#the third unfortunately may be left to sit in my mind

[lovings4turn]

જ⁀➴  𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋  . . .  (𝐆. 𝐑.)

— two things are definite: you like george, and george likes you. unfortunately, you two seem to be the only ones who don't see it.

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! love this song and i was so excited to use it for a george fic, so i hope you enjoy <3

“oh mate, you’re joking.”

“shut up!” george huffed, running the palm of his hand down his face in exasperation. “it was not that bad.”

he could defend himself all he liked, because in spite of that, george knew it really was.

this was possibly the third time this month that george had fumbled his chance to ask you out, and alex was beginning to grow tired of his friend’s constant pining and lingering stares. 

“here’s what you’re gonna do,” alex said, his voice growing more serious as he looked george dead in the eyes. “you’re gonna ring y/n, and you’re gonna tell her you forgot something at her place. a shirt, socks, anything.”

"but i haven't?"

"not the point," alex groaned. "you're gonna tell her that, so you have an excuse to turn up there. this is your chance. don't be a stupid. tell her you think she's cool, that you like her, something to charm her."

george still wasn't convinced. his brows were pinched together as he ran over alex's plan in his mind, able to find a thousand different ways it could go wrong for him.

"right. and what happens when she realises that i haven't actually left anything there, and i just look like a massive twat for showing up?"

alex wasn't sure that he could take any more.

"mate, you can't just sit around and wait for some sort of fairy tale ending to come out of nowhere for you. at some point, you're just going to have to confess to her."

though he was being assertive, alex was still trying to be supportive, laying a hand on george's shoulder and delivering a friendly pat of encouragement.

"i can promise you she's probably thinking the exact same thing right now, anyways."

george scoffed, his answer hanging in the air unspoken. as if.

unbeknownst to george, alex was a lot closer to the truth than even he may have realised.

the events of the afternoon were playing on a loop in your mind as you tried to dissect every last piece of your interaction with george, from how he'd greeted you - a brief side hug and a smile - to how he'd said goodbye - a weak effort to get you to stay and a silly, yet endearing, wave.

was this your life now? driving yourself mad over even the smallest little details, all because of some stupid feelings?

when you'd first started developing somewhat of a crush on the mercedes driver, you made a promise to yourself that it would never become a thing. and you had kept that promise for roughly four months, until you made a huge error: revealing your feelings to someone else.

ever since you had let it slip to a friend that you actually quite liked george in ways that far surpassed the platonic label, you'd been - for lack of a better phrase - absolutely fucked.

now you had people to fuel your delusions, try to convince you that george had to feel the same way, and no, of course he wasn't just being polite when he offered you his jacket, you fool. outside interference and reassurance should have made you more confident in your feelings, maybe even push you to confess, but instead they'd had the opposite effect.

the weight of the word 'hopeless' in hopeless romantic had really started to resonate with you. though you weren't allowed to dwell on your misfortunes for too long.

some may have chalked it up to fate, some may have attributed it to a divine power wanting to laugh at a poor mortal, but whatever the reason, your phone rang with an incoming call from george.

the stupid candid photo you’d taken as a contact picture flashed up on your screen, and the automatic smile that painted your lips made you want to yell in frustration.

"y/n, hi!"

pathetic was the perfect word to describe you, thanks to how utterly gone you were for george, as the mere sound of your name leaving his lips was enough to make your heart jump.

"sorry, know i only saw you a few hours ago, but i just remembered that i think i left one of my mercedes shirts at yours when i was there the other day."

you didn't even think twice about it, why would you? george had left countless items at your place in the past, and he would leave more in the future.

"no problem. y'can always come by and get it, i'll try and grab it for you."

george's chest ached at how ready to help you were.

"yeah? you're a lifesaver, y/n, really. i'll set off now, should be there in about fifteen minutes."

brief 'see you later's were exchanged, and the moment you set your phone down onto the coffee table, your hunt began.

you didn't recall seeing one of george's shirts anywhere around, but previous mishaps had enlightened you to the fact that things could turn up anywhere. you'd thought that the shoes buried right underneath your bed were odd, until a sock turned up in your bread bin a few weeks later.

nothing was off limits anymore.

yet, somehow, no matter where you looked, you couldn't find the fucking shirt. frustration slowly nibbled at your mind, the sound of a knock being the only thing to break you from your frantic search.

an annoyingly attractive george russell greeted you when you swung open the front door.

in all of the years he'd known you, george thought this was the most adorable you'd looked.

your hair was in disarray, the strands unkempt as though you'd been running your hands through it over and over again. your face shone a little, and you were clearly a little out of breath, if the small, panting gasps you took were anything to go by.

your apartment was a mess, and george quickly realised that you'd turned your entire place practically upside down to try and find a shirt that wasn't even there in the first place.

guilt began to bubble up in his throat, and george hoped that, after today, it would all be worth it. he only had one chance, and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

before he could allow doubt to creep into his mind and sow seeds of regret, george lifted a hand to cup your jaw. the feeling of your soft skin against his palm elicited a gasp to slip from his mouth. the parting of his lips provided you with the perfect opportunity to meld your lips together in a chaste, sweet kiss.

feelings went unspoken, for now. time would grant you the chance to properly word every last affection you harboured for one another at a later date.

besides, george was a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words, and this kiss was living proof.

george forced himself to pull back, his forehead resting against your own, and he believed that to die like this would be a blessed fate. because you were definitely going to kill him when you found out the truth.

"i lied, by the way. there was no shirt," he mumbled, blue eyes meeting yours with a wince.

"you fucking dick."

[pennylanefics]

change - paul lahote

a/n: it’s been a minute, and honestly, i’m expecting this blog to be done with writing soon :( idk what to do with it now so expect less and less from me and more shit posting rather than actual writing. but here’s something!!

it had been quite a long day for the pack. it was only the third time that you and paul have met, and he broke the news to you that you are his imprint. but liking jacob, you refused to believe it was true. this led to you and paul fighting, jacob trying to get in, but making it worse, and paul wanting to just run off into the forest.

but, with his newfound control because of you being his imprint, he didn’t. he calmed down, took a few deep breaths, and stalked off to the guest room to be alone for a while.

the pack had dispersed, with jared and embry going on patrol, jake and seth heading back home for dinner after jacob had a chat with you, and sam attempting to check on paul. emily and kim stayed put with you, wanting to make sure you were okay and everything was fine.

however, you wanted to be alone for a while. all of this had caused you to become very overwhelmed and needing a break of just nothing. so, you head out onto the back porch of sam and emily’s house, stranded here because jacob drove you here.

you take a seat on the porch swing, throwing the cover that you brought out over your legs. the weather had cooled a lot and the smell of rain was in the air. unsurprisingly, only a couple minutes later, rain started to fall from the sky.

dark clouds took over yet there was no thunder or lightning, just a nice, peaceful rainstorm. you breathe in the scent of petrichor, your eyes fluttering closed as the sound fills your ears too. rain was one of your favorite things.

the way it turns everything a bright, vibrant green, or at least a green that doesn’t look dry and dead. the way it sounds when it falls onto the roof of a house, or leaves and branches, how serene it is to listen to on dreadful and mentally taxing days. like today.

rain is exactly what you needed to calm your mind. and you could feel it working. your shoulders weren’t as tensed and you were starting to forget, or put aside, what had happened today.

unfortunately, your peace was ruined by the back door opening, and none other than paul stepping out. he offers you an apologetic smile, one that reads he’s not looking for a fight, but to instead reconcile and fix things.

he cautiously sits next to you, as far as he can on the left side of the swing. he says nothing for a few seconds.

“you know, when i was younger, i never liked the rain,” he finally speaks up, staring straight out into the backyard of sam and emily’s house. you don’t dare to look over at him just yet. “i always associated them with storms, and lightning. and despite what my family told me about storms, i hated them. i liked sunny weather, when i could feel the sun on my skin and not have to be stuck inside all day.”

you don’t say anything, but you decide to glance over at him. he doesn’t move.

“then when i went through this transformation, i had a newfound love for rain. running off into the forest in my wolf form, laying down under a fallen tree or just out in the open of the forest, feeling the rain fall onto my fur and feel so incredibly free. no worries in the world, no responsibilities, nothing but the sound and feel of rain. and i also do like staying inside, getting to cuddle up next to a fire, or just under a blanket. because of my body heat, there’s no need for a fire, right?” you can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips, and paul catches this.

his head whips in your direction, and he smiles, happy that some progress has been made, at least in his mind.

“but most importantly, i think about coming home to you. you being there to dry me off after i’ve shifted back, allowing me to do so with a towel or cheekily helping me because you just want to be close to me. i long for that, (y/n). i long to be with you, and yeah, it may be because something in the universe told me that you’re the one, but also, having gotten to know you over the past few days, i have really grown to like you. and i know you have a thing for jacob and everything, but i would love it if you give me a chance. and i know what jacob has said about me in the past, and i want to prove that it’s not true.”

you still don’t say anything, but your eyes soften as he finishes his speech.

“jacob talked to me earlier before he left,” you whisper. paul puts all of his attention on you, his gaze filling with concern and worry. “he said…he said i should let him go and start new with you. that we wouldn’t be anything more than friends because you’re the one i’m meant to be with. i’m your imprint and that’s more important than anything.”

paul nods along, not knowing where you’re going with this.

“and i want to do that,” you admit. paul perks up and he turns slightly towards you. “i don’t want to focus on jacob anymore. like he said, i am your imprint, and i’m ready to accept that.” paul smiles widely and moves just a bit closer to you.

“so, would you want to stay the night with me? or is that too soon?” he asks. thinking about it for a moment, you reach for his hand, shocking him, to say the least.

“i’d love to, paul. cuddling and listening to the rain has always been a favorite pastime of mine.” paul chuckles and this time, he moves flush next to your side.

he hesitates, but you welcome him in by throwing the blanket over his lap. he accepts it, but going back to his statement, it’s not exactly needed.

“nice pumpkin blanket,” he comments, running his fingers along the fabric of it.

“thank you. a friend gifted it to me because pumpkins are my favorite fall decoration.”

“that’s cute. but you do know that i’m going to call you pumpkin from here on out?” he teases. you giggle and curl into his side.

“i’m okay with that. it’s a new start in a new relationship.”

[irregularcollapse]

A Storm That Took Everything

Part III of a fic preview to celebrate Damen Love Fest 2023

Day 3 of the Damen Love Fest, and in the third part of Chapter I, the Comte (a.k.a the Regent) arrives. The day 3 prompt is politics, which aligns with this section quite well—this conversation centres around notions of duty, of the intersection of business and family, and Damen's potential as a leader. Thank you so much to everyone who read, reblogged, and left tags/replies on the previous two parts! I'm so stoked to know that there's interest in this one. As I've said previously, please keep in mind that this is essentially a draft and may change when I eventually post it to AO3!

Part I ⚜ Part II

If Damen had not been told that the man was nobility, he is not certain that he would have known it. That is not to say that he lacks regality—more to say that he is unassuming. That is the word which springs to mind when Damen lays eyes on the visitor waiting in the parlour. Damen had taken care to dress, his best day jacket and a waistcoat in a muted Veretian brocade, trousers of a fine wool, polished boots and a new necktie. It is his preference, in general, to go about in shirtsleeves and workman’s trousers, a sartorial taste seen as suitable for a boy captain of imaginary pirate ships, as practical for a military captain of roughened soldiers, but not appropriate for a respected captain of profitable industry. Father had communicated as much to him one day with little more than a raised eyebrow directed at his rolled cuffs and dusty boots. Damen’s efforts, though, were perhaps unnecessary: his initial impression of the Comte is that he is a man of simple tastes.

The Comte’s dark hair, grey at the temples, trimmed and combed into a conservative style; his beard, similarly so; his suit, impeccably tailored but clearly well-worn. He is not tall (although perhaps Damen’s perception of such things is skewed by his own height), nor old, or remarkable in any other way. He appears more as a businessman than an aristocrat, of the same ilk as Damen’s father’s friends.

This is why it is a mild surprise when, after Damen announces himself and greets the man with “Comte Régis, apologies for having kept you waiting,” the hand that Damen shakes is as soft and un-calloused as any society lady’s.

“Your office did impress upon me that you are currently a very busy man,” the Comte allows, a politeness in his tone that makes no apology. “I understand that I come to you in difficult times, but I return to Vere on Monday next and these matters must be settled by then.” He speaks in Veretian, which Damen had begun with as well. Still, it brings a small prickle of annoyance to Damen’s neck: a typical Veretian sensibility, to assume their language will be the one to hold court, even when in an Akielon man’s house.

“Let me not take up too much of your time, then.” It is really something that the Comte should be saying, not Damen, but this mode of respect has always been in what Father has taught him about holding meetings. Damen gestures to one of the chairs, and assumes a seat himself. The Comte sits lightly at the very edge of the couch, and in his straight back and the way he dusts at something invisible on his own knee, Damen suddenly sees the nobility. “What is it that you wished to meet with my father about?”

“These are dealings older than you, I daresay.” It could be a joke, if it didn’t seem almost like a chastisement. “Your father and my brother, God rest his soul, had been in the midst of a negotiation around the time that the War broke out. Unfortunately, given the trouble at the border and my brother’s untimely demise, they were unable to finalise the merger.”

“Merger?” Damen has never heard about this before. The prickle that had sparked earlier now renews, but with a different cause: why would his father not appraise him of these matters? The expression that the Comte assumes in response to what is likely obvious confusion, is the expression of an experienced man who is tired of dealing with inexperience. A measure of condescension, a sprinkle of pity. It brings a tilting feeling to Damen’s chest, a sudden heat to his throat.

He will have to do better to appear competent, if he is to command the same respect that Father does.

“With the boom of construction across Akielos, and the push for a shift from agriculture to industry in Vere, it would have been mutually beneficial. Aleron had the idea—fanciful, perhaps, but an admirable dream—of a railway stretching from Arles to Ios. But then, all that nasty business at the border. And he and his eldest son met a rather untimely end.”

“My condolences for your loss,” Damen offers, straying close to blurting the platitude. He is finding it somewhat difficult to grasp the trajectory of the conversation, mind truthfully still divided: his father, wheezing for breath somewhere above their heads; Jokaste, her affections increasingly hard-won each time they meet; Kastor, whose moods take more of a turn for the surly with each day Father spends bedridden; also, the dreams—

“Did they fight at Marlas?” he tries, reeling his own mind back to subjects that he is confident in, assembling the image of assertive and worthy heir as best he can.

“They did not,” the Comte replies, rendering it obvious. “Although you did, didn’t you Captain? I have heard that you came away from the border exceptionally well-decorated, for a man your age.”

Nonsensically, Damen averts his eyes. The truth of it is that his command was earned, as were his medals, but the mention of them carries a vastly different connotation coming from a Veretian than it does from a fellow Akielon. Beneath the words, a slippery suggestion: your glory was anointed with spilt Veretian blood.

“In the wake of their passing,” the Comte continues, as though he did not raise any accusation at all, “I was unable to follow through with the deal. Not only because the War presented a complication, although I know that your father held some trepidation because of it. My duty lay elsewhere; my brother still had one son alive, and the boy had no mother to care for him. I was bound to step up, as father and mother both.”

“You do your brother honour, Comte.” There is a complicated muddle in Damen’s chest: he has lost a mother, and only now as an adult faces losing a father. He cannot fathom what the boy must have felt, to have parents and sibling taken from him so early. “It is a fortunate thing, that the child had you there for him.”

“It was merely what any decent man would do.” Damen feels himself grimace. There are lesser men, Damen knows, who would turn an orphan over to the care of employees, or even to the state—regardless of their relation to the child. “But this is also why I have returned to your father now, and not earlier. My nephew is about to come of age. He will no longer be under my legal guardianship.” The hesitation is bare, but clearly the pause of a man not in the habit of asking for help. The Comte visibly swallows. “I ask for your confidence, Captain Vasilias. What I am about to impart to you cannot leave this room. I have the sense, however, that you are a man of a measure with your father. Despite being yet unable to meet with him myself, I am believing of his good reputation. He is known even in Vere as a trustworthy executive. I know that you will also have the appropriate sensitivity for this.”

He has taken on a gravity, a sombreness, which is immediately affecting. Damen finds himself leaning forward, an effort to display the fullness of his attention.

“You have my word. I give it to you as the word of a son, and a soldier, and a man.”

“I know my trust will not prove to be misplaced.” The Comte pauses once more, a moment of consideration. When he speaks again, it is in low and serious tones. “I must admit to you that the d’Alier holdings are not what they once were. The assets that my nephew stands to inherit on his twenty-first birthday are a pale shadow of what my brother’s passing bequeathed to him. Much of Vere has fallen on difficult times, as you know, and a significant portion of the fortune was housed in stocks and bonds. Our construction interests stalled; I was forced to sell family properties to ensure our continued comfort. These estates had been built by our forefathers, you must understand. It was a sacrifice unlike any I have confronted before or since. I fear that I have done a disservice to my nephew, in neglecting to maintain the legacy his father left to him.”

“I am certain that he would not see it that way,” Damen insists, hearing the urgent attempt to console in his own tone. The story that the Comte has begun to tell, of a man simply trying to provide for his late brother’s remaining family, of a man having things well beyond his individual control blocking him at every step—it is one that could spark sympathy from stone. At Damen’s placation, though, the Comte assumes a minute frown. He shakes his head, as though in disagreement.

“You must realise, Captain Vasilias. My nephew, he is not well. He requires focused care, and dedicated attention. I have done him a disservice; the assets that will be reassigned to him are not, I have determined, sufficient to ensure his security and longevity. And as you may have noticed, I am myself not a young man. Even if I were to leave him that which is held in my own name—”

“I understand.” Damen has no wish to see an older gentleman driven to desperation, and it seemed as though the Comte would only become more dejected as he spoke. The interruption is a kindness for them both. “Are you seeking a loan? The terms I can offer you will be fair, I assure you. I will need to discuss with my brother—”

“I have no need of a bandage,” the Comte snaps, a sudden flare that strikes Damen well and truly dumb. The subsequent silence seems to ring in Damen’s ears, as he grasps unsuccessfully for something soothing to say. Then, an abrupt shift: the defensive anger is wiped, the Comte a picture of professionalism once more. Damen would be close to believing that it had not happened. “There is no longer a reason for the merger to be on hold. What I present to you is enough to warrant a twenty-percent stake in your holdings.”

“They are not my holdings, though.” It bursts from Damen’s mouth, wholly bypassing his brain and coming with a near-stupefied bluntness. Upstairs, his father still breathes.

“There is no place in these negotiations for humility, Captain. You know that Theomedes would defer to your judgement in this.” By the Comte’s account, he has never met Damen’s father; the use of his given name brings Damen to be the one to frown this time.

“I have sympathy for your situation, and that of your poor nephew. Truly, I wish the boy well. But the offer you have made to me could not be presented at a more inopportune moment. My father is ailing, Comte. Would you truly think it reasonable and respectful, for me to make such a decision for the company he built with his own hands, while he is so confined? It would make me a selfish son indeed, to name myself executive before he has chosen to bestow that role upon me.”

This new silence falls with a palpable heaviness, a distinct chill: a snowdrift, settling with no delicacy, only suffocating weight that deadens and freezes. Damen’s stillness, as much from stiffening under the penetrating stare which the Comte lays upon him, as from his own determination not to crack from the force of it all.

“I see,” the Comte says at length. There is no emotion to be picked from his tone. “You are indeed a man of principle, then, just as I estimated of you.” He stands, fluid and uninvited, and for a stretch before his brain and body draw level, Damen is left looking up at him. When Damen finally regains his movement and rises as well, the Comte offers his hand. The handshake, once more soft, but now even more incongruously so. “I do hope this will not bring you hesitance in accepting my invitation.” There is a beat before Damen takes his meaning.

“I confess that I have not read it, yet.” A neat explanation for the unfamiliarity of the crest: a shield for a Veretian noble family, and as such outside of Damen’s experience (and beneath Jokaste’s interest).

“It is a handshake, nothing more.” The actual handshake, relinquished. “I will be hosting a reception at the Akielon residence of an associate of mine—we are no longer in business together, but remain friends. His son was under my care, for a time, and so the relationship endures. It will be a small celebration, to mark the end of summer, and… well, perhaps not new partnerships as I had been aiming, but a promise of enduring goodwill, I hope. There is no reason why Vere and Akielos cannot be brothers once more.”

“An admirable notion. I will be humbled to attend, Comte.”

“I can promise you a memorable evening, if nothing else.”

Part IV of Chapter I of A Storm That Took Everything will be posted on day 4 of the Damen Love Fest 🖤🖤🖤

[12thperigeeball]

is there a drawn out map of the mansion ?? it would be great to have for plotting and stuff

Hi anon!

So i'm gonna be upfront - ever since we got this like 5 days ago, I have been trying very hard to figure out and draw out a rough idea of what I believe the ball looks like.

Unfortunately, I have failed. I am not a skilled architect to place my ideas on paper and make it look workable

SO, TEXT DESCRIPTION IT IS. The ball has always left the grounds amorphous, so people have the flexibility to headcanon in what they need or want to have at a ball, as well as allow people to create their own backdrops for their RPs that they need (such as hedge mazes, kitchens, VIP rooms, secret evil bunker lair under the mansion, whatever!) to achieve whatever their RP threads aim to do!

Here are some things to keep in mind, under the cut:

Canonically, the ball is held in a mansion tucked away at the base of a valley between two mountains near a major city. Far enough away to sell the illusion of being removed from society, yet close enough that it isn't difficult for even the lowest caste of troll to hitch a ride there. The mansion itself is large, with a U shape that hugs a small lake that has pooled in the valley. This leaves the ball with a lovely view of the water and privacy for those who will stay there. The lake itself is swimmable, and has a handful of boats that allow people to traverse it for a romantic moment. The boats, however, are limited, so reserve your turn ahead of time!

As of the 12th Perigee Ball 2022, one of the cliffs that surround the lake was destroyed after the ball ended after an unruly guest with a rocket launcher broke the 'no live weapons' rule. Kilran honestly should have seen it coming.

As of 12th Perigee Ball 2023, with the funding of a VERY rich fuschia clown ancestor-in-law, the cliff has been repaired, re-planted with foliage, and the lake even got terraformed into a heart shape, increasing it's appeal to guests.

The mansion is quite lavish on the inside with a custom foyer depicting paintings of the previous ball Kings and Queens leading into a gargantuan, three level ballroom. On the first floor, social areas with tables and couches are placed to facilitate a place to rest, while the second floor is reserved for dancing. A stage where performers and an orchestra can play lies against the back wall, near the doors to reach the wrap around balcony that allows guests to admire the lake.

The third floor is a simple balcony view, where the VIP guests can enjoy the main hall's music and festivities. These are connected to the VIP rooms, with their own dance floors, performance stages, and social areas. These are accessible through elevators and stairs just off of the main dance hall.

Outside of the ballroom is an extensively decorated garden specifically planted and geared towards beautifying a winter landscape. Ice Sculptures are common, as well as semi-private gazebos and pavilions for couples to have their own romantic moments in.

Next to the main ball rooms are the fully furnished dining rooms, which allow trolls to sit either individually or in a group and order from the waiters who will serve them food. When it comes to the feast time, a large table is placed at the front of the main dining rooms where the host and his personal guests sit.

There are multiple bars situated within the dining room, the ball room, and the outside gardens where trolls may order drinks, but alcoholic drinks aren't served until 11PM when the underage trolls are removed from the premise.

The mansion itself has social rooms for trolls to retreat to beyond the ball rooms. These are wings of rooms on the first and second floor, and are filled with crackling fireplaces and sofas for trolls to lounge on along with butlers who can serve them drinks and snacks.

There are further wings of the mansion that are blocked off during ball time. These are the personal bedrooms of the host, his personal guests, and any VIP guests who would prefer to pay to reside at the ball itself for the duration of the ball. They are heavily guarded with physical and digital security and trolls found leaving the allotted public ball grounds are rebuffed back to where they should be.

There are also spa, makeup, and tailoring services and facilities for trolls who rent a room at the mansion.

[raitrolling]

Vignette: Upskilling

[Easy reading version on Toyhou.se]

A soft breeze rustled throughout the grounds of the Espino Mansion as Eichio cheerfully toiled away in the garden. The weather was perfect for outdoor activities: the twin moons shone brightly in the cloudless sky, and the air was cool but not too chilly. The yellowblood was dressed in his usual uniform, somewhat inappropriate for gardening but were the clothes he felt the most comfortable in. 

Typically, a hedge maze only required one major trim a sweep, but Eichio enjoyed wandering through it to cut off even the slightest amount of overgrowth weekly. The maze was an exact replica of one from a movie his boss had recently watched and enjoyed, a twisting labyrinth with a minotaur statue in the centre. His boss had even gone as far as to commission a small wooden version of the maze, displayed on the third floor of the mansion, overlooking the estate grounds. The hedges were perfectly maintained, despite their inevitable impermanence.

Mister Espino was the kind of troll who hated stagnation. Deliberately allergic to any sort of routine, and considered boredom to be his biggest fear. As a result, the entire garden would be uprooted and redesigned from the ground-up a couple times of sweep, sometimes to match the theme of an upcoming event or simply because he had gotten bored of the scene outside his window. 

It was a lot of work, but whenever it was time for the garden to be renovated, Eichio was never alone. There were the temporary contracted landscapers, there was Gerrel (somewhat… Unfortunately, given his penchant for showing Eichio up whenever they worked together), and a few times Akiote had also been hired to assist (much more fortunately). He felt like he could be capable of taking on most of the work, but Mister Espino would never allow that.

‘It would be quite inefficient if one of my most trustworthy employees ended up falling unwell due to excessive overwork, no?’ The indigoblood would tell him, and Eichio would have to concede that he was correct.

Tonight, Eichio’s boss was also taking advantage of the ideal weather, opting to sit outside as he performed some chores of his own. One of his pistols lay disassembled on the wrought iron table, a cloth covering the surface so that no small pieces would fall through the cracks. Sprays and bottles of cleaning oil were sorted neatly on one side of the table, alongside an assortment of cloths and medical swabs. 

Just as Eichio was methodical with maintaining the hedges, Mister Espino worked through the steps with careful precision. One must always keep their primary strife weapon in its utmost condition, especially a specibus as complex as a pistol. Each piece was thoroughly sprayed and wiped down, then reassembled the same way he had done it many times before.

By the time Mister Espino had put the gun back together, Eichio was already approaching the table.

“Mister Espino, I’ve finished in the garden! Is there anything else you’d like me to do?” he asked, cheery and polite.

Mister Espino did not have any other tasks, but he also knew that Eichio still had the entire late evening to spare. If he didn’t give the yellowblood something, he would end up cleaning the already-spotless hive again.

Eichio looked expectantly at his boss. Mister Espino’s eyes glanced at the pistol in his hands. 

Then there was a glint in his eye and his lip curled slightly into a smile, as a new idea had spontaneously constructed itself in his mind.

“Say, Eichio. Have you ever thought of trying out a new strife specibus? One that may perhaps become much handier than your current set of projectiles?” the indigoblood asked, his tone very even. As if he wasn’t asking his employee something so out of left field.

“Um-” Eichio stared at the gun, then back at his boss. “I haven’t, but…”

He couldn’t turn down a request from Mister Espino. They both knew that well. So why…?

“Oh, sure! I can learn that!” He replied after a brief moment of hesitation, a well-practiced smile on his face. 

Mister Espino chuckled. 

“Ah, good. I rarely do get the chance to teach others how to defend themselves, and mentoring others is quite the fine way to keep one’s mind sharp, no? Just as I occasionally guide Jikiro in the kitchen, teaching someone how to use a weapon may assist in refreshing myself as well. And, not to mention, it would be very helpful to me if you were capable of utilising multiple weapons, as one never knows when an extra set of hands may be required.”

He stood up, displaying a fine lack of firearm safety by spinning the pistol around his finger, then daintily handed it to his employee.

“What do you say, Eichio?” 

Eichio didn’t know what to think. He was used to Mister Espino’s impulsive decision-making, whether that be having sudden urges to cook dishes or tearing down all the curtains in the mansion because he decided he now hates their colour, but learning to use a gun is… Quite a lot. He liked his noisemakers because they were perfect for throwing at trolls using his psiionics, and were more annoyances than actively harmful. 

A gun cannot do anything but kill. 

… But, then again, he has assisted his boss with his more… Violent hobbies before. Helping hold a troll down while Mister Espino systematically broke every single bone in their limbs, passing pliers that were used to rip off fingernails and pull out teeth, submerging body parts in formaldehyde for preservation or into acid for destruction.

And he had done it all with a smile on his face, as he was happy to assist his boss. Blood was unquestionably already on his hands, and Mister Espino said that learning how to use a firearm will help him in the future, so… What was the harm?

“Oh, okay. I’ll try it out.”

Eichio accepted the pistol, feeling the cold weight in his hands. It was uncomfortable, mechanical, almost surreal to hold. He curled his fingers around the handle, and placed one on the trigger-

“Ah, ah! First rule of gun safety, one should never point a gun at something they do not intend to shoot at. Now, where is your gun pointed?” 

Eichio’s eyes followed the direction of the gun’s barrel. It was pointed directly at Mister Espino’s right leg.

“Oh-! Oh no!! Um, I’m so sorry!” He immediately moved his hands, pointing the gun firmly towards the ground, and bowed his head in apology. It has been less than a minute and already he was making silly mistakes. 

Viltau waved his hand.

“Of course. You did not know, so there is no need to be so alarmed, no? However, when handling firearms, it is of utmost importance that one takes their responsibility seriously. Now, I will show you how to check to make sure that the gun is loaded.”

He takes out a second pistol for demonstration purposes, identical to the one in Eichio’s hands. Mister Espino preferred his weapons to come in pairs. Then, as practiced many times before, he unloaded the gun, showed his employee what an empty magazine looked like, and then inserted the rounds until the weapon was once again fully loaded. Eichio copied the same technique, first very slowly but then repeating the gesture multiple times until he earned an approving nod from his boss.

“It is quite impressive how such a highly complex mechanism can be so easy for anyone to pick up, in fact loading the gun is quite possibly the most difficult part of the job! All one needs to do is aim it at their desired target, place their finger on the trigger, and shoot. It is no wonder that handguns are standard issue for all fleet recruits, supposedly. Now, what would be the best object to practice on, hm…”

The indigoblood tapped his fingers against the pistol’s barrel in thought, eyes scanning the estates’ grounds. Of course, the answer was right in front of him: At the centre of the hedge maze, raised on an elevated platform so half the upper half of the body was visible no matter where one looked, was the bronze statue of a minotaur. All but the platform was movie-accurate, as Mister Espino had opted to forego making an exact replica of the garden in favour of its centrepiece taking on a much more imposing form. It looked like a demon, rising about the labyrinth that would spell doom for those who tried to enter.

Mister Espino aimed his weapon at the creature’s head, closing one eye and sticking out his tongue as he mentally judged the distance. Satisfied that one could make the shot, he nodded and looked back over at Eichio.

“Say, how about you aim for the minotaur? It would be quite an effective target, no? Close enough to the troll form that one can tell where a shot may be fatal, and yet lacking the realism and charisma that a troll’s face may evoke.”

Eichio nodded, and obediently raised the gun at the statue.

He thought of how he had seen his boss’ stance whenever he was using his strife specibus. Always so casual, as if he was simply playing with a toy. Eichio mimicked what he had seen from him, relaxing his shoulders and tilting the gun so it was aimed at more of a forty-five degree angle.

Mister Espino tutted quietly and reached over, gently guiding Eichio’s hands so that the gun was now perfectly upright. With a few other light gestures, he adjusted the yellowblood’s posture as well.

“Keep it straight, Eichio. That will provide you with the best aim and the most stability from the recoil.”

“Mister Espino, don’t you always hold your gun sideways, though?” Eichio asked, curious.

His boss chuckled.

“That is only for those who feel confident adding a bit of flair to their stance. Perhaps once you have gotten the fundamentals down, you can try more complex firearm-wielding stances.” 

Eichio nodded in response, then resumed staring down the target in the distance.

The statue was a large target, the centrepiece of the hedge maze, and while not depicting a troll the creature’s form was still troll-like in stature. It was and never had been alive, but its torso was sculpted with such fine detail that Eichio could picture it as a living, breathing person. He lined up the pistol with the target, closed one eye in an attempt to steady his vision, and placed his finger on the trigger.

His hands would not stop shaking. 

Why? It wasn’t a difficult task, he should be able to do it fine. Gerrel could probably pick up a gun easily, why couldn’t he?

His mind unravelled with worry. Flooded with fear of being unable to be useful to his boss, of not meeting his standards, but - most importantly, the fear that by learning this skill and putting it to use, he would be taking a life with his own hands.

Eichio lowered the weapon.

“I’m sorry Mister Espino, I… I don’t know if I can do it,” he admitted, voice low in defeat.

“Ah, that is a shame, but it does make sense. It is quite a heavy burden to be the one to pull the trigger, no?” Mister Espino nodded, surprisingly understanding. He placed a hand on his chin in thought, looking down at the gun in Eichio’s hands. Then he hummed in affirmation.

“Say, you are very skilled at operating complex instruments using nothing but your psiionics, no? It is quite awe-inspiring to watch you play multiple instruments at once using them, indeed. Perhaps, then, we should instead try a more hands-free method, then? That way it is not your own hands firing the gun.”

Eichio considered that, then nodded. That sounded like a good compromise.

-----------------------------------------------

A few weeks later, a blueblood found himself tied up in Mister Espino’s basement.

The previous night, he had struck one of the part-time employees in anger after they had accidentally spilled wine on his white suit. 

In the past twenty-four hours, he had learned two things:

One, that someone with a reputation for throwing murder mystery parties can very effortlessly pass a drugged champagne flute to his target without his expression betraying him.

And two, the indigoblood pacing around the room and monologuing at him was serious when he boasted about caring for the wellbeing of his employees, no matter how low their caste may be. The noble blood that ran through his veins was worth less than the stains on his shirt caused by a mudblood. 

The indigoblood ceased his ramblings (the blueblood had not been listening, still reeling from the effects of the sedative), and stared him directly in the eye.

“Now then, perhaps you may have any last words?” 

The blueblood squinted. He was not fully cognisant, but he could tell there was no way the party’s host could kill him from this distance. There was no weapon in his hands.

“You’re bluffing,” he slurred.

The event organiser laughed, covering his mouth with one hand to hide a rather toothy grin. Then he held up both hands in a surrendering gesture.

“Ah, I’m afraid you have caught me! I do not have any means to kill you right here, nor do I have the intention to do so.”

His eyes narrowed, and his grin widened.

Behind him, the blueblood could see a golden glow emerge from the darkness. A psiionic aura.

Then, he felt the cold metal of the barrel of a pistol pressed against his temple - cocked sideways, gangster-style, and emanating the same golden glow as the figure behind his captor.

“But, I asked my most trustworthy employee if he could comply, and he was very eager to assist.”

The last thing he heard was the click of the unmanned gun.

[hypmicdaydreams]

#18 from the Love Epiphany list with Jiro pretty please?

omg this was my absolute favorite to write. tysm for the request anon, and i hope you like it <3

love epiphany prompts: sudden bliss because love is the most beautiful thing

it wasn’t quite ideal for jiro to suddenly daze off amidst this soccer match, especially when the ball was coming towards him and he was, well, the star player. they kinda needed him in the moment.

but it’s not exactly like he could help it. his body had simply frozen on the spot, entered a state of pure bliss. everything around him had canceled out, his gaze only on you and nothing else, as if there’d been a spotlight.

he had spotted you in the crowd, which was both fortunate in the way that you had come to support your team, to support him (that’s all that he could think of at the moment). yet it was very much unfortunate in that it completely took him out of the game, even for that second or so. seconds are very much important in a match, after all.

jiro spots you on the bleachers, chatting happily away with a friend while wearing the school jersey. you look good with the school colors on, and the thought enters his head, wondering how you’d look in perhaps his own jersey (though he erases that very much quickly). and the smile you have while you chat is cute, so much so that it brings him back to that state of bliss he feels each time.

he’d been thinking of you way too much lately, the somewhat studious student that sat exactly to his left in home room (and who he may sometimes or sometimes not ask for homework answers from). jiro doesn’t quite know why—the two of you were barely acquaintances perhaps. but each time your image pops into his mind or he sees you, jiro can’t help but stare. even now, that is.

his heart becomes quick, and there are butterflies there in his chest and this strange feeling that spreads throughout. but it’s bliss. it’s warm and strange, but it’s paradise for him. it’s a beautiful sensation, one that jiro can’t help but adore. he can’t put a name to it, doesn’t know why you specifically make him feel that way, but he doesn’t seem to mind. he loves this bliss.

“jiro!!” it’s not your voice, unlike what his mind had heard, but rather his teammate from right behind.

annd then the ball hits him, bullseye on the forehead in those seconds of pure bliss. hard. it leaves a pretty ugly bruise actually.

jiro falls down onto the grass, dazed and confused. until it hits that he was staring at you, then that’s when the blush overtakes his face. he had done it again, he groans to himself, even more embarrassed. this was the third, maybe fourth, time this happened that week—first with his odd job, then during his test, while he was cooking too. jiro was way too out of it.

and as he’s taken to the stands to sit out from having his mind short circuit so suddenly, he takes a quick glimpse back at you in the stands. he’s memorized your position there by now, and the concerned look on your face really only makes him warm all over, despite the ice pack he’s holding to his head.

then jiro groans once more as that feeling of bliss takes over and the realization hits. that wasn’t bliss—that was love (more or less synonyms or so). and jiro had a bad crush on you.

[mocheng-gusto]

Heya! Maybe this is a weird pair but may I ask for a NHS X JC with the phrase “Look, I’m not saying I want to date you but this is the third time our friends have caught us in a compromising position and I think we should do something about that”, with no particular setting please 🥰

Oh wow. This one ended up kind of long. You probably didn’t sign up for an exploration of aro/ace queerplatonic sangcheng but! I hope you enjoy it all the same <3 and it’s not weird at all! I really like this pairing and actually have a wip lying around for them (postcanon healing oof) so this gave me the perfect excuse to try my hand at writing them! I kind of really liked how this turned out so I might clean it up and post it on ao3 later (edit: here it is!). Thanks for the prompt!

“So…”

“No.”

“Look, maybe we should talk about it?”

“I’d rather not.”

Nie Huisang bites his lips shut and turns on the couch to face straight ahead. He tries to discreetly zip up his jeans but there’s no way he can be subtle in the thick atmosphere. Jiang Cheng makes no move to acknowledge him further, just sitting with his arms crossed, glaring at the end credits of the movie they had been ‘watching’ with such vitriol that it seems that all the creators of that lighthearted comedy had personally offended him. Instead of angry and intimidating it looks more like he was hugging himself. Pitiful, Huaisang would say but he didn’t have a death wish.

The door opens with a bang once more and Jiang Cheng visibly flinches.

“Sorry!” Wei Wuxian enters the apartment like a whirlwind. “I, kinda just, uhm, forgot my things?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and just heads straight to his room, leaving Lan Wangji awkwardly standing in the doorway.

Nie Huaisang sighs and stands up to stretch his legs and grab the remote. “Don’t worry Wei-xiong.” He says with an exaggerated sigh. “I was just about to leave.”

Wei Wuxian comes out still shoving random pieces of clothing into his backpack, nodding effusively while very clearly avoiding eye contact with either of them. “Oh don’t mind me. I won’t be back until tomorrow evening so you can just stay on my room. Or, if you don’t need the extra bed then-”

“Are you leaving or not?!” Jiang Cheng snaps and grabs one of the sturdier cushions.

Everything becomes dead silent for three whole seconds before Wei Wuxian composes himself. “Definitely leaving, forget I was even here! He grabbed his shoes, not even bothering to put them back on in his haste. “There’s left overs in the fridge.” A heavy pause settles and Nie Huaisang has the sense to avoid the line of fire before it’s too late. “There’s condoms in my nightstand!” He flees and milliseconds later the cushion crashes against the closed door.

The following silence is worse than the one after the first interruption. The credits end and now even the background noise is gone.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes and sits back on the couch, the distance between them wide enough to fit the elephant in the room.

“I’m still of the opinion that we should talk about it.”

“Weren’t you leaving too?” Jiang Cheng tries to cut him with his barbed words.

Unfortunately for him, Nie Huaisang is not impressed by this display. After growing up with Nie Mingjue his skin is thicker than even Wei Wuxian’s.

“Nope! It’s late. And even if you kick me out, Wei-xiong already let me crash in.” He idly browses through the catalogue and picks an old episode from a series they’re watching together. “I mean, is it that big of a deal?”

“Oh my god just shut up-”

“And it wasn’t even a hookup!” Hasn’t been, and not for a lack of effort. Why do their friends have such perfect timing as to always find them in compromising positions every time things get saucy? “ChengCheng, just chill.” The mocking nickname finally gets Jiang Cheng’s eyes on him.

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

“Those are big words! I never said I was!” He wouldn’t taunt him with something that might come out as cruel. “But they don’t need to know that.”

Jiang Cheng makes a face like he’d tasted something bitter. “For what? And just lie?”

What a paragon of virtue. “Not a lie, technically. If people want a label why not just give it to them?”

“And have your brother give me a shovel talk? No thanks.”

“Aw come on Jiang-xiong, like your sister wouldn’t rip me to pieces too.” Da-ge would most certainly not understand, but he has never understood Nie Huaisang so he’d just shake his head and tell him to be safe.

“Why would you want to date me?” Jiang Cheng hugs himself tighter. “I wouldn’t be able, to do all those things.” Nie Huaisang raises and eyebrow and Jiang Cheng sighs exasperated. “The candlelit dinners, the good morning texts, the-” he recoils with disgust, “pet names, the refusing hanging up at three am even though others have work the next day.”

Nie Huaisang would lie if he didn’t say he wishes for someone to sweep him off his feet and tell him he’s got the stars in his eyes, but it’d be weird coming from Jiang Cheng. Besides, knowing his own dealbreakers, he knows that Jiang Cheng is lashing out afraid.

“Just that? Sure.” He says with an air of lightness. “As long as you’re fine with me sometimes not being up to all of,” he points at the fresh bruise on his neck, “this.” Jiang Cheng looks at his own work and his eyes grow dark. Nie Huaisang wants to laugh.

He’s not repulsed by sex like how Jiang Cheng is by notions of romance, for him it’s just an activity. No passion, not mind blowing heat, just a fun thing to do once in a while when the mood strikes. For Jiang Cheng though, it is just like in the movies, all encompassing and a complete act of trust and vulnerability.

“So that’s it? We’re dating and pretending to be a normal couple,” even the word has him looking like he’s going to gag. “But in private, what?”

Nie Huaisang offers him a big smile. “We do this!” He scoots closer until he’s half on Jiang Cheng’s lap. It’s good that they’re on the same page of craving physical contact. “And actually sleep together. But probably inside a locked room.”

Jiang Cheng opens his arms and lets Nie Huaisang snuggle against him. The friction seems to remind Jiang Cheng’s body of what they were just up to, but it’s easy to ignore it for the time being.

Nie Huaisang changes to an episode they haven’t actually seen before so they can continue their movie night and it’s only after halfway through it that Jiang Cheng speaks again.

“I… I do love you.”

“I know.” It’s true, Nie Huaisang does know. It might not be in the conventional way, but he knows the depth of feelings they hold for each other.

“I’m just,” he says, tired. “I’m broken.”

That has Nie Huaisang turning to face him. “No you’re not.” He frowns. “You, Jiang Cheng, are one of the most loving and caring people out there. If others don’t recognize it for what it is then it’s their fault and they don’t deserve you.” He says with finality.

Jiang Cheng meet his eyes, tentative, and lightly kisses his lips. Nie Huaisang feels them tingle even from that brief touch but the other looks unaffected.

No, that’s not the word. He looks relieved, content.

Nie Huaisang’s heart soars and aches the tiniest bit. Jiang Cheng can’t give him something he’s not capable of giving, just how Nie Huaisang might sometimes not want to do things that in other moments he’s fine doing. They’ll just have to navigate this sort of relationship that no book ever teaches you about. But at the end of the day, it’s love. If other’s want to put a name to it even if doesn’t fit them, that’s their own problem.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t look at him like Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian look at each other, yet Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cerise-on-top]

I’m a huge fan of CSR and there interpretation for batter, could I get some fluff/angst of Csr!Batter x Y/n? Perhaps y/n and him bunker down for the night and share there dreams with each other, hurt/comfort is a trope I rlly like

Hurt comfort is good too! The more painful it is, the better! Unfortunately, I couldn't remember his dream at the inn near Midnight Tower all that well, so I hope this is alright! I just remember it vaguely! Also, this got really long! Like, fanfic length long, so I hope you don't mind! It's also not proofread since I'm in a hurry today ^^;

C/S/R!Batter and Reader Sharing their Dreams

Notes: Mentions of death and suicide

He didn’t even jolt up from what he saw. He better didn’t, the people next to him were asleep, thus rendering him incapable of making even a single sound. The words he swallowed down, would anyone hear them if he let them out? And if they did, would anyone listen? Batter has heard the pleas of other people, but he never listened. His tunnel vision, that ravenous mountain he climbed to get on top to succeed, swallowed him whole to show him what he truly was. Not a beast, not a monster. No, he was neither of those things. In fact, he was nothing at all. No purpose, no allies, no reason.

A sigh from the bed next to his caught his attention. Were you awake too? You better went back to bed, there was a hard day ahead of you. Whether he had the energy or not didn’t matter. Nothing did. Somehow, the mere thought was pretty painful. He had done what he could, he did everything right. He completed his quest, he got his reward, and yet, as he rolled over, he looked at you. You, who pulled all the strings. You, who made him do what he did. You, who left him an empty shell. Another sigh from you, more shaky and breathy than the other one.

And yet, in spite of it all, he couldn’t bring himself to hate you. You were still with him. Many reasons led him to believe you could have just left him, and yet you were still there. Why? How? There was nothing to him at all. Staying with literally anyone else would have been more interesting.

This time, you sat up, staring emptily at your lap, Batter assumed. The moonlight didn’t reach your face, but judging from your position, he was likely right. Were you okay? Did his pathetic existence bother you already? More so than usual? Or did you have a bad dream as well. “My Player,” he whispered quietly, unsure if you could make out the words and hear more than just words, “are you okay?”

The sudden attention startled you, given how you jerked away from the source of noise. Had you really not noticed him? So preoccupied with your own thoughts, they must have been painful if they made you cry. You were usually so cheerful and optimistic, quite unlike him. But rain can extinguish any fire, no matter how bright it may shine.

Having turned to the source of the noise, you were silent

 for another moment, likely collecting your thoughts. Or maybe trying to make out what he said. Either was fine and likely. But finally, you whispered back: “Why are you awake?”

“I had a rather unpleasant dream.” All four of his eyes were opened for once, he hadn’t even realised such a thing until he saw you stare at his second pair. Momentarily, he closed them once more, hoping you would forget the sight. Third time’s the charm, third time’s a sob you choked down. You were so brave, if only your voice hadn’t disagreed and cracked.

“Me too. Heh, they really make you think, don’t they?” He just couldn’t sit by idly and do nothing about the fact you were suffering. What kind of worthless puppet was he if he couldn’t even do such a simple and small thing for you?

“Would you like to go outside for some fresh air? I am certain we could both benefit from such a thing.”

Maybe he saw you nod, maybe it was just a figment of his mind, but either way, oh so slowly and soundlessly did you get up, waiting, expecting for him to do the same. Even in the dim moonlight, you kept your head down, hoping it would conceal the sadness in your eyes. The tears that flowed every time your heart cracked open a bit more wouldn’t dry tonight.

Taking after your example, Batter also got up, not as gracefully as he had hoped, leaving Ghost Batter to stir in his sleep and turn to face the other way. What little illumination there was aided him in finding the door, giving him a chance to not have to stumble around aimlessly to find his way. Opening the wooden craft, he let you go outside first, who hurried into the hallway, almost forgetting what the initial goal of going outside even was.It was only when the silence was disrupted by the door’s creaking that you realised what it was you had wanted to accomplish. Your companion was nearby, and thus you left for outside, where you could talk quietly.

But around midnight, there was little to talk about. Where the stars take up most of a conversation, nothing meaningful was said, as they basked in the empty praise they had been given in a beautifully haunted place. When the flowers slept and the owls ceased their lonesome songs in hopes for a mate, the night was finally completely quiet, aside from the two shivering, their hearts so far apart, they couldn’t feel each other’s warmth anymore.

And when the pointlessness of it all hit the duo, was when one of them decided to head back inside, attempting to leave for a hellish scape of voids and vandalism of their head once more. “My Player, will you join me in resting for later?”

A lack of response thrilled and filled his heart with dread up until its very core. Everything must have been alright, for it was up until mere moments ago. Perhaps his worries were for naught, perhaps they had meaning. And yet, ease and relief filled his mind for the shortest of seconds when your voice echoed in this town of abyss. “I wish I had friends to die with. Right now, I only have ones to die for.”

“Pardon?”

Clutching your arms with your opposing hands, you stared at the moon. When had it become so big? “I remember thinking that during my dream. They abandoned me again and it hurt so bad. I don’t know what to think of that anymore.”

Batter realised you opened up about your dream. And a dream was a gateway to someone else’s mind, their being of past, present and future. You left yourself vulnerable with him by laying yourself bare in front of him. He wanted to say something, he really did. You hadn’t been abandoned, you had him, didn’t you! …was he not enough?

“Everyone left me behind the same way I wish I could leave them behind.” During your small pause, he opened his mouth, wishing to at least try to convince you of the truth. But alas, he never got that chance. “When I was with my friend, someone put a knife in my back as I protected them. Without looking back, they just ran, leaving me alone with the murderer. No one came back, even when everything had passed. I felt myself bleeding out. I felt myself growing cold. I felt myself dying all alone when I was surrounded by people at first.”

No one came to your side when you needed it. He understood that. Very well, even. People never bothered to help him either, aside from you, so shallowly, to keep him alive and well enough physically. Whatever. He might as well appreciate your openness. “I met a faceless woman in an empty world. We talked before I entered a house, where I ended up meeting my demise through my own hand. Corpses of myself littered the hallway as I watched them slowly become more and more disfigured. I recognised myself less and less as time moved on. Until there was nothing. Not even me.”

How sweet the moonlight slept upon this hill. So useless, for it barely gave Batter a glimpse of your eyes, all he could tell was they were on him. His four that make people deem him more a demon than he deserved to be. If anything, they should crucify him and call him the devil, it would be more fitting.

“I’m sorry, Batter. It sounds like you’re going through a lot. For what it’s worth, I’ve also had dreams where I committed, well, suicide. If you would like, we can talk about it. I’m sorry I don’t know what else to do.” Your voice was ladened with the guilt of incapability. What else was there to do but to apologise for something you couldn’t do. But that was what partners were for, to listen to one another and try their best at helping.

“My Player, that sounds-”

“Call me (Y/N). It’s easier.”

What an honour that was. “(Y/N), do you think I have a purpose? A reason as to why I’m here? Something, that makes me more than just a puppet?” Genuine questions, even if they made him seem like a freak. At least that way he could say he was anything at all to someone else.

Sombre melancholy infested your tone with its malicious, but fitting context. “You won’t like my answer very much, but I don’t know. I don’t know what your purpose or mine is in life. I don’t know anyone’s purpose. Who knows, maybe there is no such no. No reason for living. All of us were just put into this world without being told what to do or who to be.” You took a step closer to him so you could get a better look at his face, giving it your best to smile at Batter. “But, even if there is no such thing, even if the universe doesn’t care about our existence, you can make your own reason. Look for one, even. If what you want to do is make people happy, then go for it. If you want to start a flower shop and see that as your purpose, then have it be that. What I’m trying to say is there’s nothing you can’t make your reason for being. You just have to try and find something that makes you, personally, happy. Oh gosh, I’m rambling. I didn’t mean to, sorry!”

“Make your own reason,” he mumbled to himself, repeating your words and considering them, giving them even more meaning in his head. Somehow, hearing that something like a purpose for being doesn’t need to be inherent is comforting in and of itself. It was so simple, and yet, he had never come to that conclusion himself. One hand washes the other, so he simply needed some input as to what his purpose could be. “What is your reason?”

“Simple: I want to make people happy. The feeling that I get to have made a single person smile while I was here, knowing that I was the cause, it fills me with more joy than I can put into words. It’s silly, but I just want to see the world become a better place.”

“That is a very nice reason. I can admire something like this.” Somehow, despite the adventures you have both gone through together, Batter has never felt this close to you before. You have shared beds together when there was only one, he has felt a connection with you, a strong one too, from the very beginning, and yet, all these moments paled in comparison to now. “Will I find my reason too?”

Your soft chuckle sounded, ironically, like heaven to him. “Give it some time and you will. You may not find it now, or tomorrow, but one day, you will have your reason, and then you can live life around that and feel better.” You were so kind. Your reason for being made so much sense indeed.

“Thank you. You are living out your reason very well it seems.” He couldn’t recall when the last time was he willingly did so around someone else, but he opened his four eyes around you. And even when you saw them, your smile didn’t falter.

It was a surprise to you to see them again after all this time, but you didn’t mind. If anything, Batter’s ruby red eyes made him more unique, even if he wasn’t particularly hard to pick out in a crowd, no matter the size. “Kind of, it gets a bit lonely here and there. But I’m trying, and that’s all that matters.” The chill of the night was slowly starting to get to you, but you didn’t want to leave, not yet. This conversation was flowing so well.

“I can believe such. Still, some people must be appreciative of your kindness, leaving them to become part of your life. They come and leave, but most important are the memories you make with them. Whereas they are painful and sorrowful as of right now, one day, this significance shall fade and you can look back at them with a smile and without the hurt.”

“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk, you know?”

“My apologies.”

“Nothing to apologise for. But you’re right. One day, all of this will be over and I can move on, you put that nicely into words.” There was a pause where you considered your next words carefully? Should you really be asking this? Well, what did you have to lose anyway.

“Batter, can I have a hug?”

How awkward of a question. Batter wouldn’t have minded one bit if you had simply wrapped your arms around him, but all things considered, you acting the way you did made sense. Naturally, he wouldn’t say no to something like this. “Of course. You are My Player, after all, (Y/N).”

There was no hesitation, only gleeful joy upon hearing this response. Still, for as melancholically happy as you were, you still wrapped your arms around him rather slowly, leaving him enough time to pull away if he so desired. But he never did, reciprocating the hug instead. He was tall and somewhat muscular. It was nice.

“I’m so glad to have you. Thank you for everything.”

“Same here.”

[seob-i]

Part 2.) Library

Things were going well for the girl, she had good grades so far, her dorm room and fellow house mates were nice and most importantly, she had many friends, which she all oddly met in the library.

"They left me!" Exclaimed the Hufflepuff, when she found the library table where her and her friends were supposed to have a group study- well, empty.

"'Lets have a group study together', they said! 'Lets meet up at the third table in the corner of the library' they said! And they aren't even here!" [Y/N] huffed, finally letting out her annoyance and sat down the table, placing her books down.

To be fair- it was also the girls fault. She was a bit late because she got lost and all, but Hogwarts was a big place! Of course she'll be lost.

It was all hallways, left and right, the stairs were moving too, which made [Y/N] panic and trip whenever she climbed the stairs faster, scared that the stairs will move while she's still in it.

She tried to focus, reading one of her books in hopes of getting at least one lesson in her head and also, chewing a cauldron cake which she sneaked inside the library, when she felt a slight brush against her toe.

She froze. Blinking, she contemplated. 'Someones pet cat perhaps? Or a spider?" Pet cats often get lost and roam around the castle, either looking for their owner or just wandering.

It could be a spider, the castle was old after all. Slowly, [Y/N] peeked under the table only to find 2 pairs of eyes staring back at hers.

"Heya Girlie!" "EEP-!"

She yelped in suprised and lifted her head only to bump her head against the table. "Ow.." "Uh, if you mind Girlie, we're trying to hide so-" "Keep quiet will ya?" The other boy finished with a wink.

Lifting her head, carefully this time- not bumping her head. She saw an irritated Slytherin, looking around. The student was drenched, with pink ink, it was all over him.

The Slytherin seemed to be looking for something, or someone. It was obviously the pair of boys underneath the table, they were giggling underneath the table, hiding.

He grit his teeth and exited the library. The two boys then left the table and stretched, dusting of the dust off them. "Great idea George, would've gotten caught!" " Have you seen his face Fred? He was like an angry Ogre!!" The two snickered.

They looked identical, twins. They both had red hair, the same smile and the same face. "Oh yeah, thanks for not ratting us out Girlie!" The other spoke.

"I'm Fred Weasley, -" "and I'm George Weasley!" The two introduced themselves. "I'm [Y/N] [L/N], I'm a first year.."

"Great to meet ya and all [Y/N], but uh, we've got to go!" Fred said, "I can already hear Percy's rambling about discipline!" And George finishes as the both laughed.

"See ya, first year!" Both of them waved good bye in unison. [Y/N] giggled to herself.

The next day, she again entered the library. Looking around for places to sit, she unfortunately found the library packed with students.

Glancing in the corner of the library, there she found a bushy haired girl reading, her eyes moving obviously concentrated on her book. "Excuse me.." Her attention now on the Hufflepuff.

"May I sit here?" "Sure, as long as you're quiet." The girl nodded then sat beside her. Again, she tried to focus, but her mind betrayed her.

She glanced at the girl beside her, now realising that the book she was reading was massive and she was already almost finished with it.

"Staring is rude, you know?" "O-oh! Sorry, I'm just amazed at how far you've read the book already! What're you reading?"

"Hogwarts: A History. This is a new version though, it's been updated. Did you know that the sorting hat belonged to Godric Gryffindor?"

"Really? That's so cool! What else does it say there?" The Hufflepuff's attention then got caught, and in amazement her eyes twinkled.

"It is also said that, During the- oh, my apologies. My name is Hermione Granger, you?" "My name is [Y/N] [L/N] it's a pleasure to meet you!"

The two talked, about Hogwarts, Houses, Potions, Spells and eventually, the conversation turned into random topics.

"I like candy, I carry a lot of them in my pockets. Though I gobbled them all up before I could even enter the library."

Hermione chuckled at the girl ,

"I'm not that interested in candy, my parents are Dentists, they said it's bad for my teeth."

The two talked for hours until they realised they have talked to each other enough. They bid their good byes and the girl left with a smile on her face, giddy that she made a friend.

Hermione on the other hand had butterflies in her stomach, she huffed. Someone was interested in her rambles. Usually, people were annoyed at her for talking about her interests or what she read about. To them, it was really, really boring.

But [Y/N], she was actually listening, the way her eyes twinkled as she grew more invested Hermione's stories and how she smiled whenever she talks or whenever she asks questions, got Hermione feeling some type of way.

Days passed and they met again, the girl never left her mind. She was always there, which in turn confused Hermione. Though, the Gryffindor only pushed the thought away.

"Good day, [Y/N]." "Hello Hermione!" Hermione pushes the chair, and sits on it, preparing her book in alphabetical order, getting her ink and papers ready. Listening as [Y/N] talks about random things.

"Snape gives me the creeps!" "Same here, he stares too much." The red head boy and his friend talked to each other.

"Oh look, it's Hermione." The read heads joy deflated when he saw the bushy haired girl, he rolled his eyes. Before he could even leave the library, Hermione spotted called the two boys over.

"Hello Harry, Ron." "Hello Hermione." Greeted Harry, while Ron only ignored the girl and his eyes layed on a Hufflepuff girl. "Who's this?" "Oh, this is my friend [Y/N]."

[Y/N] smiled and offered candy to the boys, which they gratefully took. "I'm Ron Weasley," "Harry, Harry Potter." "pleasure to meet you guys!" They smiled at eachother.

Harry smiled, finally meeting someone who didn't went bonkers when they knew his name. Most of them only even become friends with him because he's popular.

"Weasley? Are your brothers Fred and George Weasley?" "Huh, oh yeah, you know them?" "Yeah! They were so silly.." The Hufflepuff recalled as she chew on a sugar flavoured jelly bean.

"'course, they're my brothers." Ron rolled his eyes, he said unwrapping a candy quietly. Hermione sighed, only watched her friends eating candy, in a LIBRARY. She was not, by any means, impressed.

"Anyways, have you guys made the essay that professor Snape has assigned us?" She asked, Harry and Ron groaned, complaining about the essay.

"Oh! Is it about the Wiggenweld Potion? Oh I loved the story behind it! Though I haven't- " Ron asks if he can have a jelly bean "sure, take some! - done it though, the ingredients are really difficult to research on-" when Hermione was about to offer help, Ron suddenly coughs loudly.

"BLEUGH-" He spits out the jelly bean and started to wipe his tongue with his robe's sleeves while still coughing and wheezing. Desperately wanting to wipe the taste out of his mouth. "What happened?" Harry laughs at the red head.

"It was snot flavoured!" Ron exclaimed, his face in utter terror. After that, an angry Madam Pince kicked all the group out, leaving an also angry Hermione to teach Ron about 'manners' and a laughing Harry and [Y/N].

[d1stract-and-daydream]

Pudding (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

Summary: Kaz sits next to the reader by the bar, and it gets harder and harder for him to control his thoughts.

WC: 1.7k

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, sexual frustration.

A/N: I love Kanej with all my heart but I can't stop thinking about this idea so I decided to just write it so I'll be able to move on to other fics. I also might write a second part to this, which may or may not include smut.

Kaz's eyes fixate on your lips. Cursed pudding. He knows they're tasty—and so they're your favourite—but every time you scoop some into your mouth and close your eyes to savour the taste, an image of you spread before him starts swarming his mind.

His gaze moves towards your neck when you swallow, the sudden urge to attack your soft skin with his lips drowning his other thoughts—thoughts that should've been more important than this. It took him years to learn how to be okay with skin to skin contact again, and now that he can tolerate it, the more primal of human urges fizzes within him,threatening to bubble out onto the surface.

You hum in bliss, not realising there was a trace of pudding right at the corner of your mouth. Kaz's head starts spinning at the idea of swiping it off with his tongue, tasting you, tasting that goddamn pudding off your mouth. 

Ghezen, he mumbled, gloved hand flexing over a shot glass full of whiskey, his third one for the night. He's not sure if he's using alcohol to distract himself—or give him the willpower to sweep you off your feet and make you pay for the endless nights (and days) of frustration you've unknowingly caused him.

He doesn't know how long he stared at you until your eyes met his. When they did, you were smiling shyly at him. He looked away quickly and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Kaz, you want some?" You offered it to him, that sweet tone in your voice making his heart flutter and dick twitch. He studies your face, confused—because normally, you're not one to share. It doesn’t matter anyway, there’s something else way sweeter he’d rather taste than chocolate pudding. 

"No, I don't want to deprive you—and you have some over there," he points out, not missing the deflate in your tone when he refused your offer. 

"Oh—oops," you swipe your lips with your middle finger and proceed to suck the pudding right off it. Kaz lets out a hiss. It almost seems like you were stirring him on purpose, but he's pretty sure you're just that oblivious. Your tongue chases the chocolate smearing your finger, and suddenly he's thinking of you on your knees, lips swollen and wrapped around him, tears running down your cheeks as you choke on his aching cock. 

His left hand grips his cane tighter, looking for relief in other ways except that. He's the Bastard of the Barrel. He can survive this night without giving into the myriad of ideas he had involving you under him.

"One more shot, Jesper," perhaps saturating himself with more whiskey will help ease the longing,unfortunately it's not working as well as he wants it to.

Jesper studied how Kaz acts around you tonight. And many other nights before this. He gossips about it with Inej sometimes, too. They've noticed how Kaz's eyes will wander all over you when he thinks nobody's watching. "Here you go," he slides the glass to Kaz, trying his best to talk about the plans of the upcoming job that involve some jewels worth hundreds of thousands of kruge.

Alas, they might need to discuss this another time, some day where Kaz is not distracted by the sight of a pretty lady shovelling pudding into her mouth. Jesper doesn't blame him, you're very attractive—hell, he'd make a move if he didn't know Kaz secretly wants you. He also didn't blame you, because he's the one who introduced you to the place that sells that pudding, and he knows just how good it is for you to be eating it that sensually. 

"Tomorrow, then," he tells Kaz—or tries to. He's pretty sure Kaz wasn't even paying attention to anything else that had happened the past half an hour. Somebody can literally be cheating in on his Three Man Bramble table right then and he won’t even notice.

An hour has passed and it's getting late. You stood up to say your goodnights before heading back into your room in the Slat. You were an unexpected addition to the Dregs, recruited because you have fast fingers and light on your feet. That’s just a nicer way to say you were the only one who managed to pickpocket Kaz. Inej thinks she can train you to do what she does ,going into hard to reach places and stealing the secrets of important—and mostly dangerous people. The fact that you can control air is a huge bonus too. They can get away with taking bigger and heavier antiques using your abilities.'Business' is booming with you as their new addition.

You bat your eyelashes at the boys—your light and flirty ways of interacting a breath of fresh air among the Dregs. "See you guys tomorrow," casting one last look at Kaz, a last ditch effort at casting your lure. You had an inkling that Kaz might have the hots for you, but maybe you were just projecting. Oh, well. Perhaps you misinterpreted the way he looks at you, but after waiting for months for him to make the first move, maybe you should've just taken the hint. Rejection sucks, but you'll survive. Guess it'll be you, your hands, and your overactive imagination again tonight. 

Kaz lets out a sigh of relief as he watches your figure disappear into the night. He stretches his hands, surprised to find out how tense he had been. 

"We'll talk about this tomorrow, Jesper. I'm a bit wound up at the moment." Jesper snorts. 

Raising an eyebrow, Kaz asks, "What's so funny?" 

"Really?" Jesper retorts, "How long are you gonna spend pining over her?"

"I'm not pining. Over anyone. Now pour me another shot. And no further talk about this unless you want to sleep on the streets tonight."

Jesper raises his hands in defeat, choosing not to press further. The prospect of not having a warm bed to sleep in does not sound good to him. He pours Kaz's drink and slides it to him. Maybe sleeping on the street for one night is worth it if it means his boss will finally find someone. At the very least , he was hoping that getting his boss laid will mellow him a little. 

"You know," Jesper starts collecting all the empty glasses on the bar while Kaz tries to down his shot , "She's always joking around me and Inej that she'd sit on your face if you'd asked her to..." 

Kaz choked on his whiskey, his eyes glistening from the burn in his throat. "But of course, that might just be her delightful sense of humour," Jesper added, trying his best not to let out a chuckle and risk getting even more in trouble.

Jesper never missed the telltale signs of longing in your voice when Kaz's name was brought up, but he advises that this was not something wise to pursue—because everyone in the barrel knows just how dangerous of a man Kaz is. Trying to make a living in Ketterdam is dangerous. Trying to make a living in the Barrel—under Dirtyhands himself—makes life and death seem like a game of poker. You never know what hands you’d be dealt with each day.

You're stubborn, though. It's what your parents kept telling you ever since you're a kid. So, despite his reputation, you can’t help yourself from harbouring some sort of feelings for him. Initially, Jesper believed that you were into him more than he was into you. Well, after tonight, he’s not so sure of that anymore. It seems like the tension was mutual on both sides. 

"Jesper," Kaz warned. A dark edge to his tone, as he started visualising the scenario Jesper had put in his mind. A tent was forming in his pants. He'll need an ice-cold shower if he wants to be able to sleep tonight.

"Hey, it's not my fault you two looked at each other like that." 

"Like what?" 

"You know, like that—" his eyes roam the room looking for the right words, "like nothing else in the room exists except for you two."

Kaz scoffs,the choice of words Jesper had chosen a little too out of place with his way of life. It sounds too ...romantic. Kaz doesn't do romance. 

Shrugging at the scornful look on Kaz's face, Jesper continues, "and Inej told me—not to tell you of course—that the feeling is mutual, so I don't see why you have to keep all this," he gestures, "contained."

Kaz glares at Jesper, patience running thin. Why his sharpshooter had bothered telling him this, he had no idea. If it's true, though, then maybe… No. He can’t allow himself to think about it. If his thoughts start roaming again, sooner or later he’ll find himself outside your room and it’ll be too late before he realises the mistake he’d made. Any kind of connection with him makes you a liability—and the idea of someone using you to get to him is enough to make him want to send you far away from Ketterdam. But five shots of whiskey are enough to skew even the most sturdy of decisions. 

Before he has the time to process, he stands off his seat at the bar and makes his way into the Slat. He breezes through the flight of stairs leading to your room, and just as he was about to knock—he heard you. 

“Kaz,please,” you moaned—voice muffled,but it was unmistakable. You were moaning his name and the tightness in his pants prompts him to adjust himself. The whole ordeal sobered him up.

“What am I doing?” he scolds himself, rushing away from your doors into his room.

He wanted so much to stay and listen to you, to join in when he couldn’t take it anymore, but he can’t. There’s too much at stake. 

Kaz spends the night stroking himself, seeking for any kind of relief. Even as he lays there, empty, he still can’t get the thought of you, writhing on your bed, out of his head. After tossing and turning—and making himself come once again—he finally manages to fall into a restless slumber.

[xmcu-fietro]

Not to be that bitch, I wish you would write a fic where… something happens that you've already announced. Because those ideas sound great!

you and me both xD I’m dying to actually finish the stuff I've started, it just takes so long to actually finish.

I can definitely post some snippets here though (see below the cutoff)! Both of these fics have summaries on my WIP list. Also, some of this may be a little confusing without the context of the surrounding scene.

------------------

from Nobody

-

His fast metabolism hasn’t quite cut through the dizziness from the alcohol: “What?”

“I was asking whether you wanted a movie or a game, or something else.” Erik begins putting the emergency supplies back in their box. 

“Nothing. I’ll just go to my room.” Peter mumbles, keeping his eyes averted from Erik’s. 

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Yeah, but…” he shrugs. “I don’t want to bother you.” 

“You’re supposed to bother me; I’m your father.”

“I’m dizzy.” Peter tries for a different excuse, leaning his head against his palm and letting his eyes close. “I need to…to just chill out for a bit.” 

He hears the chair next to him creak lightly against the wood floor as Erik stands up. A gentle hand brushes his forehead, checking his temperature before reaching to cup the side of Peter’s head.

“Alright, Peter. Just come to the living room and you can lay down.”

Peter keeps his eyes closed, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. When he doesn’t respond, he hears Erik mumble something as he pries Peter’s hand away from his head. He didn’t even realize he’d been digging his nails into his scalp, but there’s trace amounts of blood under a few of his nails. 

“Please come rest.” Erik tries again, his voice soft. “I’ll go get you some water. It’ll help you sober up.” 

Peter complies, letting his father lead him to the couch where he wraps a quilt around him before rustling his hair. Peter wants to protest, but all of his fight was sapped out of him when his dad found him with no way to hide what he’d done to himself. Erik turns their electric fireplace on with a twitch of his index finger on his way out to grab a large glass of water. He returns, having also gotten some rugelach they had in the pantry.

Peter holds the glass with both hands, his fingers shaking. “Thanks,” he tries to say, but it comes out as more of a rough whisper. 

------------------

from 'Til Death

-

Unfortunately, jumping out of the attic window isn’t an option. And yes, Ralph has tried. He has a bruise on his shoulder to prove it.

Ralph has been stuck in the attic ever since Monica escaped, and apparently Agatha’s got some kind of barrier around his attic man-cave because the door won’t open and the windows seem cemented shut.

His flip-phone’s dead, he can’t phase through walls or vibrate glass like he normally can to escape, and everyone else is somewhere far away from him having some kind of show-down while he uselessly sits on the couch bouncing his leg. Also, the whole “double mind-control” thing from Wanda and Agatha has left him with some serious nausea and a growing headache. Maybe it’s best he sits this one out. 

At least I’ve got music up here, right?

Ralph almost hopes Agatha wins just so she’ll come back and free him. No one else would think to look for him there, so there is some chance he’ll die stuck in this attic. 

Maybe that’s a bit drastic. But he should pick a really good song to die to, just in case. 

Time by Pink Floyd crackles on the record player as Ralph stares at the ceiling, watching the minutes tick away in a painfully slow fashion. He moves the needle back a couple of times just to hear the chorus again. 

Maybe an hour passes; the album’s played through twice, and as the third half of Eclipse starts, Ralph checks outside his window one last time. 

‘Eclipse’. It’s funny, the sun’s blocked from Wanda’s magic. How fitting.

He fixes the record once the final track ends, and as the bassline to Breathe (In The Air) kicks in he sees the red haze moving towards him, cutting through everything in its path. 

‘Oh shit.’ he thinks, slammed with a wave of red static. 

[maraharme]

How are you coping with am everything and everything else in your country? Please tell me you are ok snd safe for the most part.

Hi

I'm fine, I'm safe, but it won't be for long. RuZZia will soon drag Belarus into the war. Atomic-nuclear missiles and bombs have already been brought to our territory - there will be a provocation, as Hitler provoked Poland to start a war (history repeats)

We have complete lawlessness going on, every day, like a lottery - whether you come home today or not. If you haven't heard, we have a policeman here, on vacation, shot a 16-year-old boy in the leg. Nothing to the policeman, and the boy - an article for hooliganism. And he was just sitting on a bench outside and playing with his friends. I have a question - there is a strict rule that says that when you go on vacation or retire, you NEED to hand over your weapons. So why the fuck is this son of a bitch, in civilian clothes, walking around the city with a gun and shooting at CHILDREN???? Unfortunately, no one will answer this question for me.

It's scary, but we Belarusians have been living like this for 30 years, but I'd be lying if I said we were used to it. No, we're not used to it. And no, we are not silent and do not sit in corners, as many write in the networks, especially Ukrainians. We also fight the Rashists at our own risk. Let me remind you that I have already written that since May 29, the police and all law enforcement agencies and authorities can just shoot at us, referring to the fact that we are allegedly terrorists. Well, you understand with the case of that boy.

I am offended that there are still people who devalue our exploits, our actions. I would be interested to see such people if they found themselves in our situation - when one part of the population is tortured to this day in prisons, another part was sent for compulsory treatment (where they are made into vegetables) and the third part left the country. So-so picture turns out. And this is not counting the number of dead and missing.

I do not know how else to stay in my mind. Perhaps because I'm trying to somehow distract myself from reality by reading books and watching fantasy movies. Otherwise, I would have been consumed by great anger and resentment for my people and my country - and this is bad, you can't lose your humanity!!! Of course, when terrible injustice and lawlessness are happening nearby, it is very, very hard.

But I don't give up, in any case - I know how to shoot an arrow 😂🏹

Have a nice day 🤗💋❤️

[fullsupersoniccircle]

shouldn’t be surprised that it only took me less than a week to start thinking up some sonic fic ideas, and each is so wildly opposite from the other

Boom!Universe sonadow, based solely off of seeing somebody say how Sonic and Shadow act like bitter exes to each other and my big brain went ‘WOOOOOOOOOOOOO’

then something with Movie!Sonic ending up in the Archie universe, idk man i just love the idea of Archie!Sonic getting to meet a version of himself that has a more stable life than he had growing up

this last one is nsfw bcs it’s Evil Dead. specifically the Musical version bcs why not

the Boom sonadow is really inspired by the Olivia Rodrigo song deja vu and my love of messy breakups and healing from them, sometimes that may be crying your eyes out or fighting your ex but then it’s followed up with intense reflection and shyly talking again and healing each other!!! understanding what went wrong and learning from mistakes!!!!

the Archie!Movie! idea could have a lot more to it, but again just like!! Archie!Sonic, older and figuring out things after Eggman finally stops his takeover bullshit and gets blindsided by young Movie!Sonic just appearing and through their interactions kinda gets a little bit of healing from getting to know what could have been had he not been a leading person behind a rebel group taking down a tyrant that constantly threatened them and their families. also this would be before the 2nd film and i love the idea of a young Sonic meeting an older Tails and seeing that dynamic explored

and then in stark STARK comparison to those two is just the Sonic characters getting inserted into a gorey, innuendo filled, catchy musical. it’s super easy to find the music and even some recordings of stage shows on youtube, and just understand it is meant to be pure and utter camp. the big downside of this is that i see this au as more visual than having a desire to write it, and it has been WAY too long since i attempted drawing any sonic characters lmao

anyways cast as follows

Ash-Sonic (leading man has to be the leading man yaknow? also everybody loves heaping a shit ton of trauma onto their fave characters!!!)

Linda-Amy (like, the most fitting character even sans being with Sonic, also super cute number between Ash and Linda before everything goes terribly wrong!)

Cheryl-Tails (feral Tails. that’s it that’s the explanatio)

Scotty-Knuckles (you could put Game or Boom Knux here either way would work)

Shelly-Rouge (one polygon titted)

Annie-Shadow (OKAY i could have Blaze here instead but listen. just fukciigng LISTEN SHADOW PROGRESSIVELY LOSING PIECES OF HIS OUTFIT??? SINGING ABOUT ALL THE MEN IN HIS LIFE BEING KILLED BY CANDARIAN DEMONS????? JUST LET ME HAVE THIS ONE)

Ed-Silver (listen my nervous bab just fits beautifully here, also when i was part of an Evil Dead production the guy who played Ed has big Silver energy)

Jake-Big (good ol reliable Big)

[nyeddleblog]

Hi!! May i request a sex pollen Andrew Garfield!Peter Parker x reader smut fic please 🙏🙏 like either he’s working on something to fight against a villain or a villain hits him with something?? Love your writing btw 💖💖

Sex Pollen. [Part 1]

Pairing: Andrew! Peter Parker x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: third person narrative, implied masturbation, I just know this two-shot is going to be long af... What's wrong with me and the build-ups, cliffhanger because of my shitty internet.

Summary: Reader can't take her roommate off her head...

FINAL PART.

She stared at his naked frame for a fraction of a second before looking away in embarrassment. Peter noticed, but to his eyes it was a valid accident; she had noticed his towel had fell, she analyzed what had just happened, and she looked away.

However, he didn't know how to recover from that. Their relationship was still weird; he knew her enough to remember that she washed her underwear by hand and that most of it was black, which was a pretty private thing, but he didn't know her enough to know her favorite color.

Of course this would make things awkward! They had been roommates for barely five months!

But on the other side, she had unconsciously memorized every inch of his skin. And the crush she was developing slowly increased; she couldn't work for the rest of the evening, too focused on trying to block the image out of her mind.

She got up from her long, exhausting day of pressing her thighs together, biting her lip, and daydreaming of her roommate, to go to the kitchen and steal Peter's pop tarts.

Something of his she had to get to eat, right?

Besides, to justify herself, he always got home s'mores flavored ones and he had to know by now that those were her favorite, right?

Unfortunately, Peter was (dressed) right there, eating his pop tarts and with wet hair, and looking incredibly hot... Oh god, was she in her ovulating period?

Nope, just wet.

"Everything okay over there?" he playfully asked, getting a bite out of a pop tart "Surprised that I'm finally eating the snack you always steal from me?"

"Uhh..." She suddenly felt overconscious of her pijama shorts, and her messy hair, and the smeared eyeliner in her lids from so much screen staring.

Peter took it as a cute reaction. It kinda remind him of those videos where people would find raccoons trying to steal their trash and the raccoons would just stand there, with both of their arms almost extended from how clearly guilty they looked.

She opened her mouth to deny his accusation, but the boy walked to the door beside hers and took his jacket.

All she could let out was "You leaving?"

"Yeah" he answered "Don't worry, I left you a one."

Her look went back to the box, followed by a genuine smile that for some reason would go around his head ever so often. "Thanks, Peter. Have a good night."

"You too, Y/N."

Once he left, some kind of relief washed over her shoulders. Probably because she could now daydream with the certainty that she wouldn't get interrupted, or surprised in the middle of something.

She bit the pop tart, sitting up in the counter as she balanced her hanging legs. The thought of Peter felt warm, it was such a nice feeling; he really seemed like a nice guy... Maybe for once she could date a good person.

She remembered when she first moved in, and she had thought he looked like the biggest dork this planet ever encountered. She thought about the suit he left on the floor the other day... Damn, this guy must be so good at cosplay.

She thought about him singing in the shower... Getting out of the shower... His towel falling off.

She choked on her last bite of pop tart.

This time, she couldn't stop the racing thoughts. His body was beautiful... She had seen him shirtless plenty of times, she remembered being surprised the first time she realized he had abs!

But hips down? She blushed at the thought... She blushed at the memory.

"Okay, Y/N. Calm down." she told herself, getting off of the counter to walk into her room "You barely saw him. You barely remember it; you can't assume anything."

But she did; she did and she let her imagination run like crazy.

It was the first time she touched herself thinking of a person she knew, and all she knew is that it felt so real.

"Fuck baby..."

This was bad. Daydreaming about him was already bad, but thinking about him fucking her? That was even worse.

"Love, you're doing so good."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"You're taking it so well, baby."

Her fingers worked on her clit quickly as she started seeing white; then she heard steps in the hallway, and Peter's soft voice talking on the phone.

"When the fuck did this guy arrive?" she grumbled out, sliding her shorts up her legs.

She heard his doubtful step near her room, almost as if he heard her. She breathed in, holding her breath.

Then the steps came closer, and three knocks were heard against her door.

She looked at the mirror in front of her, fixing her hair, her shirt and standing up from her bed.

"C-come in...!"

Peter peaked his face through her door, adorably saying "Hi!"

Shyly, she held her hand up in a wave.

"I just ordered some Chinese food and I thought you may like to join me, you know, to compensate with what happened at the shower?"

"Oh, you already compensated it!" she answered. He looked at her confused, to which she blushed and laughed nervously "You know, with the pop tart!"

Nice save.

"Oh! Yeah, but... But still."

The pretty smile he gave her was enough to say yes.

Peter's heart was racing, almost as fast as hers. He felt the need to tell her he heard her, to tell her he can smell her arousal from there, that he would gladly say all of those things and so many more because he's seen her in that way since way before she did.

But he chose to invite her for some Chinese takeout after a rough patrol, probably because he was an idiot.

And the dinner was as awkward as it could be.

"Did you finish the essay you were working on?"

She lifted her head from her food at the question. "I have a few things left to correct, but it's almost done."

"Oh, that's... That's great!"

She raised her eyebrows, moving her head from side to side as an "It could be better" signal.

He considered the subjects he could bring to the table to break the ice, have one of those nice conversations that they sometimes would have; but his phone's vibration interrupted the thought process.

He took a look at the screen and stood up abruptly. "I'm so sorry! I have to leave, hum..."

You smiled up at him. "Don't worry, I'll deal with the dishes tonight. Did something bad happen?"

He was already at the entrance, his jacket half way on.

"Kind of, don't wait up!"

"I never do..."

But she did, always. He left and she knew that she always stood awake in her cellphone until she heard him inside the apartment, because she wasn't able to sleep otherwise. Just like tonight.

She finished her essay, emailed it to her professor; took one of those late night showers that she would take when she couldn't sleep; and stood there with wet hair until three am hit.

Breathing in, she opened her door trying to check if his roommate had already arrived and she hadn't noticed, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

She wondered what could have happened. He never came back later than three, and normally; when he left early in the morning, he would arrive through the fire escape so the loud creaking their entrance door did wouldn't wake her up; maybe he came in through there and went straight to sleep?

Three knocks were heard, and once she checked the entrance, finding no one, she was shocked by the sight of Peter at her window...

My Store. My Art. Buy Me A Coffee.

TAGLIST: @itssvphia@allisonxmcu @kirishimas-wife @haroldpotterson (remember to message me or comment if you want to be added to my permanent taglist)

[syllvane]

graphology- kaz brekker x reader

a/n: here it is, my entry to @lxncelot ‘s writing challenge!! i chose to write kaz x reader with the prompt leaving letters/notes in each other’s pockets! hope you guys enjoy!

Kaz’s pockets are almost never empty, but he’s always aware of exactly what he has in his pockets- something as simple as that could mean life or death in the Barrel, whether or not he happens to be carrying a knife or a stone of a particular weight.

That’s where he found your grocery list, in his coat pocket, somewhere between his lockpick and a small stone.

Well, he didn’t know that it was yours, not by the contents of the list alone.

But there was the irrefutable fact that it was written in your handwriting, in the handwriting that Kaz had spent hours memorizing should the need to identify it arise.

He had always imagined that this skill would be used in the unfortunate event of your kidnapping, that he would use it to discern whether or not they were forging any communication or if they were making you write it yourself.

Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to memorize your handwriting.

In any case, there was also the fact that you were the only one at the Slat who would be bold enough to wear his jacket.

Standing in the middle of the street, Kaz Brekker smiled to himself, folding the grocery list neatly and tucking it back into his pocket.

He doesn’t return it to you directly.

You find it neatly folded on your nightstand when you return from your shift at the Crow Club, with no clue to how it got there.

You try to carry nothing valuable in your coat pockets, not as adept as Kaz at detecting when someone is trying to pickpocket you.

You keep a lockpick and a couple of stray knives in your pockets and a small roll of gauze, having nicked yourself on the knives on more than a couple of occasions.

You don’t usually keep stray pieces of paper, so when you feel one in your pocket, you figure that it must be one that you left in there accidentally.

When you pull the neatly folded paper out, it’s not your handwriting on it, but familiar handwriting nonetheless.

The paper is mostly blank, with only ten words written on the entirety of the page.

‘Why do you have so many knives in your pockets?’

You know it’s him by the way he writes the letter ‘k’- the rest of the words could be written by someone else for all you know, but you know that Kaz Brekker wrote that one letter.

You ran your finger gently over the words, feeling the imprints of the letters from the other side of the paper.

You held the paper in your hand and walked back to the Slat and into Kaz’s office.

“You know,” He started without looking up. “Some people have the courtesy to knock.”

He looked up at you, his blue eyes piercing yours before dropping to the piece of paper that you held in your hand.

An amused look flashed in his eyes.

“I could just give you a holster for your knives.”

“I like having the knives in my pockets- they’re easily accessible and-”

“They stab people trying to put notes into your pocket?” He finished, his eyes sparkling.

You smiled at him, your eyes sparkling as well.

“Yeah, something like that,” You said, setting the piece of paper down in front of him before turning towards the door. “Oh, and Kaz?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for giving my grocery list back.”

He fights the urge to say that he didn’t take it from you in the first place, that you left it in his coat pocket. He knows that he should tell you not to use his jacket anymore and that next time you leave something, he won’t be as kind, but he doesn’t.

After all, Kaz Brekker doesn’t make threats if he doesn’t intend to keep them.

He settles for shaking his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

The next time he puts on his coat, he really doesn’t expect another scrap of paper in his pockets.

Once was a mistake, something that could be easily overlooked.

Twice was a pattern.

He opened up the crumpled piece of paper, expecting maybe another errant grocery list.

Scrawled in your handwriting: ‘Stay safe, boss’

His heart skipped a beat as he read the piece of paper and he felt himself blush slightly- thankfully for the cold weather, the note didn’t make his cheeks any more red then they would be otherwise.

He was going to have to address this.

For now though, he tucked the piece of paper in a pocket on the inside of his coat, near his chest, shaking his head at how sentimental he had become.

‘Stop stealing my coat.’

That’s the message you found in Kaz’s own coat pocket and you couldn’t say that it was entirely unwarranted.

And it’s the message that Kaz sees again later when he’s wearing his own coat, though underneath his original message, you had added a single word.

‘No.’

Maybe he should’ve been furious at your defiance, at the very least annoyed that you were going to continue wearing his coat after he explicitly told you not to.

Instead, he looked at the note on his desk with a strange smile appearing on his face, feeling something dangerously close to happiness.

The third piece of paper that you leave in Kaz’s coat, much like the first, is completely by accident.

Only this time, it’s not a grocery list that you’ve left in his coat, but poetry.

And if that wasn’t mortifying enough in itself, of course the words had been written in his name, though it hadn’t been addressed directly to him. It may as well have been though, having been left in his coat pocket.

All of this left only one option- you had to get it back before he could read it.

When you opened the door to his office, you were surprised to see Kaz sitting there, though not as surprised as he was to see you in his doorway.

His expression twisted into something unfamiliar but before you could place it, he coughed and his gaze became steely once again.

“You still haven’t learned to knock,” He said pointedly and you looked around the office sheepishly before stepping back into the hallway, closing the door in front of you.

You knocked.

“No one’s home,” He said, his voice muffled from the other side of the door and you rolled your eyes before opening the door again.

“Liar,” You mumbled, though not loud enough for him to hear. “I need your coat.”

He blinked.

“Last time I checked, you had one.”

“It’s not as warm,” You said and although that was true, it was not the reason you wanted it.

He stared at you, as if sensing that you were withholding information, but he didn’t push you on that.

“Why do you insist on stealing my coat?”

“It’s not stealing. I always give it back.”

“Stealing, borrowing without permission, what is the difference really, when I would never allow it of anyone else.”

You didn’t say anything to that, didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t new information, but there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that it wouldn’t be spoken aloud. You would steal his coat and Kaz would be annoyed, as if this was something all the Dregs did. You would give it back at the end of the day or whenever you were done wearing it and he would simply shake his head, a small smile playing on his lips and he would tell you not to do it again.

There was never any threat of reprisal, never any threats at all. It was probably better that way- he was known for making good on his word and he would have never lifted a finger against you.

You trusted him absolutely and it had scared all of your common sense right out of you.

“I am going to go to the Crow Club for business,” He said, interrupting your thoughts. “I am going to leave my coat here. Don’t take it.”

You wanted to ask him Why don’t you just give it to me?, but you stopped yourself- you already knew the answer.

Giving it to you would be crossing a line in his mind, a line that he probably couldn’t come back from. It was one thing to leave it here, knowing that you would probably take it against his direct orders and another to give it to you, to watch you put it on.

You watched as he shrugged the coat off, setting it down on his chair. He walked over to the door, his hand on the doorknob.

“If you leave it here, I’m going to put it on.”

He stopped, lowering his head slightly before turning the doorknob and opening the door.

“I wouldn’t leave it here if I thought you wouldn’t,” He said before walking out, closing the door behind him.

You stood there with his words for a little bit before walking over to where he had set his coat down.

You put it on gingerly, as if Kaz might walk back in at any moment and change his mind.

You slipped your hand into the coat pockets and ran through the list of familiar items: lockpick, a couple of stones, a pocket knife, and a wallet that he had taken from a tourist earlier today.

Also there, a scrap of paper.

You unfolded it to see that part of the poem had been ripped away, leaving the very last lines of the poem in your hand.

‘You are home and there is nowhere I would rather be but in your arms.’

Underneath the last words, in neat handwriting that you had come to know as Kaz’s: ‘I don’t think I could’ve said it better myself.’

[silverhairsimp]

MINE - Satoru Gojo - Slutty Old Men Collab Submission

CW: Gojo is a whore, Voyeurism, fingering, edging, masturbation (f,m), instructed masturbation, cursing, hair pulling, choking (more like gojo just grabs your throat a lot), Gojo doesn't give you any aftercare (sorry).

Word Count: 4,238

A.N.: Special thanks you @cherrykamado for letting me join your collab! I had so much fun writing this! Also apologies it's a few days late! I honestly didn’t edit this or read it over. I was too excited to post.

Taglist: @weebaboobs @scarlettriot @butteringg

18+ below. MINORS DO NOT ENTER.

It had been a long 48 hours. The longest 48 hours of your life if you’re being honest. From the time you left Sendai, the trip to Otakamori, and fighting a special grade upon your arrival to the island scattered city. You all knew you’d have your hands full, but jumping head first into a battle where the minutes had turned to hours due to the cursed energy definitely threw a wrench in everyone's plans of having a smooth mission. 

You were thankful for your teammates and your ability to work together. Your years at Jujutsu High, and now into your third year at the University have allowed for plenty of time to grow close to your three friends. Even your teacher, Satoru Gojo, decided to follow your group of once troublesome teenagers to college. You all were so special to him, there was no way he was letting you all go. Or should he say letting you go. 

Without Megumi, Yuji, Nobara and Gojo, the success rate of your mission would not be what it was. With the curse exercised and the exhaustion settling in, you could hear the hot springs calling your name. Unfortunately, even given the beauty of Otakamori, the only way to your next destination was by boat. 

You find yourself sitting with Nobara at the stern of the boat. Watching the land grow farther and farther away, cursed energy still feels like it’s surrounding you. 

“I have a very uneasy feeling that things are far from over,” she says.

“You’re right about that. You think this mission will be extended longer than the last one?” you ask as you drop your head between your arms and lean over the railing. Watching the waves splash up against the boat. 

“You know Gojo Sensei is going to want to go sightseeing somewhere along the way.”

You laugh because she’s right. He always wants to stop places he has no business going to. “Wanna take a bet on how lo–”

“Kugisaki, y/n.” 

Speak of the devil.

“Gojo Sensei.”

“Satoru.”

He smirks when you call him by his first name, but doesn’t say anything about it. 

“We’ll be docking within the next 20 minutes. I just wanted to make sure you both were ready to go. I’ll give you the room assignments once we are on solid ground.” 

Nobara stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “I’m gonna go get my stuff. I don’t want anyone else touching it.” And she’s off, waving her hand over her shoulder as she disappears across the deck and down the stairwell.

You step forward, almost to follow her before you’re being stopped by a large hand wrapped around your forearm. He may have his blindfold on, but your eyes are locked on each other. You can feel it. 

“Our rooms are right across from each other. Hope you don’t mind.” Gojo says.

This mother fucker thinks he’s sly. He did it on purpose. 

“You just can’t get enough of me? Can you, Gojo Sensei?” The way you drew out the last two words definitely had the white haired man shifting in front of you. You’re almost certain he shifted uncomfortably because of the way his cock reacted to the words rolling off your tongue. 

“Hm? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” He whispers in your ear before walking away. 

Gojo has always had eyes for you. Ever since you joined his little team when you were in high school. Things got more and more progressive the older you got. He’d ask if you wanted extra training, not that you needed it, you were well on your way to being just as strong as he was. You’d notice the way his gaze would linger on your legs a little longer than they should. Only, that damn blindfold always protected him from catching your eyes. But you knew. This time was no different, he was up to something. 

It wasn’t long after your interaction with Gojo that the ship had finally docked. The man himself went over the room assignments but you could hardly focus. Your body was overwhelmed with the urge to take a dip in the bath and your thoughts were crowded with Yuji going on about how hungry he was.  

Once everyone had received their room key, you opted to check to see where Nobara was headed. It was no surprise the girl wanted to shower and do some online shopping while lying in bed. Seems like you were on your own for the night. 

You quickly make your way to your room while Gojo stuck around in the lobby to iron out some details for tomorrow. You were able to unpack and make your way to the bath without any interruptions. 

After rinsing off and soaking for a while, your muscles were nice and relaxed and you felt ready to shower and call it a night. You should have known your night was far from over. 

Upon stepping out of the shower, the bathroom felt much quieter than you’d expected. It was kind of late, and there weren’t many people around, but still. This was abnormal. As you reach for your towel, which had miraculously fallen to the ground outside of your stall, that’s when you hear it. 

A voice you’d recognize anywhere. 

“Oops. I must be in the wrong bathroom.” A playful laugh bubbles from his chest and his shoulders shrug to his ears. 

You move faster to grab your towel, but to him, it's no use. 

“No point in covering up now sweetheart, I’ve already seen all you have to offer.”

That doesn’t change for you. You pick up the towel and tightly wrap it around your body. Water still dripping from your hair, trickling down your legs. You can feel his eyes following each droplet, memorizing the pattern each one leaves across your skin.

“What are you doing in here Gojo?”

He hisses at your tone and the use of his last name.

“Making rounds for the night. And maybe I just wanted to pay an extra special visit to my favorite student.” He pushed himself off of the door he was leaning on and starts walking toward you. “Got a problem with that?”

You open your mouth to respond but you’re cut off with a finger pressed to your lips. His other hand is preoccupied in taking his blindfold off. “I know you don’t have a problem with it. Right?” Time stands still as your eyes meet. You know it's a dangerous game, but neither of you seem to care. His cerulean blue eyes looking deeply into yours. 

You start to shake your head, agreeing that you do, in fact, not have a problem with what is happening. The corner of his mouth curls up into a smirk as he removes his finger from shushing your lips, only to pull you in close by the back of your neck. 

Your lips are mere centimeters apart. Doing everything you can to not to look down at his, trying so hard to stay composed and maintain eye contact. But when Satoru drags his thumb across your jaw and stops on the column of your neck when he feels your pulse thumping under his touch, you crack. 

Your eyes flutter down to his lips, licking your own at how soft his look. Your eyes meet once more before the space between your bodies no longer exists. The kiss is messy, yet calculated. Soft, and hungry at the same time. 

Your focus on holding the towel against your body has become an afterthought when Satoru’s tongue pushes further into your mouth. The damp fabric drops to the flood with a soft thud. The cool air makes your body shiver and Satoru can’t help but smirk against your lips at the feeling of you writhing against him. 

He brings a hand to the back of your head, grabbing a fistfull of your hair with a vice grip. Tugging on it enough to where your head is craning back and you’re looking up at Satoru with lidded eyes. Your lips are still swollen from the way he kissed you. He flashes you a cat-like grin at what a little makeout session and lingering touches does to you. Your expression already dazed and he hasn’t even really started with you yet. 

“Been waiting a long time for this,” he starts. Still holding your hair in one hand while he begins to undo his pants with the other. “Get on your knees for me sweetheart, and hand me your phone.” 

With another tug on your hair, you’re slowly sinking to your knees. His hand lets go of your hair only to push you down further by the crown of your head. Once fully seated on your knees, you reach behind you and grab your phone off the bench next to you. Putting in your passcode and slowly extending it out to Satoru who yanks it from your grasp. 

“Come on y/n, these pants aren’t going to come off on their own, and my cock surely isn’t going to suck itself.”

You bring your hands up to grip his jeans, where the fabric of pants have already been parted at the zipper. Tugging them further down his toned thighs. The outline of is cock is so prominent in how it strains against his boxers. 

Slipping your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down and let his cock spring free. Slapping his lower abdomen once they're tugged down off of his hips. 

It’s the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen. Flushed pink at the tip. Long, the perfect girth to completely fill you up. 

The glob of pre leaking from his slit begging to be cleaned up. Your eyes meet his again as you stroke him, experimentally rolling your wrist and swiping your thumb across the tip. His hips thrust forward, trying to meet your hand again. 

It’s your turn to smirk. The way his lips are parted with a slack jaw, watching you as your tongue pokes out of your mouth. Slowly dragging the flat of it along the underside. All the way up to the tip. You swirl your tongue around his throbbing member while your hand holds him at the base. 

You pull away for a second, collecting the saliva in your mouth before dropping a hot string of it on Satoru’s cock. Rubbing your hand through it to coat him completely before taking him into your mouth. 

Your pace is slow and Satoru doesn’t like it. He wants to know what it feels like to have your throat tighten around him while he hits the back of it repeatedly and roughly. He wants to hear the sounds you’ll make as you can’t help but gag yourself on him. 

So he does just that. His hand on the top of your head moved to the back, pushing you down as far as you could possibly go. He pauses, holding you there for a second to press the record button on your phone. Only when he hears the beep does he let up. 

He lets up just enough to where you can bob your head on your own. His hand stays on the back of your head, not allowing you to pull off of him. Not even for a second. 

“Fuck. If I had known I could get you on your knees this easy… I would’ve done it much sooner.” His words echo through the empty bathroom. 

You whine around his cock and he loves the way it feels around him. 

“You let anyone do this to you? Or just your dear sensei, hm?” His tone is so condescending. But you can’t help the moan that escapes you when he says it. 

“I bet your sweet little teammates would love a chance like this.” and you can’t help but shift uncomfortably at the idea of Megumi or Yuji being here. 

Gojo wasn’t dumb. He knew the way those two looked at you. He knew how their gazes lingered every time you’d walk by them. He knew the things they’d whisper to each other about you. He knew it all, and he knew because he did the exact same. But they don’t have you on your knees. He does.

He thought about staking his claim on you by sending the video of you on your knees with his cock down your throat to Megumi and Yuji, but a better idea came to mind. 

With tears starting to roll down your cheeks, Satoru is typing furiously across your phone screen. The chime of a message being sent makes your eyes go wide but you’re given no time to ask questions. Not when Satoru’s hand is now digging into your roots, pushing you so far down on his cock that your nose is pressed against his pelvis. 

Within a matter of minutes (if that) the door swings open and two pairs of footsteps run inside. Two very familiar sets of footsteps. 

“Y/n!!” 

“Where are you?!”

The sound of their voices now competing with the bubbling laughter coming from Satoru’s chest. 

Your hands come up to Satoru’s thighs. Fingernails digging into the flesh as you try to push him off. But his grip only gets tighter, holding you in place. 

The footsteps come to a halt and Satoru finally lets you up for air. You’re coughing and sputtering as you try to catch your breath. 

“Look so pretty like this. What do you think, boys?” 

“Y/n… what is..” 

You finally look up. 

Megumi and Yuji standing only a few feet away. Your raven haired friend looks shocked and concerned almost. But you're usually, happy, pink haired friend, looks hurt and worried. 

You reach for the towel to cover yourself but Satoru is quick to grab your arms and hold you in place. “What.. what are you two doing here?” You finally speak up. 

“We uh, got your text…” Yuji starts. 

“Yeah, your 911 to meet you here. We got here as fast as we could.” Megumi finishes. 

“But I never…” you stop to look up at Satoru, who cracks a smile and says “Whoops. Guess that might have been me.” 

You lower your head down, not wanting to look at any of them.

“We’re gonna go then…” Yuji says, but the man to blame for all of this is quick to shut that idea down. 

“No, stay. I haven’t even fucked her yet. Can’t have you leave before we get to the good part.” 

Satoru pulls you to your feet and wraps a hand around your throat, holding you steady as he kisses you hungrily. His tongue invades your mouth and he moans at the taste of himself on your lips. 

His other hand snakes between your legs. Slipping his long fingers through your wet folds. Circling around your clit, making your legs buckle underneath you.

“So fuckin’ wet for me. You like having an audience?” He says against your lips. 

You let out a whimper and try to throw your head back but he keeps you in place. Not letting you go anywhere. 

“Take a seat you two.” Satoru says to Megumi and Yuji without breaking eye contact with you. The two of them can’t seem to actually walk away from the sight in front of them, so they obey the order of their sensei and take their seat on the bench a few feet away from you. 

With two of your best friends seated with a good view, Satoru continues his work with you. Nimble fingers still rubbing up and down your wet pussy. He drops his hand from your neck to grope and tug at your breasts. Loving the way the flesh pools between his fingers. 

His lips latch on to the column of your neck, making sure to leave his mark on you. You can feel heat rising across your face as the marks get darker and darker under his mouth. 

He can’t help but smirk into your skin at the whines and pleas that leave your lips. 

“Feels s’good ‘Toru. More. Please… I want more.” 

You reach down to the hand that’s between your legs. Trying to pull him exactly where you want him and he lets out a low chuckle this time. 

“You want more? Such a slut.” He says before taking your nipple into his mouth. Sucking and biting on your perky bud, earning more sweet sounds from you. 

You can’t even bring yourself to open your eyes. There’s too much pleasure coursing through your veins. You almost forget you have an audience until you hear a soft “fuck” fall from someone’s lips, knowing it wasn’t Satoru. 

Opening your eyes, they meet Yuji’s, who’s trying so hard not to palm the painfully hard bulge in his pants. Satoru can feel your body still against him so he pauses. Releasing his hold on you with a soft pop! He takes a second to admire the work he’s done. Smirk growing at each mark he left littering down your neck and across your chest. 

The rest of his clothes are pulled off in an instance before he’s grabbing you by the hips, guiding you to stand and face your two teammates. He takes a seat on the bench himself before pulling you down into his lap. 

“Spread your legs y/n, show them what a perfect pussy you have.” 

You look over your shoulder, eyes meeting Satoru’s again. How could you possibly tell him no. You nod your head and lean back further into his chest. Propping your feet up on his knees, giving the two in front of you a perfect view. 

“That’s it. Touch yourself for me.” He says into your ear. 

Satoru’s right hand is supporting you by holding onto your right breast, continuing to tug at your nipple and roll it between his fingers. His left hand comes up to your face, grabbing your chin and turning you to face him over your shoulder before he brings his lips back to yours. 

As your tongues push against each other you bring your hand down between your legs. Rolling your middle and ring finger over your clit, applying the pressure you know feels good. Bringing your fingers lower to dip inside your drenched hole. Another whine leaves your lips but is eagerly swallowed by the man behind you. 

You try your best to work your fingers deeper inside of you, straining your wrist to get yourself to your high quicker, but you know you won’t be able to reach that spot. Not when you know Satoru’s fingers would reach much deeper than your own. 

You do your best, working your fingers in and out of your pussy. But it’s no use. You stop your fingers and pull your lips away from Satoru’s.

“I need your fingers Satoru.” You bat your eyelashes up at him. 

“What do you think? You two think she deserves it?” He asks the other two boys in the room.

Megumi crosses his arms over his chest, trying to stay composed but can’t help the blush spreading across his cheeks and rising up to his ears. 

Yuji swallows thickly, nodding his head animatedly. His palms are pressed to his crotch as he tries to provide himself with some subtle relief. 

“Fine, but one condition. Neither of you get to touch yourselves if I touch her. Got it?” 

He doesn’t wait for a response before inserting two fingers. Already reaching deeper than you ever could on your own. 

His pace is fast as the pad of his thumb circles around your clit just as quickly. You throw your head back against his shoulder and everything feels much hotter. Your entire body rocking in his lap. He can feel you clenching around his fingers. 

Satoru lifts you up just slightly so he can reposition his cock. Having it rest underneath your ass. He’s pressing his fingers against that sweet spot that no one has ever dared to reach before. Your mouth falls open, a sharp gasp leaves your lips, mouth hung open in a silent scream as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. 

“‘Toru, I- I’m close. Don’t stop. Fuck. Please don’t stop.” 

As if he’d ever do anything you say. 

He slows his fingers, causing you to rock your hips against his hand harder. 

“Get up. On your hands and knees, on the bench.” He instructs you. And on wobbly legs, you move. You position yourself so you’re staring both Megumi and Yuji in the eye as Satoru positions himself behind you. 

Yuji can’t take his eyes off of you. Looking at your fucked out expression, the way your tits push against each other as they hang between your arms. Megumi too, he can’t help but look at you and wonder what it would feel like to be the one behind you. 

Satoru takes his cock in hand, running the bulbing tip through your folds. Catching it on your clit a few times, making you jolt forward as he continues to overstimulate your body. He's kneading at the flesh of your ass, tugging and spreading you open for him. Loving the sight of your thighs glistening from the mess he has made of you so far. 

He lines himself up and pushes in. Your walls welcoming him and hugging him so tightly. Sucking him in deeper. Your head drops down in between your arms with your weight supported on your wrists. Letting out a long moan as he bottoms out. 

Satoru’s thrusts are rough. His hips meeting your ass in a repeated motion. His heavy balls slapping against your clit. 

“So fuckin’ good - shit. ‘Ts so tight. Gonna mold you to my cock y/n.”

He punctuates his words with even harsher thrusts than before. He moves one hand to press down on the small of your back as the other grabs your hair in a makeshift ponytail. Wrapping the strands around his fist as he pulls tighter and harder. He pulls you up just enough so his mouth meets your ear. Whispering into it lowly so only you hear what he says. 

“Fuck, Yuji. Feels so good… ‘Gumi, harder please.” you cry out. 

Satoru grins to himself at the expressions plastered across Megumi and Yuji's faces. The two can’t take it anymore. If they don’t get some relief soon, they’re going to cum untouched. Watching you get fucked by their sensei. By your sensei. Hearing their names cry out from your sweet lips. They can't take it anymore. 

Megumi grips his pants at his knees, the flesh of his knuckles turning white and droplets of sweat start to form on his brown. He’s chewing his lip so hard, you think he might break skin. His nostrils flare as he tries not to think about all the things he’d like to do to you. 

“Megumi, please. I need more, nghn!” 

He’s lost it. His hand snakes into his pants. Stroking himself with a tight grip. Amazed at how much he’s already leaking just by watching you and hearing you cry out for him.

“Yuji! Fuck! Right there. Please baby.”

Satoru is thrusting even harder. Slower, but hard, and deep. Keening at the way your walls suck him in even deeper than before. 

Yuji doesn’t wait, pulling his cock out to stroke himself. Locking eyes with you. Imagining you on top of him as he’d thrust into you while you sit on his lap. 

“Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had. Holy shit. Gonna fill you up y/n, claim you as mine.”

“I wan’ it. Please ‘Toru.” 

He lets go of your hair, only to push your face down into the bench with your ass high in the air. 

“Cum for me first, gotta feel you cum on my cock.”

With a few more deep thrusts and a finger pressed to your clit, that coil inside of you snaps. It’s almost painful because of how pent up your release is. 

Your release is dripping down both your and Satoru’s legs. He’s only got a few more thrusts in him before he’s spilling inside you. Painting your walls white as hot streaks of cum fill you up. 

Just as Gojo cums inside of you, Yuji and Megumi each find their own release. Wanting and wishing that they were the ones filling you up, or painting your backside with their cum instead of having their releases coat their hand and abdomen.

He stills his hips, keeping himself inside of you while your walls continue to flutter around him. He bends down over you, caging you in between strong arms as he moves your hair off of your back. Pushing it to one side as it falls in front of your shoulder. You turn your head to meet him as he kisses you one last time before pulling out. 

“Hope you two enjoyed the show. This is as close as you’re ever going to get. Y/n will always be mine. Remember that, boys.” Satoru says as he picks his clothes up off of the ground. 

Satoru Gojo would fuck you in front of anyone and everyone just to prove a point that he, and only he, will ever have you. 

Without another word, Satoru speaks one last time before heading out of the bathroom. “Clean her up good for me, will ya? And don’t touch her. I’ll know.”