked in a feud since forever, and only managed to not be at eachothers’ throats when Narinder’s threat became too big to ignore. Speaking of which, he blames Shamura for what happened to the four of them, and if killing the spider wouldn’t jeopardize the whole sealing Narinder thing, he would have done so ages ago.

Heket on the other hand hates literally everyone. Leshy is the only one exempt from her fury, but only because he’s such a young god he’s not even on her radar. Yet. She respects Shamura enough to be at least a bit wary of them, she’s always been indifferent towards Narinder and absolutely despises Kallamar. She considers him a snivelling coward and the only time they managed to fight face to face, she gave him the scar on his eye. Since then Kallamar has refused to see her in person, which only managed to make her hate him even more. Her only dream is to finally put an end to his pitiful life.

Narinder (yes, I’m putting him here too) is a bit of an incognita because I don’t really have a set personality for him yet. He strikes me as the loner type, perfectly content with doing his own thing away from everybody else. He developed a bond with Shamura when the spider noticed his potential and took him under their wing, and quickly managed to surpass his master in terms of power, which made him quite dangerous in Shamura’s eyes, and the rest is history. During the events of the game, Narinder hates every single one of his siblings in faith, Shamura over all since they were the only one with whom he had some sort of relationship.

Leshy, being so young and mostly interested in playing with his toys followers and making pretty flowers bloom, wasn’t really concerned with any of the others’ affairs. His enormous power is what ultimately put him in danger, because that was the reason Shamura approached him when they needed a fourth person to complete Narinder’s ritual. Because of this, Leshy isn’t all too happy to be forced into an alliance with the people who are the sole reason of his misery.

And now, Shamura. I left them for last because I really wanted to delve into their relationship with Narinder. Due to being the oldest Bishop, they see everybody else as little more than children, not even worth scolding. To them, the only vaguely important person was Narinder, and only because they wanted to use him for their gains. War kills countless people every sigle day, and Shamura was getting a bit tired of always having to look for new pawns to sacrifice. If they could last a little bit longer that would have been ideal! But even they couldn’t predict how much Narinder’s power would grow under their care. They became afraid of their very own disciple and had to take desperate measures to ensure the balance between life and death. And worse, what started as a manipulation tactic to garner more power, left SHamura genuinely caring for Narinder, a feeling they'd never experienced before. Still, they did think about killing Narinder at first, both to protect themselves and to eradicate that feelng they perceived as weakness. But they couldn't do it. They loved Narinder too much, and also you can't kill death, so sealing him away forever was the next best thing. They used their immense influence to convince Heket and Kallamar to join them in their plan, and basically plucked Leshy from the ground without asking, threw them all together into the ritual and the rest is history.

So, where does that take us now? After sealing Narinder away, the four of them decided on a truce, an uneasy but necessary peace. Tensions were still high of course (with Kallamar being a paranoid asshole, Heket always thirsty for blood etc. etc.) but they were the only four left. They had to bear it, lest they all disappeared. And then the Lamb arrived, I'm not going to explain everything lmao.

After being revived, the Lamb would have gladly killed all the Bishops (and Narinder) a second time, but came to an agreement with Shrimp (an OC and co-protagonist of this AU) to split custody of the Bishops. Heket would stay in the Lamb’s cult, while Leshy and Shamura would join Kallamar in Anchordeep. Narinder faked his death and is currently in hiding because he does not want to deal with the Lamb again. Have another graph

Kallamar was the only Bishop who didn’t die, and willingly gave up his powers to save the only person he’s ever cared about (Shrimp) and is now living a cozy life as the spouse of the new Goddess of Pestilence. While he doesn’t really care about Shamura per se, and still blames them for their collective misfortune, the spider he hated so much is a shell of their former self, and keeping such a big grudge over someone who can’t even go to the bathroom unaided is incredibly useless. Kallamar has already won, and he won’t go out of his way to make Shamura’s life even worse. In fact, he knows they’d have a much harder life in the Lamb’s cult, so he has taken it upon himself to be their caretaker. He will eventually come to love Leshy like a son, and they’ll become an actual family. Is it deserved? Probably not, since Kallamar is still an asshole at heart, but now he’s an asshole who can care about three more people beside him.

Heket is getting worse :) both Shrimp and Kallamar wanted absolutely nothing to do with her, and left her in the hands of the Lamb, who immediately put her into the fight pit where she still is to this day. Her resentment for Kallamar has only grown since their revival, because the bastard was the only one who didn’t have to know death and is now enjoying an incredibly undeserved life while she fights for survival every single day. She has fantasized more than once about escaping the Lamb’s cult grounds and taking her well deserved revenge, but she’s smart enough to know she’d stand no chance against Shrimp now that she wears the Blue Crown, and even if she managed to kill Kallamar, the Lamb would simply bring him back, so what’s the point? I actually feel so bad for her T.T sorry queen, I will make you flee the Lamb and become a pirate or something.

Leshy is the one who’s having the best time. Sure, dying and being stuck in Purgatory kinda sucked, but now he’s alive again and has an actual family. He doesn’t really miss being a god, since he’s held the power of Chaos for so little (at least, little in godly terms) that he never really got used to it. It was little more than a toy for him, and he can get the same rush of power by playing with his actual toys or digging in the mud with his mama! A sweet deal indeed. His relationship with Kallamar was a bit strained at first, he didn’t really know if he could trust the squid. After all, Kallamar basically left him to die! Not nice. But they eventually warmed up to one another, and now Leshy has a dad too. He’s going to be a big brother soon as well!

Shamura is a shell of their former self. Their injury was by far the worst one, and now they spend their days kinda… existing? Between brief moments of lucidity. They barely recognize Kallamar and would absolutely go into fits if they saw Shrimp since she’s a cat and she reminds them of Narinder. They do not remember Leshy, who’s actually cool with it, because he still holds a grudge against Shamura after they basically kidnapped him and forced him to take part in the ritual that cost him his eyes. 

Narinder does Not give a shit about the four ex-Bishops. His only priority right now is staying as far away from the Lamb as he possibly can and surviving. He does miss Aym and Baal tho. He got very close to the two of them in their thousand years of prison. Maybe one day he’ll have the guts to approach Shrimp in Anchordeep and ask her to bring them back.

27- Do any of them have recurring dreams or nightmares?

Kallamar - funnily enough, he doesn’t dream about Narinder all that much. They were never particularly close, and while losing his hearing because of him was a trauma, he’s recovered well enough to not constantly dream about it. His more common recurring nightmares is finding himself alone in his palace, being pursued by Heket. He knows she hates him more than anything else, especially now. In the dream, he is powerless, while she is still a Goddess, and while he can’t see her, he knows she’s there, hiding behind every corner, ready to take her revenge. He sleeps by candlelight every night because of this.

Heket - her dreams are filled with blood and the screams of the people who wronged her. Narinder. Shamura. Kallamar. Especially Kallamar. He’s always the last one she kills, and she always takes her sweet sweet time with it. Curiously enough, the Lamb is usually absent from her dreams. Sure, she hates them, but also understands why they did what they did. It’s not like they had much choice. This doesn’t mean she doesn’t fantasie about killing them too.  As for nightmares, she doesn’t have many. To her the only real nightmare is the reality she lives in.

Leshy - when he was first revived, he used to have constant nightmares. About Purgatory, the Lamb, Narinder tearing his eyes out… He would wake up screaming surrounded by darkness and he spent a lot of nights sleeping in bed with his mama. He’s five after all.  His other dreams usually involve walking through Darkwood, but not much else. These are actually the dreams that make him the most sad, because he knows that even if his mama and papa will take him to Darkwood every day if he so wishes, he’ll never be able to see it again.

Shamura - Mostly dreams about Narinder or their time as a Bishop, but always forgets everything by the time the sun comes up. Their whole day to day life is kinda like a dream, with faces fading in and out of their vision and moving through motions they’re not sure they’re even making.

Narinder - his worst recurring nightmare is the memory of the Lamb tearing him apart and skinning him while he was still alive. Not great! More pleasant dreams include Aym and Baal but they always fill him with melancholy. Dreaming about Shamura fills him with rage but also nostalgia for the days spent in the sun with his mentor.

[hannie-dul-set]

for reverse harem hell ‼️ taerae or leehan .......

[about time]. kim donghyun clocked it the moment jaehyun introduced you to their volunteer group— a pleasant demeanor, a smile that says you’re happy to be here— that the mere addition of your presence is going to cause some…problems.

“guys, say hello! she’ll be joining us in the program management committee from now on!”

he clocked it. how jaehyun kept insisting on being the one to introduce you to everyone. on being the one to show you around the office. he clocked how sungho’s nervous awkwardness has gone far beyond the levels of normal whenever he has to lift boxes, print papers with you. he clocked all of it.

he clocked how two weeks in, riwoo suddenly started inviting you over to their usual lunch runs as a pair. he clocked how taesan’s initial protests against having you around suddenly became less and less, and how his same age friend’s ears would start blushing amidst complaining that he has to work with you in designing the event entrance.

“if you don’t want to work with her, i could—”

“you’re just gonna end up ruining the whole thing.”

“that’s not true!”

“hey, i was assigned first. you can’t just—”

leehan shakes his head and clicks his tongue. this is bad. this is troublesome. the only person being normal around you is woonhak, but then again, he is six years old (he’s not). he probably doesn’t even know what it means to have a crush on a girl.

it’s not that leehan is against having you around. in fact, it’s pretty funny watching his friends make a bunch of fools out of themselves because of you. it’s his new form of entertainment seeing jaehyun race to the door before anyone else just so he can open it for you. it’s very funny seeing riwoo miss his mouth when trying to eat because you walked into the room with sparkles all around you.

“donghyun-ah.”

but as funny as it is to be a simple witness-slash-bystander to all this lovefoolery, leehan doesn’t want to suffer the same fate as his friends.

“the kids keep fighting. do you wanna work together instead?”

the question catches him off guard. you extend your offer with earnest eyes. there’s a protest from taesan. from jaehyun. but maybe this would be for the best just to spare his friends from any more humiliation. 

“sounds good to me.”

it’s not like he’s gonna develop a crush on you too. right?

“let’s go check the storage for some extra supplies.”

wrong.

“sure thing.”

maybe leehan shouldn’t have underestimated your charm. it was just about time that he’d end up falling for you, too. literally and figuratively.

he should’ve clocked the cliche setting, the predictable mood— two people, a small and crowded room, a box a little too far out of reach. the door shuts behind you two with a click, the barest of light leaking into the room from the cracks in the door. it was a perfectly orchestrated shojou moment just lying in wait, and leehan completely failed to clock it.

crash!

“uhm, do you mind…getting off me, donghyun…?”

boxes cascade down, documents flutter all over, and the only thing that leehan is thinking right now— while his widened eyes are staring down into your equally flustered irises, sheepish smile flushed with embarrassment— is one, singular word: shit. 

shit, indeed. the only thing stopping him from completely collapsing into you are his arms spaced on either side of your face, rapidly losing strength with the same rhythm as his heartbeat because shit. well, shit. you’re a little too close. it’s a little too hot. and he should’ve clocked all of this happening from the moment you two stepped into the room— no. from the moment jaehyun introduced you to the team months ago.

“donghyun…?”

it was just about time for him to see you in the same light as everyone else has. leehan just happened to be a little late to clock it.

send me a kpop boy (txt/enha/zb1/bnd/dream) to toss into reverse harem hell! [jaehyun]

[angel-of-the-moons]

First off I'm really happy to see someone's still writing for MK11. It feels like everyone's dropped the game for the new one. So thank you. Second I would like to request MK11 Hanzo x fem reader fluff where reader found out she was pregnant and is really worried about telling Hanzo.

MK 11 is near and dear to me because it's what got me back into the franchise back when it first came out. At first I loved D'Vorah but then I got attached to Hanzo and Kuai's dynamics and then when Mileena came back? Ugh! Love!

Blossom

Hanzo x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: A little angst, fluff, pregnancy stuff! (Maybe an implied age gap between Reader and Hanzo but nothing specific, though Reader is definitely over 20)

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

Your nerves were eating themselves alive, feeling frayed at the edges as you plucked the edges of your sleeves in your anxiety.

How were you going to tell him? Ugh!

You could have sworn it was a safe day for you, when you were with him last... week? A few weeks ago? By the Elder Gods, how far were you along? The flimsy pieces of plastic you got at the store when you ventured into town on a "girl's trip" with Sonya couldn't predict that...

Sonya patted your back, the older woman smiling in sympathy, "Hey, I know how you feel. Cassie wasn't planned at all. Trust me, kid."

"I... It's just..." Your voice trembled almost as much as your hands holding the pregnancy test did. "What if he... what if he doesn't want it? After losing his wife and son, I... what if he doesn't want this--want us anymore--because he's afraid?"

"You sound like you already made up your mind about keeping the baby..." Sonya murmured softly.

You nodded, lifting your gaze to meet hers. You were sitting in the bathroom in she and Johnny's hotel suite--they were in Japan for some film shoot--your voices echoed softly off the tile walls and floor.

"I did. Is it... bad that I want this?" You asked her, chewing your bottom lip.

"No, no. no. Listen--" Sonya took the test from your hand carefully and laid it on the counter, before taking your hands in hers. "You're perfectly capable of making a decision like this. And... On the off-chance that Hanzo doesn't want this... Johnny and I will help you out. You deserve that."

"R-Really?" You asked her as your voice began to quiver. "You... You'd do that?"

"Hell yeah I would. You're one of the best operatives we have. A good fighter, great defender of Earthrealm. And... you're going to be a great mom. I'd be a major bitch if I just kicked you out after doing this with you without helping in some way."

"Think you mean General." You sniffled, smiling at her; your eyes misty with emotion. You never expected in your military career that the Sonya Blade would be one of your biggest supporters in this kind of event in your life. But... here you were.

Sonya grinned. "Damn straight. Now... if you need to, think about it before you spring it on him. Rehearse what you have to say before telling him if you gotta, okay?"

"How did... you tell Johnny about..."

"Oh, I threw the pregnancy tests at his big fat head and said "Congrats, you knocked me up, jackass"." She chuckled nostalgically.

"You did?" You gasped.

Sonya turned to you with a grin. "Yep. Shithead started crying right on the spot."

She cuffed you on the shoulder whilst you shared a laugh.

"Go and get a good night's rest, honey. You're gonna need it."

It had been nearly two days since your talk with Sonya. You had rehearsed in your head every night since over and over and over until the wee hours of the morning what Hanzo might say, and what you in turn would say to him.

But imagining the scenarios was enitrely different than putting them into action yourself...

You and Hanzo had been walking through the Fire Gardens, watching the Sakura blossoms shake and fall loose around you in a mix of velvety pink and white. It was beautiful, and a scene you normally would find very relaxing--if it weren't for the heavy iron blanket hanging in the air--the tension was so thick you weren't surprised Hanzo picked up on it.

"Something is bothering you." He said softly, his warm palm squeezing yours as you walked.

"...yeah." You answered truthfully, squeezing back.

Hanzo tugged your hand up to his chest, bringing your slow, leisurely walk to a halt. His deep, thoughtful eyes affixed their gaze to yours, imploring you. "Speak to me, my love. Please."

You felt your heart patter in your ribcage anxiously as his request hung in the air. Long, agonizing minutes stretched on for what felt like hours.

"Hanzo..." You managed to get out, despite your tongue feeling like sandpaper.

"I'm pregnant."

And with those two simple words... it was like the universe around you came to a floundering halt.

"...What?" He whispered, dropping your hand and taking a step back.

The absence of his touch filled you with fear, made you grow cold. Were your fears right? Did Hanzo not want this? You? The baby?

"You're... pregnant?" He whispered, his voice so soft you could just barely hear it over the branches in the trees creaking in the early summer breeze.

You nod, swallowing at the stone lodged in your throat, "Yeah..."

Once more the agonizing silence swallowed you both, the yawning chasm of anxiety etching itself deeper inside of you with every second that ticked by.

As you opened your mouth to speak, Hanzo closed the gap between you, crushing your body against his in a fierce, caging hug. His arms felt like the steel jaws of a bear trap as he held you, nearly squeezing the air from your lungs as he buried his face in your hair.

The silence still stretched on, however this time, you realized, it was not because Hanzo was upset or angry--but because he was crying.

His body trembled only slightly, his muscles straining to hold you without crushing you any more than he already was.

"Hanzo?" You whispered, your hope soaring even just a tiny bit.

"I love you." He croaked, his voice so rough it made you want to cry, "I love you more than life. I lost everything I loved... Quan-Chi turned me into a soulless, undead slave... I never thought I would be so happy again, as long as I lived. And... And then I found you."

He pulled back, one of his hands cupping your cheek; his thumb sweeping away one of the fat tears that tumbled down your cheek. His eyes were glassy and full of his own tears, but he had the warmest smile you'd ever seen on anyone.

"I love you so much, my fire lily. My heart." He rasped, his lips quivering even the slightest bit.

"Have you... decided what you want to--"

"I want to keep the baby, Hanzo." You blurted, your heart pounding and your blood rushing in your ears.

He sighed, his eyes soft and loving as he looked at you. "I... I am not surprised you have already made up your mind. You have always been so sure and confident. It is one of the many reasons why I adore you."

You smiled back, "I... I want this, Hanzo. I want our baby. I want... I want you with us, too." You licked your bottom lip.

"If you want us."

Hanzo responded to you by pulling you close and kissing you until your breath left your body; his tongue twisting and dancing with yours before brushing your lips as he pulled away, leaving you almost dazed and light-headed.

"I would let Kuai Liang freeze me to a block of ice and leave me on a desolate mountain to be eaten by wild animals before I let anything tear the two of you away from me." He said resolutely, his eyes steely and adamant.

Your body sagged with relief--literally--and you found yourself supported by Hanzo's strong embrace, your legs feeling like jelly and nearly giving out beneath you. Hanzo chuckled fondly as he rubbed your back to help soothe you.

Your name left his lips like a reverent prayer--and you lifted your head to look at him, tears now freely falling down your face as you smiled gleefully, "I--I was so scared.... Af-after what happened to you before, I... I was scared..."

"That out of fear for losing the two of you, I would run? Send you away for your safety?" He chuckled, as if the very notion was ridiculously insane.

"Never. It would take armageddon for something as cowardly as that. And maybe not even then."

You sniffed and hiccup, your mind a whirl of emotions as you began to break down once again, letting Hanzo hold you as he soothed you, spoke to you, and said the most romantic things you'd only read about in books.

He was happy. He wanted you and the baby. He was excited about having a family once again.

Hanzo Hasashi would once again get to feel the joy of seeing his child enter the world, getting to hold them; hearing their sweet cries as air filled their lungs.

He would get to be a father--and hopefully husband--once again.

[heylittleriotact]

🌹🌱🌼🥀💐🌺 pretty please!

Yesss LFG! Thank you for these! They made me think!

🌹: What's the first genuine fight Rook got in with their love interest about? How was it resolved?

The "At Your Age?" Argument wasn't their first fight - just the one that sucked the most because it was left unresolved for weeks.

Their first fight was actually brought about when Amina interjected during one of Emmrich's yapping sessions about lichdom and what a great honour it would be to join their ranks, and how amazing and special it would be to live forever, blah blah blah.

She basically asked if he could try talking about literally anything else for a change, because all of this talk of lichdom was getting tired, and maybe he's idealized this a bit much, and honestly she doesn't really care for it, so she'd rather not have to hear about it continuously in the first place.

Emmrich immediately went on the defense, and decided to explain (in the form of an academic lecture) why lichdom was perfectly ethical, and why Amina had no cause to distrust it, therefore she needn't be afraid.

Then she might have made a remark along the lines of, "I asked if we could change the subject - not for a condescending lecture on a subject I'm actually already very familiar with: I'm not one of your fucking students, Professor."

... and things escalated from there.

They avoided each other for the remainder of the day, but after dinner Emmrich answered a knock at his door to find a bouquet of freshly cut lilacs (out of season most places - where had she gotten them?) and a note inviting him to come find her in the Memorial Gardens if he wanted to talk it out.

And talk it out they did.

I actually plan on writing this whole encounter one day 😅

🌱Was Rook involved romantically with anyone before Veilguard? What was their partner like? How did the relationship end?

She's had a handful of relationships, usually with people also in the Watch. It's a path that tends to eat into one's ability to have a normal life with predictable time away from work, holidays etc. You work weird hours and do a lot of emotional labour, so finding a partner who isn't a Watcher who really understands all of that is challenging.

Her first partner was a childhood friend named Kalista, who joined the Watch with her but dropped out a few years into training. She was outgoing, friendly, and beautiful - tall with stormy blue-gray eyes and wavy brown hair.

She fell in a bit too hard with the party crowd and struggled more and more to keep up with her studies before eventually she just stopped showing up. Amina broke up with her because as much as it hurt, she felt that she needed to focus on her own future at the time. She and Kalista remained friends for many years, despite the end of their relationship, but things got worse for her friend when she started seeing someone new who seemed committed to making everything worse for Kalista instead of better. Amina hasn't heard from her in years. The last she spoke with Kalista, she had offered to help her pin down some resources to help her with her lyrium addiction and work through some other things. She suspects Kalista's current partner caught wind of that and forbid her from speaking with Amina again. Every morning she checks the sheet of overnight death calls posted in the Necropolis to make sure Kalista's name isn't on it.

🌼If someone was to ask Spite what Rook smells like, what would he say?

Spicy leaves! Grave dirt. And splinters!

(Peppermint, literally grave dirt, and wood shavings from building coffins.)

🥀What figure from Rook's personal past would be added to the regret prison?

Kalista, for obvious reasons: Amina knows that she can't control other people's choices and actions, but she worries about her constantly and can't help but feel that she could have done more for her friend, or she still could if she wasn't too cowardly to involve herself.

Reda: the woman who took Amina in as a child and raised her. Reda fell ill just before Amina was soft-exiled from the Watch, and she died about six months before Veilguard. Amina left Varric abruptly, and was only just barely able to make it to her bedside in time to be with her when she passed. Amina regrets that because of her actions during the War of The Banners, she was unable to spend Reda's final days with her, taking care of her as she was cared for by the Necropolis matron when she was young. As the closest thing to a mother she ever had, she feels that she failed her.

💐 What is the relationship Rook has with their faction mentor? What was the moment they sent Rook away like?

Amina has always gotten on well with Myrna and Vorgoth - she excelled in her studies when she was training, throwing herself into them with enthusiasm and an attitude that indicated that the scrappy foundling had something to prove, and over the years established herself as a reliable and skilled member of the Mourn Watch. It takes a very specific kind of person to be a Watcher, and an even more specific kind of person to be a Reaper, and her superiors would readily admit that Amina made for this lifestyle - it truly is her calling.

Because of this, the conversation in which they parted ways was painful for everyone: Amina felt betrayed and forced to let go of the only place that had ever felt like what she imagined home would feel like. It pained Myrna and Vorgoth to be the ones to deliver the news, but what they did not mention to Amina was that the two of them had personally argued for exile in favour of the alternative: Watchers who break their oaths and harm the undead (even if they fucking deserved it) forfeit their lives: Unbeknownst to her, she's got Myrna and Vorgoth to thank for the fact that her bones aren't waiting on one of the undead nobles whose toes she stepped on.

🌺Is there an object from Rook's childhood they look back on fondly? (ie a favorite stuffed animal, book, or food?)

Reda rarely went anywhere without a fashionable silk or chiffon scarf around her neck. Amina used to spend hours as a child, draping herself in the scarves and donning Reda's jewelry, strutting around the house to the delight of the woman, billowing and fluttering like a colourful sail. There's an entire crate of the scarves waiting for her at her apartment after Reda's passing. They're much too bright and extravagant for her tastes, but before she returned to Varric, she managed to find a relatively tame one dyed in reds and blacks and golds with stylized dragons picked out on it - she keeps it with her always. Even wears it from time to time. She figures if she ever gets blood on it, the colours should hide it well enough.

It smelled like Reda for the longest time, until one day it didn't anymore. That was a sad day.

[oceanlipgloss]

ONLINE FRIENDS

LEVIATHAN.

+ warnings: angst, strong language.

+ my mc is the heroine, so the pronouns are feminine.

It is said that existing in the same world as someone you cherish is better than nothing at all. He had read that many times. Many times. More than he can count. Despite the different timezones, the great distances, the knowledge that the two of you live in the same galaxy—separated by tangible barriers just—is enough. But even then it’s hard. It’s so, so hard.

They the two them are like online friends. Overwhelmingly close, fun together, yet never truly knowing each other that well.

What if the only thing that kept them apart was not metrics, but who he himself was?

Too shy, too awkward. So clumsy, so useless.

Fickle.

Was he fickle?

Yeah, the heart can be a fickle little fucker, but was his heart like that too?

He’s always been told that he’s loyal to his passions, that he loves his interests so passionately. That had always been true, always been his conviction, until she came along and it began to feel wrong.

Sometimes—no, on most days—he couldn’t quite focus solely on her. The real, living, breathing woman with a beating heart. He bundled himself up in fiction. He wrapped his heart up with the virtual stuff and let the phantom medicines treat his deep-rooted anomalies, or at least waited for them to.  

He liked those worlds. In them, he could be worth something. He could be number one, yank all the great ranks. He could conquer the good things and be a celebrated one: a holder of grand specimens of accomplishments, an owner of the rarest of premium trophies.

In the planet beyond the intangible bars—with their pixellised models and complex codes—though, he was...no one. And sometimes, even his soul in that binary place was mangled by those who are better, even if they had not spent as much time—if at all, really—brandishing their skills like knives. Simply because they were born with talent that glowed in a surreal magnitude of magnetic stars in their cells.

He liked certain challenges, of course, but there are times when it gets...too much.

To him, it seemed that almost everyone else excelled at something, no matter how apparently useless, and there is always that one candidate or contestant that crushes all others with the golden weight of their shiny gifts.

Yeah.

He didn’t like himself.

What was there to like?

He couldn’t even love right, like his love for everything special in his measly life was a wheel of hot pizza that he had to cut up into pieces time and again. And when he bit into it, he always scalded his tied tongue.

More often than not, he loathed the real world. In it, millions of normal creatures normally go about their normal lives, while he remains a lot like the oldest model of the oldest Macintosh computer models: freezing, lagging, malfunctioning.

Mismatched.

He never had the right words, never mind the perfectly right skills.

At least characters have pre-programmed reactions. They do predictable things. Real people are nothing like that. Characters don’t hurt him. They just don’t. They’re not meant to, you know? It is not part of their program until it is—so even if and when they do, he knows it is only because they were coded to.

Yet, he’s expected to unlock the door, go out and deal with actual people, handle the scummy things they do like it’s nothing, then at the end of the day go back to his room. Everyday.

He hated these disgusting times.

When you’re like that—lost and unprepared for the basics of your century—even those closest to you can feel most unreachable, like distant friends online.

+notes: yes, hello, bonjour, I am regretfully indeed still alive. And in celebration of this fleeting but grand surprise visit of mine, I have prepared a Michelin-star humble feast, so why don't you help yourselves to the first piece I've written in over 2 months and eat this mouldy writing that has been aging in my WIPs for so very long? I invite you to indulge in a main course of braised angst, seasoned with an ounce of identity crisis projection. In all seriousness, though, the fic may have been an old WIP, but I literally just scooped it out of the pan finished it. It's still fresh. Very fresh. *logs back out*

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[soupandsorcery]

WIP Wednesday

nobody tagged me, but that's not going to stop me from rambling. if you haven't been tagged and want to post a WIP, consider this me tagging you! here's a bit of the hymn to dionysus thing i've been working on for a bit as inspiration strikes.

Humans, as it turns out, are infuriating.

Dionysus thinks he knew that, somewhere deep down, in the part of him that understands the way of things. Birds must fly. Fish must swim. Trees must grow and stretch their branches to the sun. Humans must be irksome little fuckwits that give him a throbbing headache between his temples and make him feel older than he is.

They're predictable, humans, and yet. Somehow they always do things that surprise him and leave him on the back foot. Embarrassing, for a creature as old as he is.

Or maybe Phaidros is just a special kind of stupid. Maybe he somehow has to find the most dangerous thing he can do and do it, just for the idiocy of it. He's shed that annoying suicidal way of his in the last century, but there are things that are baked into the man's bones.

Baiting people is one of those things.

They had been having a perfectly normal dinner. Phaidros' ankle was pressed against Dionysus' under the table, a steady warmth and beautiful point of contact. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and Dionysus had allowed himself to drink in the sight of him. By now he knows that face better than any other, but he still likes to look. He knows it's taken ages for Phaidros to stop assuming Dionysus is looking for some flaw. Some reason to decide that actually, he's had enough of Phaidros' face, thanks.

That is madness. He tries to impress it upon him when they kiss, when the tips of his fingers press along Phaidros' jaw or shoulder or trail lower down his stomach. He tries to convey love and devotion in every way he knows how, but he swears Phaidros has some selective blind spot sometimes.

Another little irksome thing.

The point is that dinner was nice and Phaidros was smiling his real smile, not the fragile one that trembled at the edges like he was waiting for the shine to come off this thing and to be forced to wander the world alone for the next forever. As if Dionysus would ever condemn him to that.

And then some other annoying fuckwit of a human had said something, a snide comment meant for Dionysus with his silver bracelets and flowers woven into his hair. But Phaidros intercepted it, whipping around quick as a flash to level a grin at the man across the way.

[asher-agere]

heya! i cannot stop thinking about cg fyodor and little nikolai and am deprived of finding content of them … so this is my request :3

FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY IT’S TIME. MY FAVORITE LITTLE GUY. And his crusty old man I guess too

Caregiver Fyodor + Little Nikolai

🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

† Starting off with age range! I’ve said in the past that I see Nikolai regressing from 4-7 but I feel like that doesn’t encompass his chaos well enough… I shall upgrade him to 4-14! His headspace age can be absolutely anything, it’s impossible to predict and pretty difficult to read. And Nikolai doesn’t help in the slightest with the fact that he lies about his age range at any given opportunity (He’s tried saying he’s 80 in the past, Fyodor just sighed and rubbed his temples wondering why he even bothered trying to ask)

🃁 Nicknames! I am an absolute sucker for nicknames said in a caregivers native language *Flutters my eyelashes innocently at my Spanish speaking caregiver* so things like “Malysh” (Baby) “Moya sladkaya” (My sweet). Plus of course calling him “Kolya” (The Russian casual version of Nikolai). Nikolai’s speech is rarely affected so he can speak normally! Using names like “Dos-Kun” and “Fedya” (Again Russian informal). However he also absolutely calls Fyodor “Mommy” simply because it’s wrong and confuses Fyodor

† When he’s regressed one of the first things that needs to be done is change Nikolai into comfortable clothes! You might be saying, ah yes so he can be comfortable and feel safe! No. It’s to get that cape away from him. He doesn’t part with it easily but if he keeps it then he will get everything he shouldn’t have. He’s genuinely pulled like Nuclear Bombs out of it before just because he can and Fyodor has to calmly talk him into putting it back. He’ll also randomly declare “Field Trip!” And pull Fyodor into the cape with him to who knows where. Overall it’s best to get it away from him

🃁 One of Nikolai’s favorite games to play is make Fyodor smile! It continues to entertain him because he’s so far never succeeded. When he’s actively trying to, Fyodor can keep his expression perfectly blank. Plus Nikolai’s attempts at humor are badly put together (For example only saying the punchline of a joke but he still falls to the ground laughing). Fyodor definitely smiles at him in general! It’s just that if he knows Nikolai is trying to make him smile he actively puts in the effort not to, he thinks it’ll be more mentally stimulating that way. And he’s absolutely correct! Nikolai loves the challenge

† Fyodor is a very weak man thanks to his anemia, he’s definitely not strong enough to be picking up a little one. Nikolai upon realizing this takes matters into his own hands! Literally. It makes no logical sense but Nikolai, mentally as young as like 5 will pick up his caregiver and carry him around. Fyodor absolutely hates this because Nikolai skips and jumps and runs and it’s beyond nauseating, but there’s not very many ways to actually stop Nikolai if he decides he wants to do something, so Fyodor just has to tough it out and lecture the boy later

🃁 Nikolai is incredibly difficult around bedtime. He doesn’t wanna sleep! He wants to play! The best way Fyodor can get him down for the night is by playing his cello! Fyodor rarely plays it for anyone, and it’s even rarer that he learns a song specifically for someone, but he’s learned lullabies for Nikolai. Nikolai realizes what a rare opportunity he’s getting and he’ll instantly get really really quiet and settle down to listen! Afterwards of course cheering and applauding as loud as he can (You know, the opposite of settling down)

† Nikolai is very much so one for throwing tantrums. Like yes he regresses big enough that he can actually communicate. But tantrums sound so much easier! And wayyyy more fun. Fyodor is patient though! And completely unaffected by the fake tears. He’ll just find somewhere to sit and he’ll just watch Nikolai. If the tantrum goes on for awhile he’ll literally just pull out a book. He stays nearby so that if Nikolai is in any danger he’d there to help, but as long as there’s no danger he’s not interfering in the slightest. Nikolai can cry it out then communicate properly and Fyodor is more than happy to shower him in praise for that part

🃁 Many of my followers know that I love the idea of Fyodor using candles, caregiver Fyodor using candles everywhere! With Nikolai? Absolutely not. This little menace does absolutely everything he’s not supposed to do. He’ll try to eat it, he’ll pick it up to wield it like a sword, he’ll hold things over it so they catch on fire. He’s just an absolute menace that can’t be trusted. Fyodor also needs to lock up his candles and matches or Nikolai will help himself to them. Matches especially, you give this kid fire and he’s burning down everything in sight

🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

Technically this is a two part request but I’m not patient enough to post them at the same time. So coming up soon look forwards to angst! Also I think the angst request is for solo Nikolai? Not totally sure though because the requester mentioned it going along with this request. Requester feel free to clarify but you’re not forced to!

[DNI ID: A light purple box with a dark purple border. To the left is an image of Fyodor, to the right there’s a rat and a pair of decaying angels wings. Dark purple text reads “DNI if your blog isn’t child safe. I will block NSFW accounts”. End ID]

[maribirdsteele]

September Sun - Chapter One

Beginning in September 1984, the main character Donna is starting her second year of college, majoring in archaeology (aged 19) in New York City. Peter is therefore 22 years old, in his band Carnivore when the story begins! Peter and Donna meet in a cafe…

Link to my masterlist.

!!PICTURE IS NOT MINE!!

Enjoy, I hope!! Sorry if it's clunky or somethin'. I am trying! And feel free to drop suggestions or feedback! I'd love to hear a bit from readers, if I happen to have any readers. <3

Edit note: I have changed to having the main character be named “Donna Marie Eisele,” somewhat inspired by Donna White, but NOT meant to actually be her in any way!!! ***Besides some key details about Peter/Carnivore in the beginning, please note that this is purely fictional!!*** With that out of the way, please enjoy. 😅 

I wander down the street, tote bag on my arm with my archaeology textbook inside. The mild September sun seems to smile down on the city streets as I make my way to my favorite coffee shop. It’s a place I tend to frequent, seeking it in lieu of the university library when the library gets boring.

I’m wearing my favorite pair of somewhat baggy jeans, belt, and a loose, cropped shirt, perfect for the warm weather in the 70s. After the heat of summer, the weather feels so good and my mood honestly could not be better. Back for my second year of college at NYU, life seems to be looking up.

Walking into the coffee shop, I glance around, clocking the people inside. The usual barista with the short bleached blond hair. A few men reading newspapers. A couple ladies deep in a gossip session. And then… in the corner, at a table by the window, a very cute (um, hot!!) young man.

It seems he’s about my age, but then again, I don’t have the utmost confidence in my ability to predict ages. But he is perhaps one of the cutest guys I’ve ever seen. I look away quickly before it seems like I’m being rude, but I had looked long enough to notice his seemingly pale yet intense eyes, fluffy brown shoulder-length hair, and fashion. Dark jeans, work boots, and a seemingly self-cut orange tank top that perfectly displayed the tattoos on both of his impressive biceps. (See pic at top of page! It’s one of my favorite pics of him).

I feel my heart speed up a bit, giddy with a combination of the cheerful weather of the day and the super cute guy I just saw. Trying to act normal and stop myself from looking at him AGAIN, I walk up to the ordering counter, smiling politely at the barista.

“Welcome in, what can I get for you?” She asks.

“Hmm…” I scan the menu. “I’ll have an iced chai.” I pause, glancing at the bakery case. “And a bear claw.”

“Good choice, those are my favorite,” she replies, chuckling a bit. She gets my name and writes it on the cup, setting it aside for her coworker to make my latte.

I root through my tote bag that I’ve hand-painted with little watermelon slices, grabbing my wallet and pulling out some cash. 

Sliding my pastry to me inside a small bag, the barista sums up the cost. “That’ll be six fifty for you today.”

I count out a five dollar bill and a couple ones, about to set them on the counter.

“Excuse me?” A deep voice, with what I’ve learned to be a Brooklyn accent, interrupts the exchange between me and the barista. 

I turn, curious, to see— the cute guy that was just sitting across the cafe from me. And he’s even cuter up close. And tall. Oh fuck. I know this is gonna be going in my journal entry tonight. Heart racing, I feel frozen, trying to tell myself to calm down. “Hm?” I ask, keeping my cool.

“Would it be alright if I, uh, paid for your order?” He smiles sheepishly, meeting my eyes with his soft yet intense bluish eyes, fidgeting with some cash in his hand.

“Uh— yeah—“ I stumble over my words, knowing my face must be decently pink right now. I glance at the barista, feeling a bit overwhelmed and unable to form a full sentence. Guys never just talked to me. Let alone super hot, tall guys.

He clears his throat, placing a ten dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change.”

The barista thanks him and I stuff my wallet and unused cash back in my tote, grabbing the bear claw.

“Uh, thank you.” I smile shyly up at him.

The guy runs his fingers through his hair, brushing aside some of it that had fallen into his face. “Hey, no problem. And. Um. If you want, there’s an empty spot at the table I was at?”

“Why not,” I reply, knowing this is my chance, and he seems nice enough. Not a creep.

This earns back a charming, crooked smile from him. Which is so worth it. I didn’t think it was possible, but he looks even cuter when he smiles.

I follow him over to his table at the window, sliding into the seat across from him and setting down my bear claw pastry.

“So, what’s your name?” I ask.

“Peter,” he replies. “Peter Ratajczyk, at your service,” he adds, chuckling

I smile a bit. “Nice to meet ya, Peter.”

“What about you?” 

“Huh? Oh! Yeah. I’m Donna. Eisele.”

He grins softly. “Donna. I like that name.” His deliciously deep voice nearly sends me into a coma as he compliments me.

“Honestly? I prefer my middle name. Marie. I don’t dislike ’Donna’ or anything, but… I just like my middle name better. Always have.” I find myself rambling, shutting down my own oversharing before it gets too far.

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “I do like Marie. Donna Marie. Sounds good together.”

I feel my face getting warm. “Aw, thanks.” Looking at his gorgeous, decently long and fluffy brown hair, I feel the need to compliment it. “By the way, I love your hair—“ I find myself saying all the sudden.

He seems to blush a bit, running his fingers through it. “Thank you. I like yours too. The curls— they’re pretty. They suit ya.”

My fingers unconsciously move to okay with a few of my pale brown curls, the texture mesmerizing beneath my fingers. My thoughts are suddenly clouded with images of Peter’s fingers, gentle in my hair—

Our conversation and my thoughts are interrupted by my name being called to get my drink, and before I can stand up, Peter goes to get it, once again reminding me of his height.

I find my gaze flicking up and down his form, admiring him. He’s got the sorta muscles I’ve always wanted. I make a mental note to go to the gym later.

I thank him as he sets the chai latte on the table in front of me, not missing how small the cup seems in his large hand.

We sit and chat about menial things for a bit as I sip my latte and nibble at my pastry. As I finish the pastry, I look up at him, really taking in his face.

He sits quietly for a moment, meeting my gaze with steady intensity, trying to figure me out as I do the same with him.

“So,” he begins. “Where are you from? I don’t recognize the accent.”

“Down south, in South Carolina, actually,” I reply. "I’m here for college!”

His eyes widen. “Oh, college? What year? And what’s your major?”

“Sophomore. And archaeology! It’s so cool.”

He gazes at me in curiosity. “Archaeology, huh? Uncovering secrets of the past. Is that fun?”

I nod. “Yep. It really is. I've always loved historic stuff. Almost poetic, in a way. What about you? Are you in college?”

He shakes his head. “Not anymore. I majored in music composition though. And I actually have a band now— but I work for the city park service as my main job.”

“Oh, that’s so cool! What sort of music? What’s the band?” I lean forward, intrigued. A handsome man who does music.

He seems shy for a moment. “Oh, um, just this little band called Carnivore. It’s uh.. well, metal music. Like, heavy metal, I mean. Thrash metal, technically, I guess...”

“That sounds epic! I should check you guys out sometime.”

He perks up a bit. “Really? That’d be awesome. I can promise a front row seat if you ever wanna come. We usually play at little bars or whatever.”

I grin, feeling butterflies in my chest. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer.” I sip at my chai, trying to calm my racing heart.

He glances at my tote bag, with its textbook and pencils and notebook. “Hey, um, I don’t wanna keep you too long. I’ll leave you alone now, you don’t gotta worry—“

I feel my heart speed up. I can’t let him slip away. But gosh, my heart is racing and my anxiety is making me suddenly nauseous. “Oh, uh, okay— thank you for the pastry and drink…”

“Of course,” he nods, meeting my eyes. He stands up, seeming to hover for a moment. We stay there a second, just looking at each other.

I need to get his number. I finally break the silence. “Could I—“

But at the same time, he speaks. “Maybe we—“

I stop, letting him speak.

“Maybe I could get your number?” he asks politely, cautiously. “I liked talking to you…”

I nod vigorously in agreement. “Me too. Me too. Of course.” I pull out some paper, ripping off a piece and writing my name and number. He takes it, grinning. 

“Thank you. I’ll call you soon, okay, Donna?” His deep voice hits me in the feels again.

“I can’t wait!” I grin, watching as he leaves the cafe. I turn back to the table, pulling out my textbook. Wow. Peter. Peter Ratajczyk. I feel excited and hopeful about a boy in a way I haven’t for a long while now.

[rosehippiefield]

For the ask game ✨

Frisk from undertale and/or Kai from yttd :33

Okay, Frisk first <3

How I feel about this character

I think that there are so many interpretations of Frisk it's difficut to figure out their true canon personality. But when I was new to Undertale I kinda considered the pacifist route the true route. So I'm used to seeing them as soft all forgiving child. And it brough me comfort thinking that one kid could change monsters' lives for better, to stop the hatred and be the first to show compassion. Kindness is a strenght, Frisk didn't let anyone kill them, being determined to see it through but also to befriend hostile monsters. Of course, it is only true in one outcome... Technically we are Frisk, we decide whether to be merciful or cruel. But for the sake of having opinion on Frisk as a separate character I am going to view them as strong but kind child even if they are perfectly capable of killing everyone there. Even if that part of them is just as canon as pacifist one.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I can't come up with anything, mainly because Frisk is still a child so shipping them with majority of characters feels wrong. And also I think that it simply doesn't make sense for them to be in romantic relationships with anyone out there at that point.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Hm... I definitely could see Frisk and Monsterkid as good friends, especially since they are of the similar ages. Same goes to Frisk and Asriel, I really want to save Asriel somehow. Maybe carry Flowey to the surface with them? I've seen such AUs and I love the idea of Flowey experiencing more feelings. (Now I'm going to remember the Asriel fight and tear up gosh it's so tragic). But it would make sense given how Asriel thought Frisk was Chara.

Also, it would be cool for Frisk and Chara to be frinds too! Both halfs of one piece, both having the most impact on the monsterkind, both being influenced by us... They have a lot of similarities and maybe in the parallel universe they can just be normal kids. I remember in Chocotale they all were "good" but I forgot the details.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Hmmm... Honestly I don't know which opinion counts as unpopular... There were many debates on their gender, but as far as I understand it's up to each player? Frisk is supposed to be our representation so it's logical that someone would feel closer to the protagonist with more similarities. At the end, it's not important: what is really important is whether we spare or kill, not whether we do it as a boy or a girl. I headcanoned Frisk as a girl but I'm comfortable enough with imagining them as a boy. They are still Frisk to me.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I really woud like for all souls to fall at the same time, so that we would see friendship of seven (or even eight with Chara) humans. Imagine working as a team! Frisk would probably be the leader and we could have battles with our fellow humans too, solving their problems little by little. Also I looove the battle with Photoshop Flowey and how all souls help us, but the optimistic part of me wishes there was a way to save them all or at least have more interactions. I know not everyone can be saved but I just wish they all could.

And now Kai Sito Sato

How I feel about this character

He's not among my most favorite characters but that's simply because all yttd characters are so good! I still like him very much and he was my first fave in this game. I tried to predict my heart and by looking at Kai I thought "yeah my type I'm going to love him". Not exactly what happened in the end but his mini episode is still by far my favorite and I love his calm nature. I mean yes, he has emotions and he's got a sense of humor but what I really liked about him is also his tranquility. The ytts event with him, Mishima and a shell made me obsess over him for a short period of time. I jus feel calm and comforted by his demeanor.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I don't really ship him with anybody too. I don't ship many yttd characters in general, and I don't really feel like doing it with Kai. The only option in my opinion is Q-taro, but I don't know (plus I already ship Q-taro with Mai). Maybe I just need more interactions even if they have some in the sketches.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Kai and Q-taro are definitely this. They have mutual understanding of each other despite meeting each other in the middle of the death game (as we currently know, maybe they knew each other?). I don't see them as romantic couple, I don't even see them as friends but a secret third thing.

Also, Kai and Mai. Both cooks, albeit one is cheerful and the other stoic, I think they'd have interesting conversations. Or competitions because we know Kai is quite prideful about his skills.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Maybe I'm salty because I saw a lot of hate on my fave, but I feel like Kai is given a lot of slack for his actions. Not that I would want to see Kai hate and it's more of a funny thing but in comparison to Q-taro and Keiji nobody criticizes Kai for using Nao (I'm not even mentioning hitting Shin with frying pan because at that point many would cheer and Kai had reasons to suspect him with Midori scarf and Mishima vote). I could come up with explanaitions for his actions and I understand that he dies afterwards so we are not harsh on him but still... Not very cool... And he gets away with this. Though maybe it was discussed earlier in the fandom, it's always like "why nobody questions this guy?" "where have you been, we've talked about this for four months". So I rest my case. Wanna remind again that I don't want for people to hate him and it's like just funnier that he evades fandom's critisims stealthily.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I really wish he could be Sara's foster brother. He cares so much for her and if not for the stalking I could see her appreciating his presence. They could have such a healthy sibling relationship! He'd give her a lot of pieces of advice, while Sara would cause him to open up more. They are similar too: calm, even stoic figures that are surrounded by darkness. They both deserve better

[vievecorcityrp]

JOANNA DARLING

GENDER: Female

SPECIES: Human

AGE: 34

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

OCCUPATION: Detective at V.C.P.D.

DISTRICT: Hedon

BACKGROUND (slightly updated):

Joanna has lived in Vievecor City her entire life. She grew up with an abusive father, who was a renowned detective himself. His reputation gave him the power to twist things, bury evidence, or discredit anyone who tried to speak out against him, which made it impossible for his family to seek help from the authorities. At fifteen, Jo left home to escape the toxic environment. Barely old enough to fend for herself, she had to leave her five years younger brother behind. To this day, he still resents her for abandoning him.

When Jo was still a mere officer on the police force, her father lost his life in a car chase while on duty. The circumstances surrounding his death had many suspecting foul play, but when no evidence could be found, it was deemed a tragic but unfortunate accident.

About four years ago, her brother—married and father to two young children of his own—was diagnosed with late-stage pancreatic cancer. Desperate to save him, Jo made a deal with a powerful demon, trading her soul for his life. While some believe his sudden recovery to be a miracle, others brush it off as a mere misdiagnosis. Jo sees the pact as penance for not being there for her brother when he needed her and has no intention of ever revealing the truth to him.

Bound by her pact, Jo is manipulated by the demon to cover up crimes and to get involved with the darker side of Vievecor City, creating chaos while making everything seem perfectly legal and airtight. Mikah, as the demon is known to her, frequently shifts shape or talks to her through other people, keeping their true identity and appearance a mystery.

While the pact gives her a certain level of protection—other demons are dissuaded from feeding on her soul, though they don’t seem to know why—it also grants her the occasional superhuman ability, and shields her from mental intrusion. Still, Jo is keenly aware that being human puts her at the very bottom of the food chain.

Before her brother’s diagnosis, Jo was engaged, but she ended the relationship after entering into the demon pact, knowing she would not be able to live a normal life. These days, she avoids getting too close to anyone, aware that she cannot predict what will be asked of her next.

PERSONALITY: Pragmatic, closed-off, ruthless, cynical, protective, determined, independent

CHARACTER TYPE: Original

BLOG: @detectivejdarling

[hopefullyyoursmcg]

OCs that I have been cooking up because my fixation had me by the throat for the last few weeks. Part 1

DC:

Full Name: Amy Wayne Alias: Vespertilio

Occupation: Vigilante | Business Mogul | Fashion Designer | Occasional Actress Affiliations: Batfamily | Young Justice | Gotham’s Elite | Justice League (Loosely)

Fighting Style: Brutal, efficient, psychological, highly strategic

Public Persona: Gotham’s Ice Queen—admired, feared, untouchable

Vigilante Persona: A shadow, a ghost, a nightmare—the thing criminals fear

Origin & Core Motivation

Amy Wayne is the biological daughter of Bruce Wayne, born from a twisted scheme. Her mother’s family were human traffickers, and she was created as leverage to trap Bruce. Raised in secrecy, locked away in horrific conditions with no birth records or name. At age 8, Batman raided the operation and found her, barely conscious in a dark room. Bruce took her in and raised her as his daughter, choosing the day he saved her as her birthday. She became Vespertilio originally to protect Dick Grayson—what was meant to be temporary became permanent. She quickly realized Gotham could never truly be saved but fights anyway—for her siblings.

Unique Traits & Skills Masters echolocation and silent movement—moves like a literal ghost. Extreme pain tolerance (to an unsettling degree)—can walk on broken bones, remove bullets herself. Designed her own advanced liquid armor that activates from her bracelet. Highly intelligent—predicts opponents’ moves before they realize them. Never shows her face to the Justice League. Only Batman, The Flash (Barry), the Batfamily, Young Justice, and Wally have seen her face. The Justice League doesn’t even know her civilian identity.

A quote from the icon that is Amy Wayne:

"If people fear you, even your allies will fear you. Trust wisely."

The Perception of Vespertilio Across the DC Universe Gotham & The Public Feared as a monster—urban myths surround her. Criminals avoid Gotham when she’s patrolling. Gotham’s elite admire Amy Wayne but fear Vespertilio.

the Batfamily – Her True Loyalties

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

The only person she takes orders from. Absolute, unwavering loyalty to him. "If Batman gives a command, I enforce it. No questions asked."

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

The first sibling she ever had. Teasing and banter is legendary—Wonder Boy vs. Shadow. "I would go to war for Dick. No hesitation."

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Jason’s death shattered her. When he came back, she hugged him first—no questions asked. Buys him motorcycles, feeds him, protects him—she will never let him feel alone again.

Tim Drake (Red Robin)

Came in when she was still grieving Jason. Helped Bruce win the custody case against Tim’s neglectful parents. Wiped his tears the day Bruce signed the papers.

Damian Wayne (Robin)

The only biological sibling she has—but treats all her siblings equally. Respects him as a warrior but still acts like a big sister. "I will burn the world if something happens to him."

Cassandra Cain (Orphan) –

Silent, deadly, unstoppable. "Cass and I don’t need words. We understand each other perfectly."

Stephanie Brown (Spoiler)

Shopping trips, inside jokes, endless banter. "Steph is the sister I need when the world gets too dark."

Duke Thomas (Signal) – The Only Normal One

Her connection to "normal life." Takes him to "civilian things" to keep him sane.

The Justice League – Mistrust & Fear ✅ Batman – The Only League Member She Trusts. ✅ The Flash (Barry Allen) – The Only One She Respects. The rest of them don't trust her at all.

They found out she was Batman’s daughter when Damian called her ‘sister’ in front of them. They have never seen her face. They fear her influence and capabilities. She once told them to their faces that:

"If Batman told me to, I would take out the entire Justice League."

Amy Wayne & Wally West – The Power Couple Wally fell first. Amy let him in slowly. Their marriage is pure chaos and devotion. They wear their wedding rings on the job.

Oliver Wayne-West – The Purple Heir Oliver is the adopted alien son of Amy and Wally.

Imprinted on Amy when he woke up from his pod when he awakened from his pod after crashing in Gothom(fun fact in his species he is only 3 but in human years he is 13) and sees her as his true mother.

Deadpan, brutally honest, and too smart for his age.

The Justice League doesn’t know what to do with him. He openly calls them "warlords" and questions their ethics. Amy just lets it happen.

"Oliver, baby, you can’t just tell the Justice League they’re hypocrites." "Why not? It is the truth."

I have been having fun tweaking this character. Like making reactions by using ChatGPT and digging deeper into how my character would do in different events. I have been having so much fun with it. For I made a book and have been sketching Amy (though it is terrible) and have been enjoying making her lore.

Hope you love her as much as i do.

Also, there are way more characters that I have created!!!!! >:3