#I only chose ones that I have either actually written something for or I have written notes/an outline for

[whowrotethenote]

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Summary: What starts off as a regular Spring Break attending Wrestlemania for Alana, takes an unexpected turn, landing her in a fantasy come to life. The Tribal Chief is in need of unwinding after his victory and he chose her.

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC

Warnings: NSFW // Smut // Age gap // Profanity // Adultery

Word count: 8.9k (sorry lol)

Inspo: Biggest Fan by Chris Brown

A/N: This took way longer than it should've, but I'm actually proud of myself for finishing. Y'all don't know how many times I've started writing something in the past and never finish. There's drafts of unfinished everything on my laptop.

This is my first time posting my writing on any platform. I hope y'all like it. I tried to proofread as much as I can, but I'm honestly tired of reading it lol. I feel like I'm going to realize its shit and delete it all.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any media posted. Credit to their respective owners.

I do not consent to any portion of my writing to be reproduced or used in any manner without expressed written permission of myself, with the exception for the use of brief quotations.

This story is completely fictional. With the exception of OCs, I do not own any characters in this story. The pictures posted are for the intention of face claims and imaginative purposes. The ideas, stories, scenarios, and characters you are about to read about are a mixture of my imagination, and inspiration from real life whether it be loosely based on people I know or public figures. By no means should you take anything a character thinks, says, or does, as my way of expressing my own interpersonal beliefs and thoughts. The characters are themselves and I am me. Two completely separate entities. I am not trying to promote any lifestyle, ideas, or agendas throughout the book. I am simply telling a story. If you cannot grasp that concept, do not read any further.

“I wonder if the Usos will come out.”

“Yeah, probably,” I respond to my roommate Demi, only half as concerned as she is. The Usos are the last thing on my mind. They’re her choice of poison. I’m here for one man and one man only.

I survey the crowd of strangers surrounding us. All in Bloodline gear waiting for the same thing. The Main Event. They all probably spent a fortune months ago just to be in the very same spot she and I stole tickets for.

It wasn’t on purpose. We originally had nosebleeds. We were lucky to even have those, seeing as we snagged them just days ago. The frail older man outside the doors waving a chunk of tickets in his hand, was an angel in disguise. He waved and waved until two tickets went flying into the thick crowd of people all pushing to just get into the main doors of the building. 

Demi and I searched on hands and feet for those tickets that no one else seemed to be looking for. Imagine our disbelief seeing them all dirtied and stepped on by the door and they read floor seats. Not just any floor seats. The ones located directly next to the entrance ramp with a clear shot of the ring. Fucking jackpot.

don’t be acting all fanned out when he walks by either

I smirk reading the text my brother sent. Yeah, right. Maybe three years ago, a young Alana would’ve woke up tomorrow morning with no voice from losing my shit, watching the Roman Reigns walk by me. But it's not five years ago. I’m not a teenager in my room waiting at the TV with my golden glove on, throwing my one’s up and giving an acknowledgment he couldn’t even see. 

Who am I fooling? That teenage girl, although buried deep, still lives within me. Otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. I wouldn’t have spent the two thousand my dad gave me to enjoy my spring break on a plane ticket to LA, a hotel and tickets to Wrestle-mania 39. I’d be like the rest of the Juniors at my university. Bar hopping in Mexico or in Miami half naked strutting down Collins Ave.

I go back and forth between scrolling on my phone, daydreaming, and loosely watching the matches that come. Before I know it, the moment I’ve been waiting for all night and damn near all my life rises to the forefront.

The lights dim and the first beats of the drums ring loud throughout the stadium, matching the acceleration of my heartbeat. This is really happening. He’s about to come out and walk right past me. Everyone around me pulls their phones out on the ready, accompanied by a roar of screams just as loud as the orchestra performing his music. 

Too concentred on the entry way anticipating his figure, I forget I even have a phone. No, I need to feel this thoroughly. No middle man between me and this unforgettable experience.

We all wait in collaborative angst until his tall figure emerges and my breath gets caught in my throat. The aura and the energy he carries is all consuming, demanding the attention of every person present, even his haters. Solo and Paul flank behind him following his slow and steady pace until he comes to a hard stop. 

The cameraman is dangerously close as he kneels to catch him from an angle down below. This is so surreal. On cue his pyro lights fire, upping the excitement from the crowd if even possible. Everyone is already losing their minds. Even Demi’s screams threatened to take out my right eardrum despite her main infatuation resting with the Usos.

His mesmerizing eyes scan the crowd with a slight nod of approval and then they land on…me? Time stills and I can’t hear the noise around me. Was he staring at me? 

As much as I want to look around for confirmation that his eyes are indeed locked on me, I’m hypnotized. The slight scrunch of his brows and his dark pupils paralyze me in place. Jesus, Lana. Move. Smile. Wave. Shit, do something.

He’s fucking beautiful. Carved from stone. Kissed by the sun. Hair wet and hanging. Ula Fala draping perfectly around his neck. Full beard with a hint of greying. And his chest. God, his chest. His abs rippled perfectly. I’m scared to even blink, at the risk that I’ll miss something.

A thick pink tongue slithers out over his lips and I heat up from the inside out. My god.

In a flash he looks onward to the ring on the move again and the world returns to its original state. 

I turn to face Demi whose eyes are wide like a saucer. “Biiiitch,” she drags out and we break into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, so I’m not bugging?” My brows dent. 

“No. No, I saw it too,” she assures me. “That man was definitely eye fucking you.” My face heats replaying the scene back in my head. “That was so surreal. He’s so much bigger in person…” Her voice trails off once I get lost in my thoughts watching him hold his titles up in the center of the ring. He moves like a king. Like everywhere he goes he expects everyone to bow gracefully and fall at his feet. It makes him even more attractive than just what the eyes can reach. Fuck me. This is going to be a long night.

Demi got her wish. The Usos came out but their stunt didn’t last too long due to an appearance from Sami and Kevin. Somehow, Roman still took home the win. Still the champion. Still on top. Still the man.

The whole match, I could only half way focus on him and his god-like figure moving about in the ring. The other half of me was still stuck in the moment we shared during his entrance. Was he really staring at me?

Call me delusional, but I swear he looked at me two more times. Once during the match, when he kicked out at the last second of Cody’s pin. He struggled to his knees and rested back on his heels to scan the crowd. He stumbled to his feet, but not before those eyes bore a hole into mine for a quick second. Then again, when he won. He held up his titles, chest heaving up and down, then he looked my way with a squint.

“I can’t believe he still won,” Demi practically has to yell as we ease our way through the crowd to leave. “I was sure it was game over when Sami gave him the boot.”

Simultaneously we push through the back entrance doors and let them slam behind us. The slightly chilly night air of April hitting. No more screams. No more crowds. But the rush and aura of the night still lingers on us.

“My man doesn’t take L’s,” I tell her matter-of-factly with my chin up.

“I see,” she laughs.

We were smart. We took an Uber and told him to let us out from almost three blocks away. We follow that same pattern now to avoid the rush and traffic of everybody trying to leave at once. Towards the opposite way of the parking lot, away from the crowds, we start our journey to a quiet block to call the Uber. 

“Wanna hit it?” Demi extends her hand that holds a lit blunt in between her fingers. I shake my head.

“How the hell did you even get that thing in?”

“Tampon,” she informs before pulling from it. Of course. She’s been sneaking weed into parties that way since we were freshmen.

“Excuse me! Ladies!” An authoritative calls from behind causing us both to stop in our tracks. I know that voice. “Excuse me!”

Demi and I lock eyes and at once we do a complete one-eighty to find him practically chasing us down.

“What the fuck?” I hear Demi murmur before he stops in front of us winded.

“Ladies,” he offers one firm nod. “My name is—’’

“Paul Heyman,” we finish for him in unison. 

A smug smile adorns his chubby face. “That’s right.” He holds a hand out and we both just stare at it for a while. After several seconds of an awkward and shocking silence, Demi abruptly shakes his hand and I follow her lead, still trying to make sense of this moment.

“I’ve been sent to relay a message. The Tribal Chief has requested your services for tonight.”

“Services?” The line between Demi’s thoughts and what comes out of her mouth has always been very blurred.

“Yes,” he confirms. In unison we turn just our heads to each other with equal expressions of confusion and disbelief. “You see, The Tribal Chief likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road from time to time.”

“Company, huh?” I catch Demi’s smirk.

“Especially on nights like tonight. You know?” I raise a brow. “All the adrenaline, excitement, and energy from tonight’s match. It's good for him to uh… blow off some steam and unwind.”

I lose count of how many times Demi and I have to exchange looks tonight. Since I’ve met her we’ve always spoke a nonverbal language only we understand. A subtle head nod in the direction of a cute boy in the room, an eye roll when somebody says something problematic, or wide eyes when someone spills tea that we know we’ll have to debrief about later. Tonight, our eyes dance in a mutual agreement that can’t be any clearer. “Hell yeah,” I speak for the first time. 

Demi tosses the lit blunt and we both advance to follow him. “Oh no, I’m sorry. Just you.”

“Me?” I ask with a finger to my chest. He grins slyly nodding.

“I— I don't know.”

“You don’t know?” Demi slaps my arm.

“I’ll need an answer now. Gotta get you to his bus before the real crowd emerges. There’s a few things you need to sign.” Sign? Oh god. This is getting serious.

“M—maybe this is a mix up. Are you sure he asked for me—”

“Bitch.” I’m interrupted by a firm push from Demi toward Paul. My eyes meet her wide ones that scream, “go.”

I look between the both of them. “You’ll be fine getting to the hotel?” I’m not all the way certain how tonight will go, but I have a feeling I won’t be seeing her until tomorrow.

“Girl, don’t worry about me. I’ll always get where I’m going. I should be the last thing on your mind.”

“We can wait until her Uber comes?” I eye Paul who eyes his watch briefly.

“Sure.”

So we wait in silence. The whole time, I bounce the idea of just saying never mind and pussying out, back and forth like tennis. Reading my mind, Demi would eye me and mouth “don’t you dare.” So many things can go wrong. I’m not even entirely sure I know what the hell Paul is talking about. Company? Services? It could mean so many things. Does he want to talk? A massage? Am I going to just sit there on his lap while he watches TV? What if he’s one of those foot guys? Is he going to touch himself while I sit there barefoot? Oh god, please don’t have a foot fetish.

With the exception of tonight, I’ve only ever seen him through a screen. Playing a character. I don’t know him. That’s the reality of it. Am I really about to follow a stranger, Paul Heyman, to accompany another strange man?

After checking that she has the right Uber and sensing she will be safe alone with him, I let her hand go. She gives me one final look before I let her shut the car door. “Make him remember you, bitch.”

Like a farmer leading its cattle to slaughter, I follow him as he leads me up the steep steps of the bus. A pit of something stirs in my stomach the deeper we walk. Equal parts angst and doom. Like the end of something and the beginning at the same time. We pass the driver’s seat. The floors are a shiny mahogany wood, matching the cabinets of the kitchen area we end up in. Although small, it feels grand. Definitely doesn’t seem like a space this chic belongs in a bus trailer. I guess only the best for the best.

In the midst of admiring the space, I look over to see Paul shuffling some papers around.

“Alright! So I’ll need you to sign this.” He separates one stack from the main one and slides a pen out for me. “Just something that says we’re not responsible for any items lost, damaged, or anything like that.” Everything in me screams to read the thick stack thoroughly before I dare sign my name on the dotted line. I do it anyway, because who even has time for that? Paul is already moving about like he has somewhere to be.

“And this here,” he pushes the signed paper out the way and slides another stack in its place. This one much thicker than the former. I raise a brow. “Don’t worry. It's just a non-disclosure. Nothing discussed, seen, or heard after you sign can be shared with any other persons.”

I look for the expiration date of the legal document and don’t find one. I search and my eyes land on the word indefinitely.

“Indefinitely, huh?” I think deeply about what I am about to agree to. I would only even want to tell Demi and a few other girls from our bookclub maybe that watch WWE. My eyes land on the seven figure lawsuit terms if the NDA is breached. I weigh my options. Spill tea and get fined or secretly get intimate with the man of my dreams…

The pen is smooth as it glides along the dotted line and I cap it before handing it back over to Paul. “Perfect.” He takes it and reorganizes the papers. I blow out a breath looking around again. There’s a grey curtain blocking off the rest of the bus, which I assume holds a bedroom of some sort and a bathroom.

“Is he already here?” I lean to try and get a peak of whats beyond the curtain.

“Nope. He’s doing a bit of press and wrapping some things up backstage. You’ll wait for him here. The driver is inside the building. Probably won’t be back until late tonight. Roman should be back soon.”

“I’m expected to stay here overnight?”

“Totally up to you. I’m sure you and him will figure it out. It’s not like him to spend the night alone though.”

In that moment it becomes clear what I am here to do. My heart lurches at the thought of just sharing a bed and possibly cuddling with him. His big muscular arms wrapped around me. The heat of his breath on the back of my neck and the hardness of his di—

“This wasn’t on the NDA you just signed, but,” he held his hand out between us. “I’m gonna need that phone before I leave.” Of course. I almost change my mind. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back as soon as it's all over. Definitely before you leave.”

Fuck it. I retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and he gladly takes it. I don’t need it anyhow. I can’t imagine being in the presence of him anyway and my phone stealing the show. I would forget I even had one.

It's not long before he’s packing everything up, preparing to leave me. A small part doesn’t want him to go. He served as sort of a comfort. Truth be told, my heart is in my ass.

He pulls the curtain back to reveal a chic bedroom set up. If I didn't know any better, I would think we are in a five star hotel and not a bus trailer. 

Everything is a sleek grey with undertones of black. Glossy black wood dresser chest and a matching nightstand. Black wood bed frame and headboard. I run my hand along the dark grey duvet thats just as soft as it looks. 

“I’ll be on my way. You’ll probably see me tomorrow or later tonight. If not someone else will give the phone back.” He waves my phone and turns, but not before pulling the curtain back to close.

I’m all alone now. Theres a flat screen mounted opposite the bed, but the noise won’t do anything but make me more anxious. I want to be able to hear everything going on.

I have the weird urge to go through his suitcase I see sitting upright by the wall. I shake the thought away knowing it's an invasion of privacy. I opt to go through the dresser chest instead. Its empty. I guess he didn’t get a chance to  unpack.

I turn and rest my butt on it, crossing my arms. Minutes go by, and what seems like an hour passes before I hear movement outside the bus. Deep voices talking and then I hear heavy steps heading my way. I straighten up. No, too formal. I sit on the bed legs crossed. No, what am I? An escort?

I stand again and take my original place leaning on the edge of the dresser, just in time for the curtain to pull back. The sight of his large stature so much closer to me than he was in the arena takes my breath away.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at me and walks right by me to his suitcase. Then he’s in the bathroom. The sound of him peeing is loud followed by water running. 

Big, tan and burly, he emerges again. He moves with power just oozing off of him, with an authority that just screamed, “I’m in charge.” It's not just a ring persona. Thats just him.

My eyes never leave his tall frame maneuvering around the small space as if I’m not even standing here. He kicks the Jordans off his feet to slip into his slides. His Nike hoodie comes off next and he tosses it on the small loveseat in the corner. His big and cut arms now in full view.

He relieves himself of the contents in his pants pockets. Wallet, keys, some loose change, and a small folded paper all fall on the dresser. He stops for a moment holding out his left hand. He twists the black band off his ring finger and places it in the drawer instead of on top of the dresser with the rest of his things.

Our eyes snag and I immediately shift my attention to my fingers. Twisting and untwisting. Picking at the acrylic on my nails. Anything but looking him in the eye after witnessing that. It's not too late to change my mind. I can stop this. I should, but do I really want to?

The sound of his slides lets me know he’s on the move again. I find him by a minibar area I hadn’t noticed earlier. 

“Is it cold in here?” His deep voice cuts through the silence. It's then I notice I was holding and rubbing my arms as if I was cold. So, he is paying me some kind of attention. Truth is, I’m just trying to keep the goosebumps from a slight panic attack at bay.

“No, it's fine.”

“You feeling alright?” He twists slightly with a raised brow. Probably trying to figure out why I haven’t moved an inch since he walked in here. He’s so calm and cool. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the calmer he is, the more anxious I grow.

“Yeah. Y—yeah, no I’m fine.”

“You spoke to Paul already?”

“Yeah—yes,” I correct myself and clear my throat. I don’t know when it became so damn dry.

I was speaking to his back. The muscles still making themselves known even through the fabric of his black tee. Hair sleeked back into his signature bun. My eyes trail down to his ass. For a man, he has a nice one. I image how he’d look with nothing. The intimacy of him walking around with absolutely nothing on. The afterglow of sex on him. Rock hard abs and tribal tattoo as his only decoration. His manhood swinging freely, semi-hard even after just laying serious wood—

“Then I assume you know why you’re here,” his deep voice cuts my nasty daydream short. 

I can hear him maneuvering glass, but I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing over his big frame. I was too shell shocked to move too much, afraid I might wake up from this fever dream.

“I do,” I answer him. 

If my father knew when he gave his only daughter, his princess, money to enjoy her spring break, that she’d end up alone in the bus of a man who was over ten years her senior, the money would’ve never made it into my hand in the first place. I’m sure this isn’t what he had in mind, but truly this was the best way a young girl could enjoy spring break. An unexpected encounter with an older and wealthier man. My idol. I watched him on TV for years. Gawked at the screen. Liked thousands of edits on Tiktok and Instagram. Dreams of this very moment knowing it couldn’t possibly ever come true. And now here he was. Big in stature and energy right here in front of me. Talking to me. 

Hell yeah, I know what I’m here to do. Even if he didn’t utter a single word and just stripped and nodded to the bed, I’d still get the job done with no shame. What girl in her right mind wouldn’t?

I can hear them now. But he’s married. He has a family. He’s old enough to be your father. They just won’t understand. Demi would. Demi would get it. She always gets it and she always gets me. Having lost her father and sister in a car crash just weeks before moving into the dorms for college, taught her that life was indeed too short. Live freely and take risk, because you don’t know when you won’t be able to. Shit, we’re all gonna die anyway. That’s the mantra she lives by. She’s different and that’s why I attached myself to her. She’s not like everybody else who lives like they’ve already walked the steps to heaven.

This was a more than seldom, once in a lifetime opportunity. I’d think about this night when I’m grey and depleting on my deathbed. I won’t let my head play tricks on me with the opinions of anyone who would do the same thing put in my position. 

It's silent again. I hear liquid being poured for a second. I wonder if Demi made it back to the hotel okay. She’s probably blowing up my phone with a thousand texts trying to figure out whats going on.

So deep in my thoughts I don’t realize he’s making his way to me until he’s right here already. I have to look up to meet his gaze as he stares down at me over the bridge of his nose. He’s so big. He smells divine. It's a masculine type of musk with a cleanliness to it. My breath gets caught in my throat, realizing exactly how close we are. Our shoes were just shy of an inch from touching. My chest rises and falls in anticipation of his next move. 

Without any words, he holds a glass filled with brown liquid out closer to me. I look down at it with just my eyes. I’ve only been twenty-one for two weeks. Didn’t even get the opportunity to sit at a bar so a man could offer me a drink before trying to sleep with me. Who would’ve thought the first offering would come from him. Roman Reigns. Just at that thought, something in me ignited.

I took it, with the intention meaning more than just accepting the drink. I’m accepting the situation. Drawing a line in the sand and disposing of any doubt if there even was any left. I’m doing this. All complications pushed to the back. Tonight he’s not Joe Anoa’i, the married man with five kids. He’s Roman Reigns, undisputed WWE Universal Champion, The Tribal Chief, Main Eventer, Head of the Table…And I’m his biggest fan.

I throw the contents of the glass back, trying my hardest not to make a face from the burning sensation. He gets it down in one big gulp, putting me to shame, as I can’t help watching his Adam’s apple bob up and then down. He’s still just inches from me. I can see every hair on his beard. The slight greying ones are my favorite.

It's so weird seeing him in this state. So lax in his own space. No ring gear. No mean scowl. No Ula Fala around his neck. No championship belt around his waist. Just him. Black tee and sweats to match.

He takes the glass back and places them both behind me on the dresser top. Without warning, he’s on me. His tongue shoves past my lips saying to hell with formalities. No warm up. Straight to business.

“Mm,” I groan from shock. My natural instinct from being so caught off guard is to create some space, but a firm hand gripping the base of my neck keeps me in place.

He immediately asserts dominance, caressing every part of my body his hands can reach like he owns it. My neck, my shoulders, my back, and all the way down to my ass with a firm squeeze that separates my pussy lips. All the while still assaulting my mouth with his warm tongue. The tang of the alcohol still lingering. I fight for some control in the kiss but it's no use. He’s too much for me.

Everywhere his strong hands make contact, it leaves a spark until my whole body feels like it's on fire. Damn, that drink was strong. He pulls away from the kiss completely after one last soft, open mouthed peck. Like a magnet, my eyes find the thick bulge in his black sweats and I grow even more excited. 

He drops to his knees in front of me and my breath hitches when his cold fingertips find their way up my shirt. A trail of kisses with a slight tickle from his beard follow up and up until I raise my arms for him to take the shirt off completely.

He’s back on his feet, turning me so my back is facing him. My breathing grows erratic. This is really happening. 

“Lights,” his voice rumbles behind me. The bright lights turn off but there's little lamps set up in the small space allowing a cast bright enough to see still.

The black lace bra I wear is unhooked in a matter of seconds. Who knew when I put it on this morning, that Roman Reigns himself would be taking it off come night. With a firm grip on my hips he turns me back to face him. 

Being well endowed up top from such a young age, my natural instinct is to cover myself. I always thought they were a bit big for my body. Standing at five foot seven, I was only one hundred and fifty pounds. A lot of my weight being carried up top from these double D’s. When all the girls in middle school were just filling in, I was a full D cup. I noticed how boys would stare. Older men too. It would make me uncomfortable. Always thinking of ways to cover them or make them appear smaller.

Avoiding eye contact is useless. His eyes are like magnets. Like the sun. Just beaming down on me, making them impossible to evade. So I stare back at him. We stay like this for a while. Just watching one another in silence. The air is smoky with lust and pure ecstasy. 

His hands cover mine and slowly drag them down to reveal my breast. Round, surprisingly perky, with fully erect chocolate nipples, creating a contrast to my caramel complexion. They steal the show as his eyes shoot to them immediately while he breathes deep from his nose. 

I can feel his energy shift from passionate to pure animalistic. When his entire mouth covers one nipple, I lose all my sense. My head rolls back and instinctively I bring a hand to the back of his head. A rough hand cups and caresses my breast while he’s still latched on. I watch in awe as his thick tongue sticks out to flick and play with it before sucking again.

He’s expertly unbuttoning my jeans with his other hand as I feel the snag of him trying to pull them down. I step out of my shoes to help him and reveal the black thong I am not even accustomed to wearing. I’m more of a a boy shorts or Walmart pack panties kind of girl. I just so happen to have forgotten to pack them and had to borrow a pair from Demi. 

Bending down must be uncomfortable, since he grips the back of my knees to hike me up like I  weigh absolutely nothing. He gives more attention to my chest, sucking until my nipples are sore, before his tongue is in my mouth exploring again. We’re moving now, I assume towards the bed. With every step, his erection rubs against me leaving me clenching and needy.

My back meets the unbelievably soft bed. I practically sink into it, watching him rear back to remove his shirt and show off that god-like body. Mountains and valleys of muscle in his abdomen placed perfectly like someone sculpted him with their bare hands. His bun hangs a little looser now.

His long fingers loop the waistband of my panties and we lock eyes. His stare is intense saying what his lips didn’t. I nod once. I’m doing this.

Almost in slow motion he pulls them down my legs, his eyes not leaving mine until the very last second. His attention is stolen by the sight of me down there.

“You’re soaking.” He uses the butt of his thumb to circle my clit. I jump slightly at the sudden contact. “That’s all for me?” He locks eyes with me again, expecting an answer and all I can do is nod frantically while biting down hard on my bottom lip. I can’t keep still. My body is on fire under his touch and his gaze. Eyes dark with passion, he squints watching me squirm every time he speeds the rhythm of his thumb up or down.

“Fuck,” I move my hips to the rhythm of his hand and grab one of my breast.

His thick tongue snakes out to lick his pink lips like he did earlier in the arena and I almost cum on sight. I look on in shock watching how he licks his thumb clean like he just ate Doritos and he’s discarding the remnants of them. A small groan of pleasure leaves his throat. I must be dreaming.

Climbing off the bed hastily, he tugs his pants and red briefs down at once and his dick pops up on recoil. My pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation for her next guest. Long, thick and tanned just like the rest of him. Mouthwatering. I never had the urge to taste something so bad in my life.

I can tell there’s no time for that though. He’s anxious now. I can feel the heat and need radiating off his body as if his stiff, vein-filled dick didn’t already tell on him.

With a tight grip on my ankle, he flips me over abruptly. Of course. Missionary would’ve been way too intimate for the circumstances.

On instinct I get up on all fours, deepening the arch to an almost painful degree so the view is nice for him. A smack so hard I jerk forward a bit, lets me know he’s satisfied with what he sees.

“All this ass,” he mumbles rubbing my behind in circles and even giving it a little shake. 

He runs his long fingers up and down the slickness with ease. A groan leave leaves my throat as I grow impatient. I know I should want this to last as long as humanly possible, but I can’t fight this storm inside of me. I’ve wondered too long about it, daydreamed about it, and even touched myself in imagination before at the thought of this man I only knew through a TV screen.

I sway back and forth slightly waiting and listening to the sound of a wrapper and a slight pop. I have no time to prepare. The bed dips with the weight of him back on it. His thick head is at my opening, rubbing from my clit to almost my asshole. He only does this three good times before I’m practically ripped apart.

“Ouu!” A mix of a moan and something I’ve never heard from myself fills the room. He roughly takes the hand I thought I would use to push him and pins it behind me.

My throat goes dry. God damn. He’s fucking huge and unforgiving. Even with the slow pace he’s pushing into me combined with my wetness, it still feels like he’s breaking me apart from the inside out. 

“Breathe,” he coaches. If possible a gush of wetness rushes out from the sound of his voice, bringing me back to the situation at hand. I have to make it work for him. 

I bite down on the expensive grey covers as he pulls completely out and then back in. “Mm!” 

He finds his rhythm, as he’s able to glide in and out. I try to match him once the pain subsides. I glance back to catch his full bottom lip caught between his teeth. The muscles in his chest working as a sheen of sweat starts to form.

I work harder now. The sight of him turning me on more than ever, opening me up like a wildflower. 

“Let me hear you. I wanna hear you,” he grunts out almost desperately. The vulnerability in his rough voice drawing more heat and wetness from my core. I moan louder than I intended and shock myself. I’m not usually verbal in bed. Maybe a little cry or whimper here and there. This shit feels too good to be demure and delicate about. 

I obey his order and release the moan that I didn’t even know I’m suppressing. It's not forced or fabricated. I genuinely feel so good in this moment I can only moan in response. 

His strokes are primal. Animalistic like a lion in the wild taking whats his. And he’s so fucking big. In aura and size. The ways his body envelopes mine makes me feel smaller than I really am. His thickness stretching me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

“Oh, fuck!” I yell out. His hand tangles in my hair and stretches my gaze up, giving him full view of my desperate face.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he demands. 

“Oh my god,” I pant. “It's so fucking good,” I struggle to get out. Every thrust steals my breath. He aims for the perfect spot every time and doesn’t miss. The smack of our bodies colliding ring loud in the silent space.

“Louder, baby,” he grunts diving deeper.

“I can feel you everywhere. You feel so good! Unh!”

“Atta girl.” The rumble of his voice sends a vibration straight to my core. My pussy clenches down from his words. To add insult to injury, a large and slightly calloused hand finds its way up my stomach to cup my breast. He pinches, twists and rolls my nipple around like he’s playing with a toy. As if my pussy isn’t becoming dangerously wetter already.

He removes the hold in my hair, trailing to my hip. His thumb presses down hard while guiding me back and forth on him. He gives me his all and I return the favor, using the unstable grip I have on the duvet to leverage me as I throw my ass back on him to catch.

The friction of his balls slapping sloppily against my clit built up enough pressure for a pending orgasm. With one strong hand still on my hip, he uses his free one to shove my face down to the bed making me lose any power I had in this fight.

His front collides with my ass, causing a consistent slapping. Anyone walking on the bus could easily tell whats going on now. His grunts, my pants, the consistent slapping. These were sounds of fucking. 

“Fuck me! Yesss!” I don’t recognize myself. He’s awakening something in me. A familiar tinging stirs in the pit of my stomach. If he keeps on, it won’t be long until I explode all over his thick dick.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” I whimper in response.

He goes harder than ever before, his strokes less uniform and more wild. My mouth falls wide open at the intensity and perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

His hips continue to snap against me and if possible I feel him grow harder inside me. His fingertips dig into me so hard I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow. 

“Urghh!” A guttural moan erupts from him, urging me to fuck him through his release even as his movements slow. I study his facial expressions and record them in my brain to take home with me as a souvenir. He stretches his neck with eyes shut tightly. That fucking tongue. Whisking out to flatten over his top lip before he bites down on his bottom one. Chest heaving up and down with the muscles in his abdomen flexing with every breath. 

“So fucking good,” he says more to himself. He delivers another hard spank to my ass before I feel him ease out of me, hissing slightly at the sudden disconnect and absence of him. The pit of my stomach heavy still with the lingering orgasm that was cut short. 

I’ve had sex with guys before and never got to finish. I’d leave unsatisfied and almost regretting the encounter completely. This is different. I’m here for him. I’d fulfill his needs and drain him even if it meant I left with nothing but a wet ass. 

The bed creaks a little, letting me know he got up completely. Just when I think the night is over, my mouth falls open at the sensation of his hot mouth covering my entire pussy. His tongue slithers out to graze my distended clit.

“Mm, shit,” I cry out, shaking. I’m so sensitive. Any little sensation sends my body into overdrive. Every lick draws a mini release. When I finally get to the edge I know I’ll fall completely apart. The hair from his beard tickles me, only heightening the sensations. I feel nothing but pure pleasure.

A strong hand comes down on my left ass cheek and I whimper on impact. He squeezes it in a firm gip to move me up and down in a steady rhythm on his flattened tongue.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” I cry. I let my head hang down unable to keep it up any longer. All I can do, feel, and think about in this moments is how good he feels to me. Guys my age always need a crash course on how to eat pussy. Always too much spit, they couldn’t find my clit, or the torturous shaking of the head like a rabid dog.

Roman is eating me like I’m his last meal. Touching spots I didn’t even know a tongue could reach. With the way he’s grabbing me and rocking me on his stiff tongue, he’s damn near fucking me with it. We’re two complete strangers. The power dynamic is completely off. He’s the billionaire WWE superstar and I’m the underpaid and overworked fan in college. Somehow he’s still taking the time to worship my body and give me his all as if he’s the one who has something to prove. 

The dick was mind-blowing. Oh, but the head will be the death of me. That same tongue he wags and flicks on live television, exploring me. Tonight is an absolute fairytale. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he could read my mind. He knows exactly what I want and how I want it.

In only a matter of seconds a tornado of heat swirls in my core. I rock back and forth on his mouth before he sucks relentlessly on my sensitive bud nonstop.

“Unnhh!” An uncontrollable shake erupts from me as I see stars. The world goes completely blank for a while as I relish in the ecstasy of my orgasm granted by the Tribal Chief himself. Tonight, I acknowledge him and his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I whisper in between pants coming to my senses. A small laugh leaves my throat at the way I just lost myself in front of him.

I turn to find him in the middle of snatching the cream covered condom off. His big dick bobs up and down from the snatch, fully erect again. 

We got one night only.

Like a lioness on the prowl in the jungle, I eye him, crawling to the edge of the king bed where he stands. I stop just in front where my mouth aligns to his thickness, still eyeing him, making sure it's okay. He nods giving me the green light and even holds the base in his strong hand to bring it closer to my lips.

I let a glob of spit form and fall freely on his thick mushroom tip. Before it can drip, I catch it on the underside and lick from tip to base, to the tip again. His hips push forward impatiently. 

“Open.” It's not a question so I don’t test him. His face is hard, but his eyes are desperate. As soon as my lips part he shoves himself all the way in like he owns my entire mouth. He draws out and I hallow my cheeks to keep it in as long as possible until I release him with a pop. 

“Stick your tongue out for me.” I oblige and he slides his heavy dick across it gathering spit before pushing back down my mouth. A pulse grows in my clit again. A revival from seeing the remains of the mess I made in his thick beard.

“It's so good,” I tell him while slapping it on my tongue for him, earning a groan. The skin of him is soft as he stretches my mouth. I can taste the salty precum and I cant wait for the rest of it. I never trusted a man to release his bodily fluids in me in any way. It kind of grossed me out. Oh, but not tonight. He can release wherever he chooses.

Using one hand to twist in tandem with sucking him, I study every change in his expression, every pattern of his breath to record what feels the best to him.

“Go ‘head,” he urges in a low guttural tone. “Just like that. Take it all the way down. Don’t stop, babygirl.” That’s all I need to hear. 

The eye contact is so deep it puts me in a trance. In a constant and fluid motion I take him in and out, making sure he reaches the back of my throat every time. In and out. In and out. In and out. The sounds of spit and his heavy breathing take charge of the room.

His body stiffens a bit and I can feel him get harder on my tongue. Deliberately I take him as far as possible and stay there until I make myself choke. The contracting of my throat around his thick head sends him completely off the rails. He breaks our bubble, throwing his head back to the ceiling.

“Mmm. Aw fuck!” A strong hand grabs a fistful of my hair, making it impossible for me to move.  Thick ropes of his warm cum shoot down my throat and all around my mouth. “Ahh,” he groans out with a hiss jerking his hips forward a few good times. “Oh my god,” he blows out a heavy breath and lets his hands rest on his hips. 

I’ve made dean’s list, honor roll all throughout high school, medals of all kind from track decorate the walls of my bedroom in my parents’ house. None of those accomplishments compare to the sight I just witnessed. The Roman Reign’s spent and sexually exhausted because of little ole me.

“Let me see,” he whispers while watching me suck the last of it out. I open wide and stick my tongue out so he can see his cum on it. His massive dick jumps at the sight. I feel the warmth of some of it seeping out and running down my chin.

“Don’t move,” he instructs. Like his obedient soldier I stay put, only looking around with one good eye. The other shut tight so none of his cum could invade it.

When he emerges again, he has a wet cloth in hand. Gently but still firm he wipes my face clean of him and my tears that slipped from the intensity of choking. Who knew the Tribal Chief is into aftercare?

A squeal escapes me from being lifted into the air and over his broad shoulder. I’m hanging as he moves us about. There’s no way that any of this is happening. 

The shower starts to run. Even upside down I can see the marble walls and waterfall shower head raining down.

“You care about your hair getting wet?”

“No,” I strain to get out with his shoulder digging into my stomach. He chuckles so softly, I would’ve missed it if I couldn’t feel it from being on him. 

He fucks me for hours in the shower. My back against the wall. In the air. Face against the tiles. On all fours again. I guess older men carry more stamina. The water cascaded from up top on us both while we locked tongues passionately, breathing in each other’s air. 

He was in control the whole time. He flipped me every way he wanted me to go. Told me what to do, never asking. I’m left a wet, quivering mess at the end of it all.

I don’t realize how exhausted I am until he asks if I want to stay the night. I think about getting dressed and leaving, but the bed is impossibly plush and the sight of him naked still is impossibly sexy. Even better than I imagined.

I threw cuddling out the window once I seen his stoic nature and how he moved about earlier like this was just a business deal. He lays in the bed, still naked on his back with muscular arms slightly stretched. I lay on my stomach beside him trying to get comfortable. My heart thumps out my chest knowing he’s still here with me and so accessible. We literally just violated each other in the nastiest way possible and now we lay in bed not even touching.

His heavy breaths and light snore fill the room in no time creating a sort of white noise for me descend to. 

Some time in the middle of the night, I don know how, but those light snores ended up right in my ear. His breath hot on top of my head, accompanied by a very heavy arm over my hip. 

My heart smiled and my face caught fire. It was so intimate. Undeniably my favorite part of the night. I shifted as quietly as I possibly could, inch by inch, until I was facing him. His bun fell completely apart, leaving his dried and fluffy curls cascading over his shoulders and the plush pillows. I make out what I can in the dark of his sharp features. I never seen him so relaxed. In the ring he’s always tense, always painted with tyranny and stress, but not right now. He almost looked like an angel.

I make a mental image of him. This is exactly how I want to remember him— how I want to remember this unpredictable night. This is the part that even if I could tell it, I don’t think anyone would even believe me. Burying my face into his chest, I breathe deep, trying to imprint his smell into my brain like ink on the skin. 

The loud voices of men I don’t recognize, serve as my alarm clock. Eyes still shut, flashes of the night before and the soreness of my body, warp me back to reality. Oh, shit.

I shoot up from the pillow to scan the room, keeping the covers close to my naked chest. His suitcase still stood in the corner, but there’s no trace of him. No water running. His slides are gone. The thick curtain shields me from the rest of the bus.

6:07 AM flashes on the digital clock of the now cleared nightstand. 

It's not like I was expecting this grand goodbye. The man didn’t even say hello to begin with. I thought I could at least see him one last good time before I leave LA for good.

I attempt to rise up, but something crinkling under my palm stops me. I grab the sheet of notepad paper and rub my eyes before reading the contents of it.

Thanks for last night. Joe. 

Short and simple. In the corner, two cursive R’s as a signature. I neatly fold the paper and drop it into the pocket of my jeans I find folded on the chest dresser. I want that paper with me everywhere I go. A small piece of the whole experience. A subtle reminder of the best night of my life.

Every part of me wants to feel bad. How could I let him just use me for his needs for a night and then discard me like it was nothing? I should feel low. Cheap. But thats not even the kind of girl I am. The glass is always half full to me. Last night was arguably the best night of my young life. I’ve never known such adventure. I never felt more free—more like a woman.

I flop down in my bed still in a daze from the events of last weekend. Demi had a million and one questions. The NDA kept me from spilling. Even if I could’ve given her a play by play of how the night went, I don’t think I would’ve. Demi and I have the kind of bond thats void of any secrets. But that night with him was so special to me, I want to keep it for myself. Something for just me and him. It makes it more magical when only we know what happened. I just want to soak and bathe in it all. 

Light as a feather I stare at my ceiling, letting the flashbacks corrupt me. The feel of his soft skin. The smell of him. His grunts and pants. His hands caressing and gripping my ass. The warmth of his tongue filling my mouth. I blow out a breath getting worked up again. I’ve touched myself countless times since that night to the memory of his voice and his energy. He was just so damn good. So much man and dominance, but still gentle and cautious. 

After we touched back down in New York, it was back to reality. But that didn’t stop me from walking on a cloud. You can’t tell me shit. I fucked the Roman Reigns. Drained him and swallowed the aftermath. How’s that for a spring break?

It's currently Thursday. Almost a week has passed since the greatest night of my young life. I just got back from the gym with Demi. She’s pressed me every single day since that night, but I won’t budge. The confines of the NDA keeping me stronger than I normally would be. 

Tomorrow is Smackdown at the Garden, but it's unclear if Roman will even be in attendance. He takes so many hiatuses it's really a hit or miss with him. Demi asked if we should go, but I declined not wanting to spend the money I didn’t have just for him not to even show.

A sudden dread came over me knowing that he couldn’t possibly be thinking of me even half as much as I’ve thought of him. He’s overridden my mind. I’ve obsessed over every little detail and played it back a thousand times, while he doesn’t even know my name. 

Paul said it himself. He likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road. All the times he has to travel for work, cameras in his face nonstop, and body aching from all the physical exhaustion, I’m sure he always has to release the tension somehow. I’m just one of many. 

I knew that going into it. I know I’m not special, but I tried my hardest to be. I did what I could to make him remember me. Constant eye contact, carrying out his every command, throwing this ass back as hard as I could and sucking the soul out of him.

A violent buzz of my phone snaps me out of my daze. I feel for it on the covers. My eyebrows dent at the message notification from a number I don’t recognize, causing me to unlock it.

Your Tribal Chief has requested your services again. 

Sorry for that long ass disclaimer lol. It’s a shame I even have to include that, but I literally watched a girl argue with an author on here about promoting adultery and cheating simply because a character was cheating. Like, it’s a story?? It’s a fictional character?? Don't read it??

If you read it or even just parts of it, I really am appreciative. Pls like or reblog. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please remember I am an artist…and I’m sensitive about my shit lol 💋

[naga-raja-suresh]

Suresh's nose had fixed itself, there had been nothing to stop it from going back to what it was supposed to look like so it straightened itself without any further interference. The Naga grinned, "I was keeping you prone. You kicked me in the face. Slightly different... -what do the children say these days- Vibes? But you're right. Even is even." It wasn't something to stay on. He could move past it for the time being. He listened to the laugh. Interested in the sound. He knew that Callum hadn't been telling the whole truth but Suresh was not about to wholesale believe the witch. Not now, not ever. He simply nodded, "That is what he told me." Because it had been. He leaned his head on the couch and listened to whatever semblance of the truth poured from Corvinus' lips. The relationships with the Lightless was contentious at best but they had found a common ground until the man sitting across from him had appeared. Suresh nodded his head. The way Corvinus told it was a bit different than how the Hellhound had painted the circumstances. And somewhere in the middle was what had actually had happened. Suesh nodded again and said, "Yes, I believe he called you a walking abomination." But that was between Loughty and his god. His need to right the scales. True believers had their place in all orders. Suresh's golden talons clicked against each other as he folded his hand over his chest. At the string of mostly rhetorical questions Suresh shrugged, "Why do any of us hide anything? Because we do not trust." The comment about nagas and Callum made Suresh's eyes narrow and he shook his head, "Naga's are natural. Old or not. Just because no one knows what our life expectancy actually is... we are natural." Well, they were natural. Whatever he'd done to augment himself... that was something else.

Suresh considered what Corvinus thought would be the things that he would reject outright. He wasn't going to give Corvinus a blank check. The Naga let out a soft amused noise when the witch said he didn't mind getting his own hands dirty. Of course. "If you are disliked that is entirely up to you." But whatever the witch chose to do he would do. A favor that he could reject was fine with Suresh.

He glanced down at his hands. Looking at his talons. Then back back up at Corvinus. "The talons are what bother you? Really? Alright then." He cracked his neck and drew in a breath and a soft shimmer on his hands, talons gone like they had never been. "Standing in the rubble looking across at each other... No. There is no rush. Though the next time I think neither of us will be holding back like we were..." A soft acknowledgement that what had happened between them was a mere skirmish. "Most people that know what I can do either crave it or are repulsed by it. I'm not fond of either reaction." Suresh reached his right hand out across the space between them, palm up, offering it to the witch. "You don't have to pretend." He held it there waiting, just to see what he would do.

An elemental witch... It didn't feel right. But wanted a face to the Nameless. Something with no face and no real intentions were difficult to guard against. And there was always the possibility that the leader could be trapped and then killed. However Suresh was not in a rush to gather all the important people in the city into one spot for the Nameless to possibly act against. "I will reach out along the channels I am able to use. And give you a location when appropriate. But why offer him up? You could have given him one of us couldn't you?" Suresh agreed that others feared power. It's why he hid so much of his. His eyes drifted over Corvinus' face as he spoke about being erased from living and written memory. "We've seen our share of Ozymandias' I think. But for us, it goes in cycles. We are the gods and we are the monsters. It just depends on the age and who writes the histories. But we are the myths and legends. Things that the others can only hope to aspire to."

He couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the mention of being slapped, as if they both hadn't taken their fair share of blows for the night. At least Corvinus had wrapped up his fairly quickly. Torture nonetheless but it had been fairly quick and not so...invasive. Or at least in his own eyes. "And you broke several of my bones. What's a little kick in the nose for that?" A nose could gush blood easily, that was true, but it allowed him a glimpse of the healing in Suresh as well. Not as quick, but effective either way. He did wonder if it would automatically set properly like his own body or if it would fuse into whatever position it was left in. But at the mention of Callum, oh, that earned a whole laugh. "A territory dispute? That's what he told you? Oh, he is quite the liar then. There was no territory dispute. Just because our countries aren't far from each other doesn't mean mean anything. I've never once claimed all of bloody Ireland and certainly not Scotland. I have an estate and property around it, that's all I ask others to not step into."

Clearly the man was trying to keep things under wraps, to hide his history from the others. Corvinus knew better, had come face to face with what the Lightless leader now tried to hide. It did make Corvinus all the more curious what else the renowned Hellhound was trying to keep hidden. What was one blood witch the others were aware of? Who else had he gone after. "I call him the cú sídhe. Hellhound, not too much of a thing to us Irish. I'd never even heard of him before but apparently he had a name amongst others. It just wasn't important enough to reach me so there couldn't have been any territory dispute to begin with. I was happily minding my own business at the time." Well, not exactly. He had been meddling around in political affairs at the time but that wasn't important. "He found me. He hunted me. All because my lifespan defies 'natural order' as he put it and I had blood on my hands. That's what he did. He sought out those that were alive for too long and snuffed them out, or if they committed any sort of egregious crime that justice had not been served. Judge, jury, executioner." Of course, Corvinus had learned all of that after the fact, when he had become aware of Callum and had temporarily been on his radar. Corvinus had simply gotten bored of tracking him across Europe and a few other continents.

Though a thought did occur to him. "It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Why hide it? What else has he killed for sins or for simply living longer than others?" He was staring into space for a moment, as if considering, before his gaze returned to Suresh. "What do you think he would do if another very old naga had crossed his path? Perhaps that's why he hid it from you."

The scale was a reach, he knew that. Especially after he had just been caught with naga blood; it meant it would most certainly not be used for mere decoration and would simply go into spellwork. Likely against Suresh himself. But he took the rejection in stride, giving only a small shrug though certainly a face of disappointment at the potential to deny a favour. "Oh, don't worry. I won't ask you to kill anyone or anything like that. Or any pieces of you. I have no issue getting my own hands dirty. Think of it as more insurance down the road. Especially if I'm so disliked within this city and want to enjoy my time here." Hopefully enough of a reassurance that whatever the favour was shouldn't be too gruesome though Corvinus couldn't say for sure. He merely liked the idea of being owed.

How quick the other was to retreat. He rose an eyebrow, gaze drifting down the other's long form and eyes particularly on the talons. Those were his main concerns for the moment. "Put the claws away and I certainly wouldn't mind if you did. The thing with us ancient beings is...we don't have to rush to kill each other. I could wait another thousand years and still have every chance to come back and end you if I wanted. The mortals, their lives are so fleeting. If they don't kill now, they may not have another chance. There have been surprisingly few that have upset me enough to warrant me murdering them right away." Though those that did...well, he always went beyond simply attacking them and killing them. Even killing was a game. Wipe out the family, leave them for last, let them know they were being hunted and let them live in fear of it.

At least he was getting somewhere, one step closer into settling in officially as the leader of the Nameless. An order here and there didn't mean much while he was still pulling the strings from the shadows. There was clearly a dislike for the actions so far, but no real admiration for how far he could get just yet. That would come with the meeting. "An elemental, I believe. He didn't want to talk too much about his powers." But he would invite the others. Gather them all. There was a brief though it would be the perfect setting to destroy them at once but that was hardly any fun and would only descend into chaos so quickly. "Simply tell me where to be and I'll make sure he's there. You finally get the meeting he's been avoiding and thankfully I'm quite good at luring. As for being so disliked....people just don't appreciate power. They fear it instead. But it's better than damnatio memoriae." Something he'd ensured for his predecessors.

[chuluoyi]

fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

general masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes. 

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!

[mixingandmelting]

You Know Other Men Meme HC

Summary: when he gets randomly jealous while cuddling on the sofa and you tell him he’s the most jealous man you know feat. Dick, Jason, Tim, Duke, and Damian

Dick

“You know other men?”

He’s offended. Shocked. Insulted. Disappointed. 

Like who are the other men??? There were other men???

Snaps his head up and looks at you with either eyes that can probably beat Batman’s when he’s angry or the saddest, puppies eyes you’ll ever see on the planet though the grip on your waist says otherwise

Starts questioning you who these “other men” are and goes from wanting their information including address to phone number to since when you started knowing them or where you met them

But when you tell him “I know only one man and it’s you”, he’ll quickly melt - getting all dopey with a silly smile on his face as he peppers kisses all over you

Cuddles into you more though asking for you to look at something else. If not, he’s going have to use a different method to get you to listen ; )

Jason

“Yeah and you better remember it.”

It’s not confidence in himself that makes him say it - rather, it’s knowing that you chose him and would always choose him over anyone else

Like, what is there to compete? All the other guys (cough Bruce and Dick cough) are already sucking it since he’s winning with having you, the best thing in his life

Plus, since you made him yours, you’re stuck with him for eternity whether you like it or not 

Does playfully pull you into a suffocating bear hug, enjoying the warmth of your body seeping into his

Chuckles if you play along and tap his biceps, shoulder, or chest, spouting “uncle”, “I lose”, or something that’ll show you surrender

Gives you a kiss on the lips or cheeks before going back to critic and rate whatever you were looking at earlier

Tim

“You do realize I’m the only man you know?”

Rolls his eyes and pretends your comment isn’t bothering him - after all, knowing you inside and out, there are no “other men” other than him

He’s awful at hiding it though when he starts to nuzzle into the junction where you neck meets your shoulder to hide his disgruntlement

Shuffles and pulls you closer to him, trying to “imprint” himself on you. Whether it’s conscious or subconscious that is yet to be decided

Play with his hair and tell him “yes and you’re the only man I also love” will earn a warm grin from him

That or him hiding his face into your shoulder with the tip of his ears burning red as his Red Robin suit

Either way the arms around you won’t loosen up for a while, going back to cuddling in his embrace. This time with him not minding what you’re looking at making a comment here and there, mostly jabbing at your taste

Duke

“I thought I was your man?”

He’s so confused by what you just said

What do you mean “most jealous man I know” - you know other men??? Is he not your only man???

Literally will start overthinking and confront you on whether you actually have starting seeing people behind his back

Has his head-up with an “excuse me?” written all over, needing to confirm you aren’t hiding anything based on your expression

Only to feel silly and embarrassed when you give him sass e.g., “are you not the only I’m dating?” or “do I look like I have another man besides you?”. Especially if your eyes are deadpan

Poor guy ends up hiding his face, becoming the smaller spoon. Dies but appreciates if you snuggle closer to him and pat him

Damian

“You know other men?”

Does the same thing as Dick but much angrier and more hissing

It’s going to take a while to calm him down especially when he’s ready to end things there and then with plans to also take down and ruin those “other men’s” lives

Listen. You are his and only his. How dare you have other men besides him???

When you tell him “you do realize you are the only person i’m dating?” that gets him to put the katana down

He’ll ask you who these “other men” are and realize they weren’t there from the start. Not when it’s his siblings and father

He just grumbles about how you should’ve said that from start and expect you to go back cuddling with him, head pats and all other expressions of affection to comfort him

Will succumb and completely “forgive” you if you give kiss on the top of his head 

[dalishious]

About Davrin's little blurb on the official website for Dragon Age: The Veilguard...

"Though he was raised in a Dalish clan, he craved excitement and adventure. He'd rather make history than reflect on it."

There's actually a lot to unpack about these two sentences.

First off, placing the word "though" in front of being "raised in a Dalish clan", gives such a thing a negative connotation. The word "though" is used in a way that sounds like "despite", as in, somehow wanting excitement and adventure must go against being Dalish. This correlates with sentence that follows. "He'd rather make history than reflect on it." The word "rather" is yet again used to separate Davrin from his Dalish origin. All together, this promotional description of Davrin is insisting that he is "not like other Dalish".

Now, obviously the game is not out yet, so we do not have total confirmation on what the nature of Davrin's relationship to his culture is really like. But there is absolutely something to be said about promoting the character this way, regardless of however he actually turns out in game. There is absolutely something to be said about how, as @/the-eldritch-it-gay put in their tags here, why do writers feel the need to make fantasy minorities hate or distance themselves from their culture? As a selling point?

Maybe this is completely misleading bullshit, maybe it isn't. All we have to go by, is what BioWare chose to say here, and their past track record with elves:

Zevran may talk about his mother in a font way, but he still has the line, "Too many of our kind think we deserve pity simply because we have failed to defend ourselves."

Velanna is one of the two elves we've had who is overtly proud of her culture, yet she is treated like she is unreasonable and too angry because of it.

Merrill too, is proud of being an elf, and of being Dalish. The story punishes her left and right for this, treats her like a child, and in the end she is either ostracized from her clan or they end up dead because... she cared too much?

Fenris has pretty much zero engagement with elven cultures, and spends his time ridiculing Merrill for being proud of hers.

Solas complains about the Dalish from the start, and says plainly that he does not see himself as having anything in common with elves of current time. "Oh, you mean elves" he says, when the Inquisitor asks how he feels about his people; the thought does not even occur to him.

Sera is... Sera is a character who could have been a really interesting examination of overcoming internalized racism, if she was written by someone competent with the subject. Instead, she just cringes at everything "too elfy" through the entire main game, and only has a single line in Trespasser that hints that she may have a personal struggle going on. But it's still left unresolved.

That's a lot a lot of negativity. So of course seeing a suggestion that more is to come with Davrin has people wary and tired.

Let us also consider the fact that Davrin is overtly Black as well, and what that means. Acting as if one must disregard history in order to make it, as his description so claims, is bullshit. It sounds too much like promoting gentrification/assimilation in my opinion; the idea that you cannot keep your culture if you want to be successful.

I also think that it goes even deeper, on a meta level - I think that BioWare is afraid people will not be able to like or relate to Davrin, if he is "too ethnic". I think that BioWare is taking this Black character and instead of questioning how he can best represent marginalized fans - particularly Black fans - they are questioning how to make him more relatable to white fans. And the only answer to that is to, of course, make him seem like he is an exception to marginalization through separating him from his people.

I am still holding onto hope that Davrin will overall be an interesting, well-written character. And I sure as hell will still be defending him from the people who are already hating on him or ignoring him completely because of their racialized biases. But that does not exempt BioWare, and specifically his writer, John Dombrow, from any criticism. This is not about Davrin the character, this is about BioWare the company's handling of Davrin the character. And in that regard, they're not off to a great start with this.

[bluexiao]

#monsieur neuvillette’s relationship headcanons

NOTES. finally a work after months. i missed this, tbh. but hey, here’s my new husband for you. might also have a part 2 of this i feel like i haven’t written everything yet

WARNING. real identity spoilers (nothing too explicit from the current archon quest i haven’t even done it yet oops)

NEUVILLETTE

(Before)

Before the relationship began, it took a long while for him to truly process what he had been feeling towards you—to be frank, he even thought he was getting sick (which was impossible. He never got sick.), though that thought comes to an end the moment he realizes that the effects only happen when he is around you. Only you.

He had heard of love before. Had seen love. Had read about love. Not just the platonic or familial ones, but also romance and more. And yet, he does not understand them, simply because he considers them as something someone like him would not eventually feel.

And yet, it all changed when he first saw you. Curiosity turns to admiration, and admiration turns to anxiety—which is never good; the sweating on his hands and the back of his neck, and the pressure on his chest whenever your presence comes.

He was only reminded of the term romance when he consulted Sigewinne about it.

“Does it only happen around a certain person, Monsieur?” “Monsieur, I think you are simply in love,” she says. “Humans do tend to have the same symptoms but it does not necessarily mean you are sick. It appears to me that you feel the same as well. Does their presence give you happiness?”

He did not even need to ponder over his answer. What he does ponder over is how he should deal with it. The evidence is overwhelming, and there is only one verdict. And yet, where does this lead to?

Contrary to popular belief, he will confess as soon as he is sure of his feelings. He is an honest and honorable man. He would confess his feelings if he could, but it did take some time knowing how busy his schedule was.

The only thing that probably was able to push him to go through was the Melusines. It took them weeks to have him clear his schedule up for a nice little dinner date that they had planned and suggested to the Monsieur.

“Recently, I have come to realize that I have developed a romantic interest with you, Y/n.”

“I do not intend to put pressure on you. I shall accept whatever judgment you make. I do not wish for you to change how you treat me in any way.”

“If you may… I can only ask to indulge in this meal with you for tonight. Your company eases me greatly.”

Brutally honest. It may even drive you crazy how this all seems so easy on him.

But in reality, his palms were sweating underneath his gloves and the slightly cool sensation of the utensils as he blurts out his intentions for setting up such an occasion. His heart was pounding but he could not process whether this was about how you looked especially good tonight or his nervousness with finally confessing his feelings for you.

Or maybe both. Either way, all evidence of such leads to only one thing—you.

Bonus; I do think he’ll reveal who he is first before he gets into a relationship with you but that really depends on how observant you are.

(During)

It was a surprise to him, at the very least, how he had managed to keep you as his lover despite what he lacks. He knew how he was not well-versed with “feelings” per se (just in his mind), but you, the angel that you’ve always been, chose to be with him.

The sudden change did not occur to him much, actually. But he did notice how much his mind lingers to you more often than not, and how he will end up recalling how you are now his one and only lover.

It takes time for him to adjust, but it all started with frequent conversations (much more than before), then sending flowers to your place every other day (constantly), though most of the time they’re delivered by someone else, knowing how busy he is as the Chief Justice.

Or when he started to first brush his gloved fingers to yours.

When he does something, it will be constant. (Maybe this also comes from being responsible and disciplined as shown by being the Chief Justice). All the things that he did before, he still does them now—unless you’ve told him no, of course.

He is definitely a man of his honor!!

And would always ask for your permission first before he touches your hand, or holds them, or hugs you, or kisses you.

He does like pampering and showering you with “offerings” though.

Stuff like buying your favorite flowers or trinkets once or twice a week, making sure you have enough supply of the best water out there. And even with how he always has an umbrella or parasol for you (ones he got ever since you got together; one in his office, one that’s foldable for him to carry under his coat, and one he gave to you for every time you leave the house.

Through the course of the relationship, he learned about the beauty of life, which is how he sometimes brings you flowers despite its short life. However, he still secretly prefers giving you trinkets for your hoard of gifts from him, mostly because it symbolizes his everlasting love for you. (He’s very romantic like that, even if he does not know he is)

He will also introduce every single Melusine in Fontaine. At first, it may surprise you how he knows all of their names, but it will surprise you even more the moment you realize you could do the same. If you do, he’ll love you even more (which he thought was impossible at first as he knew he already loves you very much).

The Melusines will treat you as their other parent the moment it is known amongst all of them that you’re his lover. Sigewinne, for one, would always give you a personalized gift. She would also always send you letters to ask how you are and probably be quite excited whenever you accept an invitation for a cup of tea.

Monsieur Neuvillete is not jealous, but he is possessive and territorial. It’s a dragon instinct, forgive him.

It also comes with being protective. Though he’s not feral, he would make sure to always shield you away from any harm, or anything that might take you away.

One time, he had to deal with a bunch of… shameless individuals who had tried to make a move on you, and though he has great trust on you, he cannot help but have the same self-deprecating voices in the back of his mind.

Though instinctively, he finds himself buying you trinkets or flowers again.

“Hm? You just gave me one earlier, didn’t you?” You look up with a confused look but still hold that smile that stirs butterflies in his chest.

He nodded. “The flowers reminded me of you, mon amour. I could not help but feel the urge to give it to you.”

It does not stop him from giving you offerings.

Of course, he cannot just give up on you. The ruling of whoever deserves your love and affection the most. Of course, he is at an advantage knowing that he’s already your lover.

“Is there something wrong?” You looked up to him, hearing the pitter patter of the rain outside through the taps on the windows. You had your hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing them with your palms.

“It’s nothing, mon cœur, no need to worry.” He flashes you a reassuring smile, and yet, at the back of his mind, he wondered how you could have thought to check on him. Is it perhaps the gloominess in the atmosphere?

You frown as you look at him intently, “There are times when you’d shower me gifts with a saddened look on you. I’m worried, is all.”

He stares at you then. Ah, so you noticed, he thought.

He chuckles as he shakes his head and stands right next to you. “May I?” He opens his arms and you nod and dive right into his chest. He enclosed you into an embrace, relishing the feeling of your warmth.

He kisses your forehead then. “Allow me to bask in your presence for a while.”

For short, one of the best. Definitely a 100/10.

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about Inumaki Toge being insecure about his speech (or the lack of thereof).

I feel like if he could trade a year of his life for sixty seconds without his cursed speech, he would. Without second thought. And specially because of you.

He's had a crush on you for a while (ever since your first encounter), but he'd never admit it. Not because he's scared of rejection, but because he's scared you'll reciprocate his feelings. Because he thinks you deserve better. Actually, scratch that: he knows you deserve better. You deserve someone so much better than him.

"And then you won't believe what he said! He said: 'I can't date you, cause I'm actually your brother!'"

"No way! That's the plot of the movie? How shitty!"

You deserve someone like Yuta. Someone who can make you laugh with their own words, someone who you don't need to strugle to understand what they're saying. Right now, you and Okkotsu are talking about some bad movie he watched. And you're laughing so hard and your laugh is so pretty it makes him wanna laugh too. He wants to engage on the conversation. He wants to say: "That's one of the worst plots I've ever seen! I can take you to the movies to see a real good movie if you'd like to"

But he can't. He can't, but Yuta can. He should let you go so you can be with someone who deserves you. He has no right to be this selfish, making you a slave of a love without any words of affection.

It feels like everytime he looks at you, there's a nagging voice in the back of his head, painfully reminding him that he can't be with you, and there's nothing he can do about it. It's an impossible love.

Hell, even Panda is making him feel envious and jealous. Even though he's literally a panda, at least he can talk to you. Sing your favorites songs with you. And he can't. At least not without cursing someone (and, God forbid, maybe even you. You're the last person he wants to harm)

He wanted you to confide in him just like how you confide in Maki. You always tell her everything. He wishes he, too, could be a source of relief. A shoulder you can rely on. But he can't. He can't, cause the best he could say in that situation is "Salmon", "Caviar" and other stupid onigiri ingredients that have nothing to do with the actual topic of the conversation. Honestly, he would be tired of himself if he was his friend. You don't have the obligation to understand his dialogue. Nobody does.

So, he comes to the conclusion that he should just avoid you. He should give up on loving you, because he doesn't want you to suffer.

"Toge, please! We haven't talked in days! Why did you suddenly stop talking to me?"

He stays silent. That's the only thing he can do, after all. He can't speak. He can't. But he wishes he could. He wishes he could tell you everything that's going through his head, tell you about how he feels like dying when he sees you playing a game with Itadori and Nobara because he knows he'll never be capable of doing that with you normally. If he speaks now, everything that'll come out of his mouth are foods. Speaking now would only remind him about the drift that exists between you both (and there's two options to avoid anyone's fall: you either close the gap or you widen it. He chose the latter)

"..."

"Inumaki, talk to me" (how sad. You want him to do exactly the only thing he can't do. That just makes him remember that he'll never be enough for you. Never)

Also, wow. You're using his last name. He got in a really bad situation, huh? How will he get out of this? How will he stop your (and also his) suffering?

There's only one way. And even though he swore that he'd never use his spell against you, he finds himself lowering his scarf with trembling hands.

"Leave. And don't look back."

~A/N: This is the fic I wrote that I mentioned on my last post!! I know a lot of people have writen abt this b4, so this is inspired by other stories I've read (if you've written something like this and want me to credit you, feel free to send me an ask!!). IT JUST FITS INUMAKI CHARACTER SO MUCHHH!! Like, I can totally imagine him being insecure about not being able to speak. I just thought I should give it a try cause I CAN'T FIND INUMAKI STUFF, so I took matters into my own hands. I don't realy like this, but I thought it would be a waste to not post it anyway

Masterlist

[velvetsainz]

summary: [ cl16 x fem!reader ] corsica continues to inspire, even when away from the heat of the sun. part of the hot monaco nights series.

word count: 2.8k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), a lil hint of plot, use of explicit language, unprotected sex (plan appropriately, folks), p in v, creampie, oral (f!receiving), google-translated french (i cannot and will not be stopped), em dashes strike back, once again time is a social construct

a/n: more horny fuckers in corsica (crowd cheers)! longest one yet!! struggled getting this written but ultimately happy with how it turned out, so hopefully y'all are, too. my biggest thanks as always to @lecrep @leclerc-hs @multiseb21 for their support & encouragement 🤍 enjoy, bbys! xx

As always, this was Charles's fault.

Well, kinda.

Okay, not at all, but, like, that’s beside the point.

What the point actually was that this was your favorite way to have him.

His hands gripped tightly into the plush of your hips, thumbs guiding the way your pelvis lazily drew patterns.  His cock was hard and hot and buried deep inside you, and the Monégasque was fighting all of his instincts not to roll the two of you over so he could find a way to sate the burning heat in his own core.

“Chérie,” he whined, hazel eyes still heavy-lidded as he’d only awoken a short while before.  Other parts of him had been awake for much longer, though, given the way he’d been grinding his cock against your ass before you decided to take matters into your own hands.

“Relax, baby,” you chided with a heavy sigh, one hand on his toned chest while the other toyed with your pearl.  “You’re on holiday—enjoy it.  We don’t have anywhere to be.”

“But this is torture, mon cœur,” the man groaned, hands trying to urge you faster.  Still, you resisted and shot him a devilish look.

“This,” you rolled your hips tightly and flexed your walls around his throbbing member, “is nothing.  I can make it torture if you’d prefer that, though, hm?”

He let out a frustrated sound through his nose, a groan stifled in his throat.  His hands traced over the tanned expanse of your thighs before trailing to the small of your back under the faded oversized shirt of his you’d donned after he’d fucked you within an inch of your life the night before.

“At least let me kiss you, hm? Donne-moi quelque chose, s'il te plaît,” Charles nearly begged, the French tumbling from his lips as you ground yourself in slow, lazy circles.  He needed more—more friction, more skin, more touch, anything.  He wasn’t one to beg, usually, but he was more than willing in this instance.

“So needy,” you teased, but the way his hands tangled in your hair and his tongue slid against your own had your hips bucking in such a way that gave away your hand; you had a straight flush but his was royal.  A choked sound left the back of your throat as you moved your hips quicker, one of the hands in your hair moving to grab the flesh of your ass to urge you on.

As you pulled away for a moment, Charles didn’t waste his chance and used his other hand to pull back the hem of the t-shirt you wore and latch his plump lips to one of your pert nipples in a way that made your toes curl and your eyes close tight as stars sparked.

“Fuck,” you swore, “I–”

“So needy,” he teased like an absolute little shit before you swatted at his head and he took his golden opportunity.

Banding an arm around your back, the driver pulled you tight to his chest and planted his feet into the bed before driving his hips up into your own in a way that made your insides feel like molten lava. With a filthy cry, you grabbed tight to the sheets on either side of your boyfriend as he set the new pace.

“Je pensais que je te l'avais enlevé hier soir,” he grunted in your ear as he speared against something blindingly delicious within you, and his hand palmed at your ass with your tits pressed tight against his chest.  You knew it was good for him, too, when he started slipping into Italian, blurring the lines between the languages he knew so well until they were practically an unintelligible mess.

“Charles–I’m gonna—ah!,” you started to warn as the edges of your vision blurred and the heat in the pit of your core started seeping through the cracks in your bones.

“Je sais, minette,” he grit as he felt your cunt spasm tightly around him, his own orgasm careening towards him at a blinding speed like an avalanche in the Dolomites.  “Putain–,” he swore as his hips bucked spasmodically into you, pressing into the wet velvet heat as far as your core would allow as every part of him chased whatever would bring him closer to his completion.

You felt him shudder beneath you as his hands held you tight against him; he wanted to feel all of you, and you certainly were in no place to complain as your own orgasm started to recede.  You basked in the warmth of one another, the way your hips slotted so perfectly against his, how your hearts pounded against each other’s chests.

Part of you didn’t want to break the blissful quiet of the post-orgasm glow, but your pride had other qualms.  “You’re a sore loser, you know that?,” you teased as you rolled partway off your partner, hissing as you lost the comfortable stretch of his cock inside of you.

Chuckling softly, he shrugged as he turned his head to the side to see your heavy eyes.  “I have no idea what you are talking about—I was simply exercising a-a new strategy!”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.  “You are unbelievable, Leclerc.”

“Unbelieve...ably good?,” he asked with a stupid grin that made you roll your eyes once more before you leaned in to kiss him once again.

“Unfortunately yes–”

“Say no more!,” he beamed before shooting out of bed, reinvigorated.  He disappeared for a few moments, your eyes closing as sleep tempted you once more.

You heard him pad back in and around to the side of the bed you’d rolled to, something warm and wet touching the inside of your thigh.  Gently, he cleaned you with a warm washcloth before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Sleepyhead,” he teased gently as you popped your eyes open for just a moment to peek at him as he went about the room, tidying up from the night before.  You two had gotten a bit…wild, to put it mildly.

“I resemble that remark,” you quipped, eyes closed once more as you raised a finger in the air.  Soon enough, though, you were drifting back off to sleep, only to wake several hours later in the late afternoon.

There was a note on top of your phone on the bedside table, scribbled in his surprisingly neat half-print, half-cursive handwriting.  “Out for a run,” it read, a little heart and smiley face with its tongue sticking out accompanying it.  Unsure when he’d be back, you finally convinced yourself to slip out of bed and into a much-needed shower.  You smelled like a mix of salt and chlorine and citrus—heaven, to Charles, but the grit of it was a bit much to take.  Besides, you needed to wash your hair as the two of you had plans for the evening, and your hair had become a mess over the past few days.

Stripping out of the shirt you’d haphazardly thrown on the night before, you ducked under the warm spray of the shower once you’d managed to settle on a half-decent playlist.  Humming to yourself, you didn’t hear Charles come back as you neared the end of your shower.

Sitting on the bench at the end of the unmade bed, he watched you through the half-fogged glass of the shower as the scent of your soap drifted through the air and the warmth of the steam lingered at the threshold between the two rooms.  He shouldn’t want you as badly as he does, but there’s something about your connection that was more intoxicating than any alcohol or drug could ever try to rival.  Everything about you drew him in, pulled him closer and closer like he was caught in a whirlpool; you’d bewitched him—mind, body, and soul—and under no circumstance did he want the spell to be broken.

You caught sight of him as you stepped out and began toweling off, asking, “Good run?”

He nodded as he stood, finally kicking off his shoes and shucking himself out of his shorts and briefs.  “Not as good as this morning,” he wrinkled his nose at the qualifier, pecking your lips before restarting the shower so he, too, could join you in your newfound cleanliness.  “Good shower?”

“Not as good as this morning,” you conceded in teasing as you watched him slip under the water with a laugh.

As he showered, you went to work at the vanity, going through your neglected skincare routine and brushing the tangles from your freshly washed hair.  By the time it was wrapped in a towel and on its way to drying, Charles had finished his own shower and was drying off with the lone clean towel you’d left him (you desperately needed to do some laundry tomorrow).

Towel wrapped around his waist, he took up his seat on the bench once more, scrolling aimlessly on his phone to distract himself from how you leaned over the vanity as you carefully applied your makeup.  You’d abandoned the towel that had been around your body, tired of having to fight the damn thing to stay secured every two minutes.  Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you naked before.

Charles, of course, did not mind this, but it certainly made it difficult to keep his focus on anywhere except the peek of your slit between your thighs and the curve of your tits every time you lent closer to the mirror in inspection.  It was dizzying, the way the blood rushed from his head to his…other head just at the mere sight of you.

Twitter half-held his attention for another five minutes, but that was all he could muster before he was stalking back to you and on his knees no less.  With a start and a gasp, you felt the heat of his tongue where you loved it most, eyes rolling back before you could catch yourself.  He hummed in response to the pitiful keening that left your lips.

“You are—fuck,” you started, caught off guard by the earnest press of Charles's thumb against your clit, “insatiable.  How do…how?” You had no idea where he pulled the stamina from, but you certainly weren’t complaining nor upset.

Stubbled open-mouth kisses pressed their way up your spine until he was standing behind you, caging you in with a hand on the vanity counter on either side of your hips.  “Quelque chose sur vous,” he breathed into the nape of your neck before planting a searing kiss there.  “I don’t know,” he shrugged with a groan as he rested his brow against your shoulder.

“Like I said earlier,” you teased softly as you turned in his arms, in the small cage he made with his arms against the countertop, “so needy.” The smell of his soap was still strong, but there was also something uniquely Charles, something you yourself could never get enough of.

He laughed at that, and you could feel the rumble of it where your abdomens met.  “Maybe,” he relented with a devilish twinkle in his eye, “but something tells me you are just as–”

You tutted, pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t you dare finish that thought. At this rate we’ll never make it out tonight if you keep trying to fuck me,” you warned with a tilt of your head.

“But–”

“No buts.”

“Not even this one?,” he smirked, thinking himself something of a genius as the little shit fully palmed each cheek and pulled you in closer to press tightly against his toned body.

“Especially not that one!,” you swatted at his hands before he started running away from you and your faux-outrage, leaving you alone in the bathroom to finish getting ready.

An hour later he peeked his head in once more, dressed in a linen outfit perfect for a hot, humid, night on the Mediterranean. (Of course, this was something you’d helped him pick because Lord knows this man couldn’t be left to his own devices when it came to style; he had the style sense of a 14-year-old boy, and yet you loved him despite it—you were truly a saint.)  “Almost ready?,” he asked, eyes raking over the mid-length sleeveless silk dress you’d chosen, hair pulled into a messy French twist with simple gold accessories.  It wasn’t until he saw the slit clear up the middle of your thigh that he let out an exasperated sigh.  He was in for a long night.

Turns out, it wasn’t the worst thing ever.  Because by the time you’d made it back to the villa, you were both half-drunk on sangria and unable to keep your hands off one another…or, at least, more so than usual.

You’d gone to dinner and afterward, a small club where, in the darkened corner away from the flash of colored lights and drunken laughter of other revelers, you two made out like you were teenagers again.  He whispered naughty things in your ear, hot insistent hands slipping under your dress to grasp at the skin he so badly wanted to be pressed against—especially with how you’d toyed with him all night.  If you thought you were going to get away with grinding your ass against him, trailing the toe of your sandal up his legs during dinner, and whining in his ear with no shame…you had another thing coming.

With you bent over the back of the sofa, Charles shoved your dress over your hips where he chuckled in disbelief.  You smiled a Cheshire grin, knowing what he’d finally discovered for himself: you weren’t wearing any panties.

“You dirty girl,” he tsked in your ear as he pulled your back flush with his front, a strong arm around your middle in a way that was reminiscent of your midday fuck.  His hand smoothed over the plane of your belly and dipped into the sacred heat of your cunt to draw a whimper from your lips that he’d been desperate to hear all evening.  “So needy,” he teased as he ground his hard length against the curve of your ass and into the small of your back.

“Please–,” you pleaded with him, your sangria-addled mind having one desire and one desire, alone.

“Ne t'inquiète pas, chérie,” he hushed you as you bent back over and started arching your back for him: you were going to make this an offer he couldn’t refuse.  Groaning at the sight, he pressed the tip of his cock against your soaked entrance before slotting his pelvis against your own in one fell press of his hips.

He cursed, dropping his head down to rest against the space between your shoulder blades.  You wiggled your hips in desperation, needing friction—needing anything—to ease the ache between your legs. Hissing at the sensation, Charles nipped at the skin over your spine before soothing it with his tongue.  “Je sais, minette,” he groaned before starting a truly punishing rhythm with each stroke.  His hands gripped tight at your hips, only stopping for a moment to help you hitch one of your legs onto the back of the couch you were bent over which allowed his cock to grind against something deep within you.

You were hurtling fast and hard to your climax, and you could tell your partner wasn’t far behind with how his praises and curses tumbled from his lips in equal measure. The Monégasque was a talker in bed, you’d come to learn, but even more so now that his mind’s filter had been soaked in shitty sangria.

“So close–Charles, pl-please,” you whined pitifully before a hand entwined in your now-ruined bun and tugged, wrenching a choked gasp from your throat. You babbled half-incoherently as he held you against him once more and his other hand snaked around the front of your hip to rub tight circles over your pearl with that perfect rasp of much-needed friction.

“Jouis pour moi, chérie,” he gritted in your ear, and you didn’t need to be told twice as waves of pleasure crashed over your body.  Warmth spread from your core to the tips of your toes, breath caught in your throat as you rode the earliest waves.  Your hips bucked insistently against him, his own losing their rhythm at the feeling of you clenching so tightly around him and pulling him headfirst into a blinding high of his own.

With a choked gasp and your name on his lips, you felt as he came inside you just moments after your own orgasm. Panting and positively fucked out, you dropped down over the couch once more, slowly but surely floating back down into your body. Charles draped over you in exhaustion, catching his own breath as one of his hands found yours and traced over it mindlessly with gentle fingers.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to figure out I wasn’t wearing any underwear,” you pondered aloud like the thought of your bare cunt under that dress hadn’t just resulted in the fuck of your life.  You were a tease—and an unabashed one, at that.

“Mon Dieu, chérie.”

final note: one more part for our stay in corsica before we depart the island! hoping you guys will enjoy it! 🤍 as always, you can follow my writing sideblog @velvetsainz-writes where i reblog inspo & recs!

[iloveoldermen-posts]

Idk if you do these kinds of things but I kinda wanna get this off my chest. 141 or whoever you chose with an actual ghost reader? Like they kinda haunt the base and leave little trinkets and notes. Uh little ghostie has taken a liking to them and vice versa. The boys like to sometimes leave little things they find for her to eventually move somewhere else either for a prank or a pick me up to show she’s there. This is my first time ever doing a request so feel free to ignore if it’s too much

- ♠️ s

My Little Note I'M SORRY BUT THE CREATIVITY. My god this ask ateeee. I will try my hardest to bring the vision to life, thank youuu for suggesting it!!

Warnings: open ending, slight swearing, unsure about continuation of the one-shot, gender neutral however i have not proof read ୨୧

Everybody knew the base was haunted, I mean with how many people had died, with how many souls that were lost - it was bound to happen. The ghosts pretty much kept to themselves, wanting to finally be at peace. So unless you were a real pain in the as, they left you alone.

The 141 thought it was all a myth, something to make soldier's feel better about being afraid of their past haunting them. That was until 'little ghostie' took a liking to them. At first it was just the taunting of the man who dared call himslef 'Ghost', he hadn't reached that stage yet and Ghostie thought he shouldn't foreshadow the loneliest part of the cycle of life.

Ghostie thought it was funny seeing these big, wise men pracically shit themselves at the creak of floorboard, especially since everybody else knew about the base and accepted the idea of it being haunted.

When the 141 finally accepted Ghostie was there to stay, they started noticing things, trinkets of sorts. For example, leaving a bar of soap on Johnny's pillow, him replying 'real funny Ghostie.' Eliciting a gentle giggle to be heard and echoed through Johnny's mind for the rest of the week.

Or when Ghostie left a little ghost plush for Simon in his regular seat in the meeting room. He smiled under his mask and stuffed it in his pocket. Later that night when Ghostie was doing rounds of the base, they noticed Simon fast asleep with the small teddy almost engulfed by his arm muscle.

Gaz was given a drawing of himself sitting next to an empty chair filled with small orbs. Gaz classed it as a masterpiece and not only did he hang it up but he had it framed and placed on a wall in their common room, not even caring about the design rules.

Price was the last to recieve any gift at all, some of the boys even had multiple before he recieved his first. He didn't care about all of that when he recieved his gift - a beautifully written cursive letter explaing to him who Ghostie really was and how happy they are now they have all met.

The letter included the fact that when a ghost finally reaches full contentness, they either pass over or come back from the land of the dead.

That was the last time they heard from 'little ghostie' for the past week, unsure of what they finally chose..

My asks are currently open so get the requests in, and check out my masterlist.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! -> ALL REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!!

[alotofpockets]

Secret admirer | Jackie Groenen

Pairing: Jackie Groenen x Nedwnt!Reader

Prompts: "It was you the whole time?" & "Your handwriting is recognizable, you know that right?"

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | Words: 1.1k

Ever since the national team camp had started, you have been finding little notes everywhere. Most often you would find them in your bags, or in your locker but sometimes you would find a note with your name on it in a shared space like next the the coffee machine outside of the conference room. 

You loved whenever a new one would show up, always smiling at the lovely message that was written on it. Usually either a compliment or a beautiful quote. You kept every one of the notes that you had received from your secret admirer in a box, happily adding the newest editions each time. 

Today when you entered the dining hall all eyes were on you, “What’s going on?” You asked, getting a little shy from all the attention. “We’ve found another note from your secret admirer.” Daan says while wiggling her eyebrows, waiving the note with your name on it through the air. “Hey, give that to me.” You say while snatching it from her hand. “Does it say your name, huh?” Daniëlle just laughs at your possessiveness of the little note. 

You grab your food and sit down at one of the tables. Taking the little folded note from your pocket to read it. It was another one with a compliment which made you blush instantly, you looked pretty today! was written on the note you had to work hard on to hide from your curious teammates. “Do you know who they are from, yet?” Jackie asks. You shake your head, “No, the notes are always anonymous.” 

In reality you had known who the notes were from almost instantly. You just chose to let this play out, because quite frankly you felt very flattered and loved by how much effort your not so secret admirer was putting into making you smile. 

After breakfast you head out to the training field with the rest of the team. They continued their teasing when you’d taken the note with you instead of leaving it in your room. You couldn’t care less about their teasing though, you had fallen hard for the writer of the notes a long time ago, and were eager to get to the stage where she would let you in on her secret.

It wasn’t until a couple weeks into training camp when you and a few of the girls took a trip to the beach on your day off. It was the perfect weather for a walk on the beach and you were so glad that Jackie suggested it. Unbeknownst to you, her intention was to only ask you to go but when people got wind of it, they invited themselves along for a group hang.

When you all walked past a small restaurant, Daan suggested taking a little break. Most of the girls were down, just Jackie seemed to not be into the idea. “Actually, I think I want to continue walking for a bit longer. You guys go ahead though.” You excused yourself from the group and followed Jackie, noticing the slightly somber look on her face. “Hey Jacks, mind if I join? The weather is just so nice today.” Her smile quickly returned. “Yeah, I actually wanted to talk to you about something, so this is perfect.”

You continued walking as Jackie started talking. “So, since camp is nearing its end, I wanted to tell you something.” You smiled at her, encouraging her to continue, knowing full well what she was on about. “The notes you’ve been getting.” She started, nervously looking up at you. Jackie seemed to be too nervous to continue, so you decided to ask her, "It was you the whole time?" Her eyes widened, did you know or were you guessing? “Yes, it was me.” 

You smile wide at the confession, even though you already knew it was her, it was just so good to hear her say it. “Aw Jacks, that’s sweet. I had no idea!” She studies your face, noticing a slight sparkle in your eyes. “You already knew it was me, didn’t you?” You laugh, “Yes, yes I did.” Jackie hides her face behind her hands. “Oh god, I’m so embarrassed right now.” You shake your head and move your hands over hers, effectively taking them away from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed. I loved it.” You reassure her. “Why didn’t you stop me as soon as you realized it was me?” You left one of your hands on her cheek, gently stroking it with your thumb, while you held her hand in your other. “Because I never want you to stop leaving me little notes like that.” She searches your face again, looking for the meaning behind your words. A meaning she finds when you start slowly leaning in, waiting for any kind of response from the woman in front of you to make sure that this is what she wanted to. The moment Jackie starts leaning in too, you smile and pull her face closer to yours, connecting your lips in a soft kiss.

After you pull back from the kiss, you wrap your arm around her, hugging her tightly. “I just wanted to say that I look out for your notes every single day, they mame me very happy. Especially knowing they came from you, of course.” You place a quick peck to her cheek and the two of you continue walking down the beach hand in hand. It wasn’t until about five minutes later that Jackie stopped you in your tracks, “Wait, how did you know it was me?” 

You reach in your pocket to pull out the note from today, "Your handwriting is recognizable, you know that right?" Jackie starts laughing, “How did I not realize that?” You laugh with her, “I have no idea, but it’s very cute.” 

Since the wind was getting colder you decided to turn around and head back to the restaurant the rest of the girls went to. You walk up to their table together and each order a hot chocolate to warm up again. The hot chocolate came with a small napkin, which gave Jackie an idea. She reached in her purse and grabbed a pen. You smile when you realize she is writing you another note, this time right in front of you. You read her note with a big smile on your face. 

Life is an adventure, and I cannot wait to live this adventure with you by my side.

xx Jackie

Your first signed note and the start of a beautiful adventure. You pocket the note, the rest of the girls not having noticed anything yet, hoping to keep this between the two of you for a little longer. 

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[lightlycareless]

omgggg, that Toji x reader (*plus* Naoya) was incredibleee, ignore me if you want, I know you made Toji chosing to keep distance from reader and Megumi permanently BUT what if one day he ends up finally seeing Megumi, either personally or by pictures/videos 🥺 We know Megumi it's the spitted image of him, I mean, Gojo's face when he saw him for the first time said it all 😅 And also knowing his baby has the Ten Shadows technique (I cant stop thinking about how proud he was in the canon manga/anime 🥺 he always KNEW from the start Megumi was blessed/gifted, since his first breath, the fact Toji named him is not random) making the entire Zenin clan eat their shit

Heya anon!!

I'm so glad you liked it heheheheheheh a oneshot that I didn't intend to write but it just happened!! aren't we glad it did? lol

I didn't mean to ignore you, I was only focusing on other things first 😅 oof, I still have lots of request to go through, which I plan to do it slowly but surely...

Anyways, I might've not gone down that route, however... why not something angsty? I mean 😏I've had this in my mind so... yeah 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

Warnings: mentions of infidelity. Pregnancy. Naoya is, unfortunately, a prick. this is the oneshot anon is talking about. 100% read that first hehe. this is an AU from that, so the second part doesn't count??? I guess. excuse the proofreading. also I haven't written toji that much so please excuse my oocness as well ahahahahha :')

Happy reading!

As much as the three hoped to ignore the bases of your pregnancy, behave as it didn’t rise from an adulterous act, a direct transgression to the principles of the Zen’in, and keep it a secret, it wouldn’t take long before the guilt in each other’s mind began to weight heavy on their mind, ultimately betraying them and revealing the truth to the light, excusing the angered elders to finally get rid of two birds with one stone.

“Where—Where does this accusation even come from?!” You gasp, blood turning cold at the implication—at the notion of the truth. “Do you know the gravity of such words?!”

“Better than you of the act, it seems.” Another accuses. “We were quite aware of the rumors surrounding your ill-fitting behavior, but we never believed it would actually extend to this point!”

“I—I won’t tolerate neither of you disrespecting me!” you cry. “Nor will Naoya for that matter!”

But calling for his aid would no longer prove sufficient, for Naoya, too deep in his own insecurities by that point, had come to the disheartening conclusion that this situation had gotten way out of hand for a simple diversion.

A supposed act of mercy.

He shouldn’t have let this happen in the first place, should’ve respected what you and your marriage represented, what meant to him, and discard his pity for Toji—the man has been alone most of his life, what difference would that make that now?

But he didn’t, he allowed you to go to Toji—no, he handed you over to him, thinking he was doing something right for his cousin, or perhaps something deep inside him was allured by the sick idea of you being with another man and now, he was suffering the consequences.

Consequences he did not like, not one bit—because it got too real for him: you were now pregnant, with Toji’s child, and not his.

And this only highlighted what he considered the pitfalls of this relationship, a strike against his ego and the supposed inability to beget children, a rumor that grew bigger and bigger by each passing day, spreading like wildfire to the point where even outsiders became aware of it.

Which, for a prideful man like Naoya, was only a nightmare.

He loved you, he really did—Naoya never envisioned spending the rest of his life with anyone else…

But he loved his pride more, and when his clan began to actively confront him about it, he couldn’t take it anymore.

And thus….

“…Naoya?”

“This marriage was broken before it even started.” Your husband would say, unexpected words that pierced straight to your heart. “My family advised me well in avoiding you, but I falsely believed I could achieve differently.”

“What—what are you even saying?” you breathe. “What do you mean by—by differently?”

And… where does everything you lived with him stand?

The time you spent with him, the sweet nothings he’d whisper into your ear, to love you both swore to one another, reminding each other that there was no one else that compares…

And that you were the only woman who has ever made him feel this way—loved— and would do everything in the world to make happy…

Was it… all … a lie?

All for… nothing?

Or were you the only one that actually believed the other’s words?

“I cannot look past these transgressions.” Naoya continues. “You’ve left me no choice.”

“But you—you made me do this!” you gasp. “I never—I never wanted to be with anyone else! All this time, my heart only belonged to you!  How could you—how could you abandon me after all we’ve gone through together?!”

Naoya doesn’t say anything else anymore, instead, he simply turns around, exiting the room to leave you in the hands of the vengeful elders who did not hesitate to do what they had long desired—banish you from the estate.

Swiftly yet cruelly, you wouldn’t be able to take anything with you, not even a change of clothes or even money (you didn’t even ask for much, just enough to survive the week) as you were forced to face a new life of your own—alone, pregnant.

Going back to your family was also out of the question; the shame that you’d bring upon their name was one the Zen’in didn’t not waste time to remind them of—at the end, there was only so much your father and siblings could do against the invasive ways of the elders, and perhaps, a part of them deep inside, were also disappointed that you’ve succumbed to such foul thing.

And so, you were tossed onto the street, with nothing more than the clothes you were wearing, whatever you had for savings throughout the years, managed to take it out before either clan could close your account—but most importantly, with a broken heart you believe will never heal, not after the grave wound your husband’s indifference inflicted on it.

The pain you couldn’t even mourn properly due to all the things you had to worry about now.

The first thing you did was search for a place to stay, though getting one was proving to be an almost impossible task.

Thankfully, you were allowed to keep one other thing, maybe it eluded their minds when all this was happening, but you’re not going to question why when it was going to help you pay for a roof.

Naoya’s ring, your wedding ring, was something many would consider expensive, the kind of flashiness expected from a prestigious family like the Zen’in.

You remember a time when any kind of ring would’ve been enough for you to marry him. You didn’t need anything extraordinary to commit your life and heart to him.

That’s nothing but a far cry from what you felt now.

It still hurt to pawn it, but it was the only way you could accommodate yourself and the unborn child inside you, in the only area you could afford with what you got, for even then many suspected that your ring… well, had dubious origins.

When was the last time you even had to worry about the costs of living? Food, clothes, water…?

Many years—it had to; ever since you got together with Naoya, he’s been the one that took care of you.

You just had to say the word and he’d disappear all of your worries—even from the simplest of wants, Naoya indulgingly obliged.

It was a happy life you eventually considered for your child—imagining how happy they’d grow to be without a single worry, solely focusing on what they’ll have to play that day, or how to escape their over doting parents.

A long-gone dream, tossed to the side as a nightmare quickly took its place.

…

Did Naoya ever mean the words I love you?

Or was he doing all this just to keep you there, complying, just in case someone better came along, just like his clan wished would happen?

There mere thought of his devotion being nothing but an act tightens your heart with sorrow once more, gifting you the tragic notion that perhaps, all this time, you never knew your husband…

Maybe ex-husband, by this point.

All that was left from those moments, the slightest semblance of that marriage was this baby, created from what you thought your unconditional devotion to him, turning out to be your very own downfall.

The only one that would know of these struggles would be your baby, the one to accompany you through the darkest point of your life, hopefully to a brigther dawn.

And yet… you’ve never felt so alone.

Time surprisingly, went quicker than you anticipated, though not as easy as you would’ve wanted.

Life in your new home was still very difficult to get used to, even when it’s been months since… that.

But with the job you managed to get (whatever place hired pregnant women—they’re supposed to be at home, some would say, you didn’t care.) and some extra jujutsu work you did on the side, you managed, enough to give you a, not exactly comfortable, but just enough lifestyle.

As long as you sacrificed all the things you once considered granted and turned them into luxuries: such as warm showers, take out, and the sweets you liked to indulge once in a while; your pregnancy has been horrible because of that, and that’s without considering the medical bills you’re struggling to pay as well.

But if that wasn’t enough, your noisy neighbors presented issues of their own as well.

You’re not going to deny that your presence there was like moths to a flame, starting from your somewhat suspicious acquisition—all cash—of the small house you were living in.

From there, your loneliness, alongside your pregnancy; single mothers were unheard of, or rather, highly criticized, thus, all eyes were on you, down to your smallest movement.

Yet, even then, as annoying as they were, you were ok as long as it meant you never get to see those that hurt you ever again.

However, what you want isn’t necessarily what’s going to happen, and that would be reminded of one fateful night with an unsuspecting knock, just after you were getting ready to go to bed.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone came to bother you, but it would be the first time someone did so at this hour, and with such insistence that far from worrying you, it made you angrily storm at the entrance, ready to demand who’d be so inconsiderate enough to visit you so late at night!

And you’d get your answer soon enough, in the most shocking, horrifying, if not sorrowful manner you could’ve possibly anticipated, prompting you to close the door as soon as you saw his face, or attempted to, his reflexes much faster than yours.

“Get—get away from me!” you shrieked, hands trembling as you did your best to hold the door shut against his overwhelming strength— but even your husband has admitted that in terms of power, he excels like no one else.

“Y/N—” he breathes, somewhat amused that you’d been able to hold him off as much as you could, though eventually he was able to break free from your grasp and enter your home, you step away from him soon after.

“What are you even doing here?!” you gasp. “No—that doesn’t matter! I don’t want to see you! I’m not going back!”

“I’m not here to take you back” He quickly responds, eyes falling down to your stomach, making his face soften at the subtle bump evident through your clothes—with this sight, he knows he can’t take you back.

“Then—then why are you here, Toji?”

Perhaps Toji needed to see through his own eyes, what the whispers went on about at the estate regarding your absence.

He wasn’t there when it happened, promised himself to be far away from you as soon as your pregnancy was announced to the estate.

Toji would’ve normally taken this opportunity to act on retribution against his family, rub it on their face that the future of the clan came from him, a low life.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do so when you cheerfully paraded around the halls, happy to finally be forming a family with your beloved husband, even though it wasn’t of his making.

For the first time in his life, he thought himself to be too cruel for having planned such atrocities against the only person that has never been rude with him, always welcoming him with a smile on your face, or at least whatever you permitted when not following Naoya around like a lost puppy.

And the baby… well, he won’t deny that he was glad that his child would have a vastly different life from his—with you as his mother, it couldn’t be any other way.

Or so he believed.

Even when promising to keep away, he still attempted to check in on you, especially now that you were pregnant, whenever he had to go to the estate that is. That day was no be no exception, begrudgingly coming back to see what else he could scam out of his family to ensure his living outside.

Toji’s slyly scanned the hallways for your figure, the briefest indication of such, either through your giggle, staff, or even his cousin’s annoying voice—there were moments where he imagined how delightful it must’ve been to have you by his side, instead of Naoya’s; to be receiver of your laughter instead of that man who clearly didn’t deserve you.

But even if it was with him, he still found comfort in the fact that you were around, there.

Not like now, gone from Naoya’s side.

In fact, you were nowhere to be seen! Not with your staff, not eating by the gardens, or even indulging in one of your husband’s idiocies.

Nothing.

And no one had seen you either.

Or more like didn’t want to say, that much became evident when he stomped his way towards a nearby staff member, demanding your whereabouts, only to be responded with a fret falsely feigning ignorance, or foolish diplomacy.

At the prospect of your disappearance, Toji felt his blood run cold, almost like the estate lost whatever little warmth it had, worsening each time he asked another servant, and he’d get the same answer.

The implications behind your absence were growing heavier in his mind, to the point it sunk his heart to his stomach…

And propelled him to the one person who would undoubtedly know where you were.

“Naoya—Where is Y/N?!” Toji commands the moment he sees the heir, the young man instinctively flinched at the sight of his angered cousin, almost as if he knew what was running through his mind and attempted to make a run for it, only to be stopped by the collar, dead on his tracks. “Do not run away, coward! Answer me!”

“She’s—she’s not here anymore.” Is what Naoya manages to squeak, but Toji doesn’t need to be reminded the obvious.

“Where. Is. She.” He hisses, the worst of his assumptions slowly becoming a reality. “What have you done to her?!”

“What—what needed to be done!” Naoya gasps. “I—I couldn’t allow it!”

Toji doesn’t remember much after Naoya told him that the clan decided she was better off on her own—only that the heir was on the floor, bloodied and whimpering while attempting to cover his face, either trying to control the throbbing of his skin, the blood from spilling anywhere else, or perhaps even shame.

No. It couldn’t be the last. To have done something like what he did required a shameless man to do so.

Nonetheless Toji didn’t bother to find out nor to be reprimanded, quick to assert what needed to be done and heading out the estate; he couldn’t even bother cursing those that had done nothing but the worst after the worst, each time a new low, for his mind solely pertained in finding you.

It took him a while to do so, as expected, but he knew it was only a matter of asking around for a woman that simply didn’t fit to do the job—and such, here he is now.

“I want—needed to see you.” Toji takes a step closer.

“Get—get away from me.”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“You were fine doing that before—what’s so different from now?” You spat.

“This is different, Y/N. You’re alone—and you need me.”

“I’m not alone—I don’t need you.” You gasp. “Get away from me or I’ll—I’ll call the police!.”

“If you don’t need me, then the baby does.”

It’s like he struck a nerve with his words, because soon after tears would begin to fall down your cheeks, revealing that the sight you attempted to portray, the strength you so fiercely put up against him, was nothing but a façade, a way to hide the fact that indeed, you needed help.

Exhausted from facing all these uncertainties on your own, afraid.

But not anymore, not when Toji was here, more than willing to step in, as seen in the way he swiftly holds you in his arms when he sees you almost faint from distress, attempting to comfort you as you continued to cry.

“Get— get away from me…!” you’d say again, still fighting against his hold. However, he doesn’t fight it, he simply allows you to vent, taking in all the pain and hatred your heart harbored from the moment you were kicked out of the estate. “Don’t touch me!”

“I’m not leaving” Toji insists, he feels you trying to squirm your way out from him, but his strength doesn’t allow it. “You can struggle all you want, but I’m not leaving you on your own—”

“What difference does it make to you? Your family abandoned me to my luck! And even forced my family to do the same!” you breathe, Toji’s eyes widen—he did not know that; his fury for the Zen’in grows, but this is not the time to deal with that. “They don’t care if I die on the street!”

“I know.” He murmurs, holding you tighter against him.

“And I—And I tried my best to—to move on, but I can’t! I can’t do it!” you sob. “I’m so alone, and scared, and—and ashamed! I don’t want to live like this anymore!! I don’t want to die!”

“…I know.”

“Why—why is this happening to me?! All I ever wanted was for—was for Naoya to love me. I never wanted anything else! I never wanted money, I never wanted to hurt anyone either! I just—I just wanted to live a happy life with him, to make him happy!

But then he—he tossed me away, at one thing he didn’t like, he acted like I didn’t even matter! He didn’t even put up a fight to defend me! he just—he just let them hurt me, like what we had was—a lie!

 Did he never—did he even love me?”

Speechless, all Toji could do is continue holding you as you kept on pouring out your feelings, hearing the heart wrenching sound of your sobs that just kept reflecting how wounded you were by Naoya’s betrayal, the transgressions of his family, and the disappointment of yours.

And all because of something you didn’t even suggest in the first place. It was him who made his way into Naoya’s mind, and eventually, it was Naoya who pushed you into it, regardless of what happened later.

He wanted to do it; you know?

He wanted to go back there and murder them for all they’d done against you.

But when he left that place one last time, he promised he would stop thinking about himself, and start doing what is right—what was needed.

If Naoya wasn’t to step up and be a man, then he would.

Toji would gladly throw away his own pride, his own anger and thirst for vengeance, just to see you safe and happy once more.

Things your husband, could simply not—but he… he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I promise you.” Toji would reassure you once carefully placing you down to the bed after tiring yourself from crying, followed by a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

 “I swear, Y/N— I will not let my family do the same things they’ve done to me to our child. Even if it costs me my life, I will do everything in my power to keep the two of you safe.”

And unlike your husband, he means it.

Yes, a second part is coming :) just gotta put this one out first hehe.

Anyways, it's not exactly what you asked but I think it's going there??? I mean Toji STEPPED UP and was like OK imma take care of my baby mama. also, here Naoya .I. put it where it fits. ugh, can't say we're done with him...

agihajkgksa I'm excited for what's to come, I haven't written this level of angst in a while!! oof!!!

Thank you so much for your patience and for sending this ask :> I'm super happy you've like my oneshot so much!! I hope you'll be able to like this too!!

Take care, and see you soon! ❤️❤️

[girl4music]

“But I can tell you this, Xena… you’re the only constant in my life, and unless you know something I don’t, I’m not going anywhere. So I’m going to say the most selfish thing I’ve ever said to you: that baby’s my baby too, and I deserve a chance to fight for it as much as you.”

- Gabrielle, ‘Them Bones, Them Bones’ (Original script dialogue.)

They knew what they were doing with this scene. Especially the way Xena AND Gabrielle’s heads turn back to the baby at exactly the same time as if they were both proud of making that little bundle of joy between their arms. Also notice how Gabrielle only steps away after a glance towards Xena and Eve, clearly assessing that they both need to be alone while she responds to Hercules' request. As if to say "You stay here, I'll take care of business."

Dialogue is rarely ever needed between these two because the body language communicates so much in small intimate scenes like this. Both the mark of great acting and great chemistry between the actresses. I've always said that it's the quiet moments that truly reveal the depth of the loving relationship between Xena and Gabrielle. Whether you see it in a romantic way or not, you cannot deny that it is not filled with unconditional love. Especially where Gabrielle is concerned.

In fact...

I'm reminded of what Ares says in the ice cave in confession to what he believes to be a dead Xena about the dichotomy between his love for Xena and Gabrielle's love for Xena.

"You're with her now. I handled you all wrong. I know that. She knew what you needed - unconditional and unselfish love - and I couldn't give that to you. But I appreciated you in ways she never could. Your rage, your violence, your beauty. When you sacrificed yourself for others, you were hers. But when you kicked ass, you were mine. I love you, Xena."

- Ares, ‘Looking Death In The Eye’.

And I back up what I say in my character study thesis. The reason why Gabrielle won Xena's affection every time wasn't just because she was good at that moment. It's because she was given a CHOICE to be good in EVERY moment. Ares never offered her that choice. It was always "be mine, or die". Gabrielle always did - she would just take herself out of the picture if Xena chose evil or stand against her.

Such a striking difference is often not spoken about in this love triangle the writers obviously intended between Xena, Gabrielle and Ares. It says that the show never really went one way or the other on the romance not just because it couldn't... But because it didn't have to. There was importance in keeping the romance balanced although many wouldn't admit to it and would rather just complain about it instead. As for me, I think it's one of the most groundbreaking things about it. Rob was definetly right about keeping it this way and I back him up on it 100%. We knew that Gabrielle had Xena's heart. However, the conflict in Xena's heart would always remain because Ares would always be around to remind her of her former life. And in so doing this, we learn that Xena could never be definitively one way or the other either. This is what made her character so damn dynamic. And why it was leagues ahead of its time in queer representation. Even today, a bisexual narrative like this is never done. Or rather - it’s done but it’s never written this well. It’s never connected to the major narratives and themes. And that’s because the queer characters are never the major characters. They’re never the actual narrative. Instead, the queer characters have to wrap around it. And that’s the wrong way of going about doing this.

I don’t care what anyone says.

Gabby was the daddy.

Or the other mother, if you prefer. Although, I would definetly say Gabrielle’s role was typically that of a father. I don’t like gender norms, roles and stereotypes either but that doesn’t mean those are off-limits to a woman.

I’ve said before that the fact Gabrielle was depicted as doing the “typical father” role means the writers were abolishing the belief that only a man can do it and therefore using gender norms, roles and stereotypes as a way to promote equality and solidarity.

If you have a problem with me calling Gabrielle the “father” of Eve, you have to understand I am speaking from the point of view they would have in their time. There was no such thing as a same-sex couple in Ancient Greece in the sense that they could marry and have children without the participation of a male figure. Of course gay couples would exist but would not be socially accepted. Hell, it wasn’t even socially accepted a decade ago. What makes you think it was then? So me referring to Gabrielle as that male figure in Eve’s life should be seen as a compliment, not an insult. I’m saying she had the capability to fill that role and she wasn’t even a man. Just like how Xena could fill the role of a warlord and she wasn’t a man. Can’t you see that I am giving them respect as people who can take on both the feminine and masculine side of situations? Xena and Gabrielle were human anomalies and that’s bloody awesome as far as I’m concerned. I wish more shows today had that kind of gender roles representation with their characters. Sadly, they don’t.

[saintsenara]

Do you think there is parallel between Peter and ron.

Fandom does Peter wrong. That is a fact. He is either absent or is present just for comic relief or is pure evil. But all those characterisation are simply cartoonish. As if written by a person who is living in la la land...

Peter, just like Lupin, we only know major things about him. But like not many people see lupin as a gray shade character only a kind fluffy guy, Peter is polarised to the bad one....

Ron similarly is often given the last place if how much of a good friend each person in golden trio was to be questioned. And that is a tragedy in itself because atleast for Ron we have so much material...

Infact for me, Ron will always be a person who has bigger heart than jkr's favorite mary sue-Lily Evans. She did what any good mother should do. But fandom never stops going on and on about it Or even Harry's sacrifice at the end is so much singed about...but then we have Ron, an 11 year kid who for the sake of defeating voldy, told his new Friends to leave him. He sacrificed himself at 11. Everyone was sure that he is risking his life...but no one i see ever gushes about that act of bravery. It is always about one Potter Or the other.

Peter too. I mean he won't have been friends with the other three for 10 years if they just tolerated him and vice versa. But making him evil kr stupid kr dumb Or hideous to look at in his childhood or teen years is like taking all his personality away and giving us just a shell of a person...

He did become animagi at 15 and that is quite a commendable magic. He is cunning to pull up his stunt as a spy....

Like war as sirius describes in gof is so dark and scary. And people forgot that big things make a person change.

Ron on the other hand had done quite a lot in his life time but often he is found to be judged for leaving his friends.

I believe that the only difference between them is that ron recognised his faults and made correction. Meanwhile pettigrew simply kept on walking on the wrong path he chose....

What do you think on this..?

thank you very much for the ask, pal!

i don't think this entirely works. ron gets cast by the fandom as a gluttonous moron who's also a bad friend primarily on account of the films - and as a bad person by people who want to ship hermione with other people but don't have the nerve to do this in a complex or interesting way - but the text never suggests that either harry or hermione think of him as being in last place in the trio.

indeed, when harry does think of himself as better than ron - when ron gets made a prefect over him in order of the phoenix - he feels horrible for his brief flash of jealousy and soon gets over it. on other occasions when he notes something about himself which could be seen as superior to ron - when he notes that ron got no outstandings at owl, for example - harry doesn't actually force a comparison which is designed to position ron below him. they end up doing the same newts, which is what harry - who sees ron as his partner in crime - cares about.

ron is also demonstrably harry's best friend, and harry tends to enable him and automatically side with him in conflict - it's an example of great self-growth that he doesn't cut hermione off in half-blood prince when ron does, since he's perfectly happy to do so in prisoner of azkaban. but he's also demonstrably hermione's best friend too. harry's relationship with her is, as he says, sibling-like, which doesn't just mean that it's not romantic, but that it contains a "you can't choose your family" vibe - he loves her fiercely, but he also finds her exasperating in a way ron doesn't, doesn't make any real effort to learn about her interests or include her in his, and is often quite harsh to her. ron - in contrast - does see his relationship with her as one of active choice.

this is why i never really like the idea that the trio and the marauders are meant to be parallels. on the surface, ron and harry should be the equivalent of james and sirius and hermione should be remus...

but they're not, because the clear dynamic of the marauders in canon is that they were a group centred around james. all three of sirius, remus, and peter clearly understood james as their best friend, and their relationships among themselves primarily depend on their understanding of their and the others' relationship to james. there is - i think - a credible case to be made that, if james was removed from the picture entirely, but not in a way that caused the profound trauma of the canon timeline [if he just moved away with lily, for example], the remaining three would drift apart.

james - of course - only understood sirius as his equal, his brother. peter is obviously someone he considered inferior to the two of them - albeit in a fond way, rather than a cruel one. he clearly thinks of him the way a teenager might think of their pre-teen sibling - someone you love and are happy to include in your social life if they do what you want, someone you also don't want to embarrass you in front of your cool teenage friends by letting them do what they want instead of following your instructions. remus is clearly someone he didn't think of as quite so socially inferior to him, but he also still seems to have understood him as peripheral to his and sirius' rampant codependence.

the trio doesn't have anything like this dynamic. even though harry is narratively unequal to ron and hermione - he is their leader, they are his disciples - the relationships across the three of them [harry's active choice to be friends with ron, harry's feeling that hermione is his sister; ron's active choice to be friends with hermione, his pseudo-familial relationship with harry] are much more equal than those among the marauders.

what i have been convinced by, however, is @whinlatter's belief that the best parallel for peter in the series is ginny:

[twst-drabbles]

Soulmates AU: Idia

Summary: You were born with a run-on sentence for a soulmate mark on your arm, from wrist to shoulder. Now you finally met the man that utters these words by a trashcan.

(I was requested and wrote this long number. Over 4000 words all written within the span of four days. I wrote this for @twst-charity. Not gonna lie, pretty proud that I wrote this much in that span of time. Been a while since I could do that, though I did end up pulling a muscle in my neck. I hope this is a fun read. It's also on ao3 as well. Right here.)

The writings you were born with were practically illegible at birth. The font was rather fancy, overly so, and the words circled around from your wrist to your shoulder so tightly that your family was convinced it was a giant birth mark and not the words of your soulmate.

But you grew and so did the spaces in those words. It was a pretty spiral, but as age continued to feed you wisdom, you felt that this position was deliberate. Because, as far as you knew, this first sentence could very well be the ramblings of someone going mad or already is. But first words are hardly something to build assumptions on, especially when it comes to the subject of your soulmate.

These words covering your arm are about a fictional character named Alexius von Tuveria en Ris. Well, at least you hope it’s fictional. It’s kind of a silly name to give to a kid. And also you’re not exactly up for having a soulmate that’s this, uh, verbose and opinionated about an actual person. You’ve been exposed to the deeper parts of the celebrity fan culture and you’re good with staying far away from it.

…Alexius von Tuveria en Ris doesn’t deserve any of this, though not as if he’d do anything about it if he saw since that prince is just too kind-hearted and honestly kind of cheesy, though cheesy doesn’t mean cringe and cringe is something normies are so immune to it almost makes me sick…

That was only part of the sentence on your arm. Your soulmate, where ever they are, they sure do talk a lot. Like, a whole lot. You tried repeating the sentence on your arm in just one breath and you had to practice a few years just to get it right. Strong lungs on that one, probably.

And a whole lot of unique factors to help narrow down the pool of who is and who isn’t your soulmate. Alexius von Tuveria en Ris is a pretty unique name by itself. But, the uniqueness of it did return disappointment, since searching online for a character with such a name yielded no results. You made it a habit to search at least once a week or so, just in case it was a series that has yet to exist.

You were also sort of relieved to find out that there was no royal family with a similar name. Though, that still didn’t rule out the possibility. For all you know, this could be a fake name someone chose for themselves.

Either way, this name will come to exist at some point, someone or something will be Alexius von Tuveria en Ris, and you’d have to make sure to be on top of that.

But, then you couldn’t, because suddenly you found yourself in a place called Night Raven College. One minute you were living your regular life, and the next you found duty after duty from your “oh so kind” headmage with a cat that doesn’t learn to listen when he should.

It was… an adjustment certainly. The grating egos of everyone here, the casual and not so casual use of magic that can and will kill you if it hits you in just the right way, and large restrictions on your finances rarely left you with more than a few complaints, but all you could do was grit your teeth and trudge on.

At least, despite all of these annoyances and difficulties, there are some silver linings to the found here. Magic itself was something of a marvel to witness, you won’t lie to yourself about that. You will never say it out loud for anyone to head though, because you know the minute you do, people like Grim will gloat and unintentionally belittle you with a, “Well, something as simple as that would look amazing to you, huh?”

And out of a need to never hear those words uttered by anyone, you decided to use one of your privileges to lock yourself in the computer lab. It’s after curfew, so most of the students not in remedial classes are at their dorms by now.

Next to you were a couple of spiral notebooks, the blue one opened and already filled to the brim with notes about basic magic mechanics. Sure, you can’t do a single lick of magic as far as you can tell, but you don’t want to make the blunder of relying on your preconceived notions of it.

Though, as with all studying, even on a subject as interesting as this, your brain starts to fuzz up and suddenly you can’t even retain the current paragraph. Your eyes kept skimming over the same words over and over. Finally, you huffed and slumped back in your chair, setting your pencil aside.

Though, before you decide to call it quits and rest for the night, you felt one more search would be interesting. You pushed up your sleeve until you found the name of Alexius von Tuveria en Ris on your forearm, and typed that into the blinking bar.

Hehe, the name looked a little funny in this cutesy font this search engine uses. You weren’t expecting anything honestly. You’ve already cut your losses with meeting your soulmate young. You’ve had cousins and other distant relatives that haven’t met their soulmates until they were in their seventies. Knowing how that bird-brained Crowley works, you’ll probably return back home when you’re at least in your forties. Or fifties.

He’s really taking his sweet-ass time, huh?

Either way, you pressed enter and stretched. Nothing to come of it and nothing to lose with this simple search, right? You’ve already been through the phase of obsessively searching every day back when you were younger and had too much time. At this point, it does no harm to search at least once. You mean, why not?

But, it was a hit. Several pages of hits. At the top of the pastel blue search engine was Alexius von Tuveria en Ris in all bold. In fact, from the title of the website, you’d say it was an entire site dedicated to this character.

Here it was. The very thing you’ve searching for, waiting for, was right in front of your eyes.

You didn’t say anything, you just clicked. Paragraphs and paragraphs of detailed information about this person–a fictional character–laid before you. You nearly ripped your sleeve up your arm as you scrolled down the page, looking between the screen and your skin as you confirmed that what you’re reading is correct and not just a huge coincidence that’s made to make fun of you for having hope.

The name matches, the background of isolating himself in his castle matches, the huge blow out after attempting to revive his Kingdom of Paradise matches. All of it matches your arm.

You let go of the mouse, eyes burning from staring at a white screen with black text for too long, and just sat. You stared up at the ceiling…

…and quietly seethed.

For months you’ve been wanting to go back home, and often in the middle of the night, you’d find yourself wishing you never got transported here in the first place. Some part of you buried deep was starting to believe that you would never go home, and if you knew that the option of exploring a magical place came with the consequence of never going home, you never would have taken it.

But now your arm and this screen was telling you that you had no choice but to come here. That it was destined, preordained. No matter how hard you fought, you were going to be whisked away.

It… it sucked, you will admit that.

But you sighed out all the doubts and breathed in realistic optimism. You came here one way, there has to be a way out. It happened once, so it’s logical that it would happen again.

And so, with a light stretching of your sore fingers and wrists, you clicked and read as much information you can. Absorbing the series that’s apparently been running for a good twenty years with a handful of remakes and one live action that flopped on its face.

Before you know it, it was way past the dead of night and encroaching on morning. You took a minute to stretched and rub at your strained eyes before packing everything up. You’re going to regret doing all this in the morning, when classes start, but what can you say? You like living in the moment.

You walked out, locked everything up with the keys Crowley entrusted you with, and started down the path towards your dorm. Sure, you do have permission to use the mirrors on campus, but you’re pretty sure you need someone with magic to be able to use the thing. Or you probably don’t, for all you know, but you’re not in the mood to test the theory.

You found yourself on a cross section at the road that served as a nice resting spot before heading to Sam’s shop. It had a couple of fancy black benches with gaudy gold legs, a fountain so large you’re glad you don’t have to clean it, and a lot of foliage for that beautiful view and clean air.

With all these sights nicely lit by the evenly spaced lamps to take in, instead your eyes settled on someone that chose to huddle by a trashcan. You heard crinkling and, at first, you thought this person was riffling through the trash. You got closer, and while you can’t say you were wrong, the only thing in this man’s hands was a poster.

Then, finally, you were within earshot.

“And just when I found the perfect poster, I find it in a trash can of all things, wrinkled up and thrown away because some ignorant idiot thought this was only worth as much as a piece of paper,”

Kind a rambler huh? Sounds like he’s having a bad day. Or night. Should probably just leave him alone.

…

Hold on a moment.

You pulled up your sleeve.

“Couldn’t have the decency to give this limited edition poster back for people like me, who truly appreciate the series, to own, but no of course not, it would be inconvenient, horrible that they would wrinkle the main character’s Kingdom of Paradise that he’s always dreamed of, Alexius von Tuveria en Ris doesn’t deserve any of this, though not as if he’d do anything about it if he saw since that prince is just too kind-hearted and honestly kind of cheesy, though cheesy doesn’t mean cringe and cringe is something normies are so immune to it almost makes me sick–AH there’s a tear because of course,”

You were twisting your arm this way and that, making very sure that this random man’s rant actually matched your words. You almost pulled a muscle as he continued, eyes and neck straining to read the words on your shoulders.

You lost your balance and caught yourself just as the man before you stopped his rant with a huff.

Before he could possibly start again, you walked right behind him and said, “So you’re the dude that inked up my arm.”

Ah, you didn’t really have any special words in mind, like a lot of your classmates back in your younger days. Yes, you’re buzzing a little with excitement, but you’re so tired and drained from another emotional high that you’re in a fog. Besides, you already confirmed that this person’s your soulmate, whatever pops out of your mouth will be just as unique.

“Eep!” A high little squeak of a yelp. The student–his jacket held Ignihyde designs on it–retreated his arms to his chest, like he’s ready to either lash out or curl into a ball.

He would’ve fell backwards if your legs didn’t stop his fall.

“Whoops,” you pushed him to his feet with a hand to his shoulder, “sorry about that. You okay?”

Only then did he finally turn. His hood fell from his face and unleashed an absolute bonfire of hair. A luminous bright blue that almost blinded you.

And suddenly, his hair turned an almost violent mix of pink and purple.

He blinked, then his eyes flickered from your face to his wrist, where your words are. The man opened his mouth but his voice didn’t scream so much as it whistled before dashed to the left. He sped crawled on all fours for a moment before finding his footing.

This man, whom you would eventually find out to be called Idia, ran away upon first meeting you, his soulmate.

You weren’t offended in the least. You can understand that being seen mumbling like a maniac by a trashcan isn’t the best way to be seen by your fated soulmate. So, with that in mind, you didn’t search out for him for about three days.

By day four, you got impatient and decided to hunt down for Idia since he has not even left a hint hint about wanting to meet you. A week would’ve been the original waiting time, but this college really takes a toll on you and you just want this done before you get dragged into another magical situation.

The first day, you waited by a classroom you knew Idia attended. Well, Idia’s tablet. Being a housewarden and not a regular student, it’s rather easy to stumble upon information about him. Egocentric students love to gossip when it’s framed to either make their dorm or themselves look better.

You saw a peek of a magical tablet and grabbed without hesitation.

“Ha?” You heard clicking and felt the tablet attempt to leave your hands. You turned it around and faced the built in camera.

“Hey,” you greeted as causally as you could, “Idia, right? Met you a few nights before–”

Another click, and suddenly your entire vision went white with a flash of light. You dropped the tablet.

By the time your eyes went back to normal, the tablet was gone and you were alone again.

“So, that’s how it going to be, huh?” You’ve had your fair share of runaways. In fact, your little group was mostly made of them, running away for one reason or another, like not wanting to go to class, or avoiding cleaning duties for a mess they’ve made. This was not a new situation for you.

If Idia thinks he can run away from you forever, he has another thing coming.

The next day, you found the tablet floating in the library. You got a ladder to grab it from the bottom, but you weren’t quiet enough when you climbed it. The tablet floated right past your fingertips and dashed out the door with a “Sorry!”

Well, at least he apologized. But you still want to talk!

Another day passes and you found the man physically just as you were about to walk out the classroom. He had a stack of papers in his hands, late assignments he had to turn in physically if he wanted a chance at passing apparently. He didn’t see you, so you retreated behind the door.

When you saw Idia’s figure pass by the door, you popped out and grabbed his shoulder.

“Idia,” you firmly said with a tightening grip on his frozen shoulder, “we need to talk.”

And you were meet with a tower of papers to the face and he was gone before you dug through the pile.

By that point, you were ready and willing to start dragging your other friends into the mix. You let this skittish soulmate of yours to run off the first few times because you didn’t want to stress him out too much. But, by this point in time, it would be better to throw caution to the wind if only so you two can actually sit down and have a talk.

But, by the next morning, before you could meet up with everyone, a robot kid you recognize as Ortho shot out of the sky and landed with surprising grace. At the price of leaves and dirt flooding your mouth.

“There you are!” His voice was loud but it wasn’t grating. It was a cute kind of loud, like he was happy to see you.

You spat on the ground and leaned against a tree, still groggy from waking up. “Ortho, right? Hello. You need something? I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“To make a plan to catch my big brother right?”

His accuracy left you stunned.

“Uh.”

“Then, please come with me!” Ortho grabbed your arm and enthusiastically, “I keep telling my brother to suck it up and meet you, but he just won’t!”

“I know that,” you gritted your teeth, feeling like your shoulder will pop out of its socket, “Mind telling me where you’re taking me though.”

“I’m taking you to–” Ortho paused, floated behind you and grabbed your shoulder, “Hold on, this will be faster. We’re going to Ignihyde!”

“Wha–?” But you were forced to eat your words, just when it was finally free of all dirt and leaves.

And before you know it, you were gently placed on your feet in front of the Ignihyde dorm.

“Huh.” If you delete the last few minutes from your mind, you’d say it was a pretty enjoyable ride. Quick, at least.

“So, future soulmate of my big brother,” You’re pretty sure he knows who you are, you’re not exactly a quiet presence with that monster fire cat always around, “I have to do other things, so you just have to go down these paths and you’ll be in front of his room! Just make sure he doesn’t run away, okay?”

Ortho even gave you a little note that straight up looked printed. A clear map of where Idia’s room is.

“Well, thanks,” you turned around to properly face him but Ortho was already blasting off into the sky with a wave.

You huffed out a laugh, just because the whole interaction was ridiculous, and went on your way. You don’t really have early morning classes to be late to, anyway. You just came early to prepare for chasing after Idia.

As much as you would like to take the time to admire the hallways of the Ignihyde dorm, you’re too eager to get this meeting over with.

And then you’re finally in front of Idia’s room. You reach out to knock but the door pulls open, as though avoiding your knuckles. Idia was there, hood over his head like he was going to sneak around again like the first time you’ve met him. He spotted you in a second and slammed the door right in your face.

You waited a few minutes just to see if some miracle would happen and Idia opens the door on his own.

He didn’t.

“I’m not moving from here, if you’re wondering.”

You heard a sharp gasp and then a heavy, shaky, defeated sigh.

“…of course you’re not…” And then heard the slide of fabric against the door before a soft thud at the bottom.

He sat down, and so you got yourself comfortable as well.

“So,” you leaned back on your hands, “you’ve been running away from me.”

“I have…” and then under his breath like he thought you wouldn’t hear, “…any normal person would give up but of course my soulmate would be more stubborn than that…”

You whistled and that caught his attention with a gasp.

“Hey, focus on me,” you knocked on the door for good measure, “Why were you running? That first meeting could not have been that embarrassing.”

“Says you,” his next words came out muffled, like he’s shrinking into his hoodie, “Of all the days to meet you, you just had to see me right next to a trash can like I was some kind of degenerate rat. Anyone would think I was a loser of a freak, stroking that wrinkled poster like that. Well, I’m not! Only true fans would love this series as much as I do. So if anything, you were probably seeing me at my best moment!”

“Huh.”

You can practically hear Idia deflate from behind the door. “’Huh?’ You say… Yeah yeah, think what you want, I can’t even begin to change it.”

You… have a doozy of a soulmate huh?

“Certainly didn’t help that you were flash banged me, almost made me fall down a ladder and threw papers in my face.”

Idia shrank further. “…sorry…”

“Hmm? What’s that?”

“Sorry!” It was a burst of a yell and you had to back up a bit, “I was terrified alright?! I mean, I played all sorts of scenarios and even made a game to prepare for this moment. I had all these scripts in my head and I thought I was ready to trigger the romance flag alright?! But instead, I was stuck in my own head and completely missed it! I messed up and I panicked! You have any idea how scary that is?! You weren’t supposed to see me like that! I was supposed to be at max level by the time I met you but instead, I’m just this unevolved mess!”

You opened your mouth but Idia cut in.

“Fate is inevitable, just as death is… I was going to met you regardless and I guess, I thought, that maybe I had more time. But I didn’t. So I just, wanted you to stay away until I thought I was going to be ready… Ha, either way, it’s my fault…”

…alright, how are you going to handle this? You’re not exactly the best when it comes to emotional comfort.

Well, may as well just use what you already have on hand. Or on arm.

“Didn’t Alexius von Tuveria en Ris think he was ready to rule his kingdom when he brought it back from the ashes?”

You heard a sputter. You continued.

“I mean, the dude was kind of young wasn’t he? Well, not like it matters, he brought it back and someone had to rule it whether he liked it or not.”

Then, you heard Idia actually honk. “No, that’s not what happened! Alexius von Tuveria en Ris wanted to bring back the Kingdom of Paradise not because he thought he was fit to rule it but because he thought it didn’t deserve that fate. It’s not his fault that he was put in that position when he brought it to life!”

Ah, there we go. Switching the subject, your best skill!

You egged him on. “But shouldn’t he have been prepared for that, then? The series did say that he likes to prepare for every thing imaginable because it was a kingdom he was reviving.”

“What the–that’s stupid! He can’t see the future! No matter how much he reads or writes, there’s no way he could’ve predicted that! And even if he did, it wouldn’t have mattered! He couldn’t have stopped the tragedy anyway!”

“Oh that’s right!” you clapped your hands, “Thanks for reminding me. Totally slipped my mind.”

“As long as you know. I hate it when people don’t pay attention.”

Huh, he sounds huffy. That’s cute.

“Sorry, it’s kind of hard to remember with all the stuff that happens in the latest Red Sky Arc, where Alexius just–”

You heard a hard slam against the door. “No spoilers! I haven’t gotten to that arc yet!”

You closed your mouth, almost biting your tongue in the process.

A few seconds, then a minute, and then you burst out laughing.

Idia, meanwhile, was stunned. “W-what? What did I do?”

“No no,” you relaxed, “that’s just the loudest you’ve been.”

“I… I guess that was a bit too loud.” The tone in his voice made him seem bashful. “But I’m seriously not at that part yet. I don’t want to get a head start just yet.”

“Alright, I’ll keep my mouth shut then.” You pushed yourself up and dusted your pants. “I think I’ll be taking my leave here. Don’t want to bother you too much. I just needed to hear an apology and an excuse.”

“Wait, what?”

You turned around, stuffing the map Ortho gave you into your pocket. “See you later, Idia.”

“Wait!” The door slammed open. You turned around.

Idia’s hair was pink at the tips, but at least he didn’t look like he was going to explode. He did look like he was going to collapse though. Poor man looked out of breath.

“I-I,” the pink began to climb upwards the longer he looked at you, “I, uh, I happen to have that season downloaded… on my PC… so if you want to, you know, update your out of date stuff then, maybe you could, you know… watch it with me?”

His head practically disappeared in his hoodie and hair, but you heard him clear enough.

You could tease him, but you don’t know each other well enough so…

You nodded, “Sure, I have time. A lot of time actually.”

That one is a bit of a lie, but you just want to spend time with Idia. You have a number of excuses on hand anyway. You’ll send one off right before settling down.

“Huh? Oh, uh” Idia moved to the side, holding the door like it’ll protect him from his feelings, “C-come in then.”

You stepped inside.

[cybiirz]

ೃ⁀➷ DOCUMENTS

Wriothesley x Gn!Reader

Sypnosis : Seems like a certain Warden had tired himself out. Being the kind person you were, you chose to help, but you forgot how deceiving an inmate can be. He was no different…But at least he pays?

WC : 829

“Wriothesleyyy! I brought you something from Sigewinne. She says it’s for like, helping you stay awake or whatever,” You groaned out as you treaded up the stairs. Currently, you were holding a large box of medicine that you were supposed to be delivering to other inmates.

That was your punishment for getting involved in a little experiment that was supposedly forbidden in the fortress…Either way, it was tiring and you just wanted it to be done with.

Your footsteps echoed against the walls as you stomped onto the metal stairwell. Finally, you reached the top, and with a lack of breath might you add. Who the hell needed so much medicine anyway? Nevertheless, you kept your head low as you observed the different bottles inside.

“There’s a lot here, let me just find yours and…got it. Huh, this thing has way too many side effects! How the hell do you even—” You lifted up your head to look at Wriothesley, only to find him practically passed out on his desk. You paused and cocked your head to the side.

Suddenly, you had an idea and with a smile and a slight skip in your step, you closed in on the desk. Outstretching your arms, you held the box over the table before dropping the heavy equipment, creating a loud slam against the wood.

No reaction.

“Huh? So he’s really knocked out then,” You murmured quietly to yourself. You opted to walk around the table and slowly approached his unconscious form. You began poking his head, and to no surprise, no reaction.

“Jeez. You overwork yourself too much you idiot,” You whispered next to him. Glancing at all of his papers, it took less than a second to see how messed up everything was. You sighed deeply and decided to help out this son of a gun.

It had been about an hour or so, with you going over the different documents and having to dig deep into his shelves to pair up each page to its designated folder. Covering your mouth, you let out a loud yawn before looking back over at the warden. Still fast asleep.

A small chuckle left your lips as you walked back over to him. Resting yourself against the table, you lifted your left hand and gently stroked his head.

“Well I organised each and every document for you. And since I went over each word written, I've seen you’re doing a good job for this prison. Even for inmates like me, you treat us well…But you are definitely paying me back one way or another once you’re awake,” After partially scolding him but mainly complimenting him, you began to get lost in a daze as you stared softly at the man in front of you.

Once you finished speaking, his head turned slightly, eyes opening with a small smirk splayed on his lips. You swiftly retracted your hand and looked away, trying to avoid his stare.

“Thanks for that (name). I appreciate you doing that but, you know I could’ve done all of it that whole time. I wasn’t actually asleep you know?,” He replied, his voice slightly condescending.

“Yeah well I expect payment back and—” Your arms crossed over your chest before you paused. What did he just say? “Hang on, you were pretending?! You little liar! You’re so lazy that you had to fake sleeping to get someone else to do your work for you?! Now I better get that payment before I rip your—”

You were quickly cut off as a pair of lips landed directly onto yours. Your eyes instantly widened in shock as Wriothesley lifted his hand and cupped your face. Slowly but surely, you melted into the kiss and held your arm up before resting your hand onto his shoulder.

After parting, the light sounds of heavy breathing could be heard from you. You tried to look everywhere apart from him, but he moved his hand to grip your chin, causing you to face him.

“That was, unnecessary warden,” You mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“That was your payment,” He responded smugly. Looking at him with your blood rushing to your cheeks, you noticed the slight crease in the corners of his eyes. He was smiling at you, and not one of mockery or a fake smile, it was genuine.

“Well then…I have to get going and deliver these to the other inmates. Thank you for paying me back,” You cleared your throat before moving away from him and picking up the box. You left his medicine on the table as you made sure to secure the lid of the box. He crossed his arms over his torso as you began to descend down the stairs.

“(Name). Come back again and I'll be sure to repay you for whatever documents you organise for me,” Wriothesley’s voice had a somewhat teasing lilt to it, but it was evident he was serious. You rolled your eyes and simply scoffed at him before taking your leave.

But who were you to deny such a special treat?

A/N : Love me a little overworked man. But anyway, it’s finally my half term so i’ll hopefully be posting small drabbles that appear my head. Series work is becoming boring so oneshots and drabbles will probs be my thing. I might finish off the Gepard series but we’ll see. Also i’m thinking of doing a revamp to this blog buttt idk. Anyways, hope you enjoyed, feel free to leave requests!

[aether-the-bakugannie]

The Fated.. Bad Ending?

Hello hello! I've been thinking about this for a while and now I've finally gained access to the episode, I think it's about time I wrote out my thoughts on why The Fated First Battle was such a horrific ending to Ajit's arc.

Ajit's arc in Armored Alliance was honestly my favourite arc in the whole show. They wrote it so well, from having Ajit start to love brawling when he battled against Dan but seeing it as something he could love alongside thieving, to having him subconsiously make his choice between thieving and brawling in Magnus PI, when Magnus chose to let him go, Ajit could've simply left with both the promise to continue the battle someday and the stolen lightbulb to complete the mark, instead he threw Magnus the lightbulb he'd previously stolen, promising to continue the battle and gave up the theft. To having the two things pitted against each other further and further until he finally makes his choice and quits thieving, to eventually joining the Awesome Brawlers.

Something very important to Ajit's arc is his relationship with Storm. Ajit was saved by Storm as a child, then became his apprentice - training to be a phantom thief like him, it's clear Ajit cared deeply for Storm, even viewing him as a father figure. Yet to the viewers, it's clear that Storm has been manipulating and grooming Ajit into becoming a thief.

Storm continually treats Ajit as lesser, saying he needs "retraining" whenever he does something wrong, it's implied Ajit never had any friends before the Awesome Brawlers and that he was generally isolated from others, therefore Storm would be the only one to show him kindness - making Ajit rely on him. He switches between being kind to Ajit and being extremely dismissive and blunt and even calling things Ajit does (clearly hoping to earn approval) dissappointing, he doesn't even let Ajit call him by name, insisting on being referred to as "Master". During Secrets Exposed, Storm refers to Ajit as his "masterpiece" which almost objectifies him as a possession, just another thing he's stolen and keeps around. Even before Haavik comes into the picture, as soon as Ajit makes the decision to be a brawler rather than a thief, Storm decides he wants to destroy him as revenge or punishment for this choice. "Ajit. If I'm going to loose my masterpiece anyway, I will destroy it myself." - Storm in Armored Alliance episode 17: Secrets Exposed.

We never truly find out if Storm truly cares about Ajit or if he only cares about having an apprentice, someone he can train into a phantom thief just like him. And it's clear Ajit doesn't know either as whenever he interacts/fights against Storm during AA, he's shown to be unsure about fighting him as a part of him misses him.

Ajit breaking free of Storm's control and choosing his own path as a Bakugan Brawler is such an important moment for his character arc. I could talk about Ajit's arc forever because he's one of my favourite characters and he was so well written in Armored Alliance, he was more of the protagonist of that season than Dan was.

However, when watching Legends episode 5: The Fated First Battle, it's always left a bad taste in my mouth. In this episode, Ajit faces off in a battle against Storm for the first round of the battle judgement against Hanoj. Legends is a thirteen episode season and this is really the episode that concludes Ajit's arc. You only need to mention this episode to me in passing and I will go off ranting about how awful an ending this was for Ajit.

Geogan Rising is typically thought of as the season with the worst writing, however Geogan Rising actually succeeded in writing Ajit better than Legends did. ...Well, at least in episode 16: The Taste of Memories, I'm still not a fan of how they wrote him in most other Geogan Rising episodes.

In The Taste of Memories, Ajit mentions a certain type of curry he used to eat a lot when he was younger. The group assume he misses eating it when he says there aren't any resturants around that sell it and decide to make some for him.. Yet in the end, Ajit admits he didn't like it as he's not a fan of spicy food and he only used to eat it because it was Storm's favourite. "I'm sorry, but I don't really... Like curry at all. I don't like spicy food, I used to eat lentil curry when I lived with Storm because it was his favourite, not mine." When Ajit actually tries the curry, he's surprised how good it is and how it's not spicy at all.

I actually view this as a metaphor or a message of sorts, that bad people can taint good things for you but later on good people can help you see those things as good again.

(Side note: It's interesting how this curry that Ajit didn't even like was his first thought when asked about food he grew up eating and how upset he seemed when answering. It makes it seem like he was never able to discover his own favourite foods because Storm would only make his favourites.)

This episode ties in well with Ajit's development arc, it shows him recalling something from his past and realising how this food he didn't like could've been enjoyable all along if the person who had made it had cared about his preferences. I'm not entirely sure how to make curry, but I assume it would be quite easy to split the mix of curry ingredients into two bowls/pans then add the spice to one and not the other.

Also noteable about this episode, is how when Ajit decides to try the curry because of how much effort the others had put in to make it for him, Lia is quick to tell him not to force himself. While it would seem he'd had to eat it when he was younger despite not liking it.

Now, finally, The Fated First Batle. The way this episode starts off is alright. It feels in character for Storm to choose to fight on Hanoj's side because if the world is going to be destroyed, he doesn't want to be someone who struggled pointlessly against it, he'd rather help destroy it. Ajit being the one to fight against Storm also makes perfect sense, he's the one on their team with the strongest reason to fight against Storm.

During the battle, Ajit uses things Storm taught him in the past against him. This is something he's done since Farewell Phantom Thief in Armored Alliance, this isn't where my problem with this episode lies.

Instead, my problem is after the battle when Ajit approaches Storm.

"You said you've saved the world from countless dangers?" "Then you should keep going down your own path! Prove to me you can save the world." "After you defeat Hanoj and this is all over, we shall meet again."

Storm's sudden personality switch doesn't feel genuine. It feels like a last attempt from Storm to manipulate Ajit again and to come off as a good guy rather than a villian. Which, to be fair, is in character for him. Of course Storm wants to be viewed as a good person, especially since he lost the battle, it makes sense he wants to do something so that no matter what side wins, he'll be viewed as someone who supported the winning side. He's also trying to take credit for Ajit's achievements, giving him permission to do the very thing Ajit's been doing this whole time and making it about him.

Ajit's response is the problem.

The writers chose to have Ajit respond to this by smiling and mentally saying "You've got it, master." Backtracking on all his development since Armored Alliance.

Now, if they were going to have another few seasons after Legends and have Ajit go through another arc of falling into old behaviours as he's getting manipulated again, then slowly realising that as his friends call him out on it and he finds himself in similar situations with them as he was during early Armored Alliance (Eg. trying to steal things behind their backs like in Phantom Thief Ajit or battling Magnus to get away with a theft like in Magnus PI) then have him finally go to therapy and cut Storm and his manipulation out of his life permanantly, I would get it. It's common for people who have spent a long portion of their lives being manipulated by someone else to regress back into past behaviours or to get manipulated again while they're still improving. That would be a realistic way to continue his arc and make that scene make sense.

However, that's not what happened, Legends was the final season and this episode was supposed to be the conclusion of Ajit's arc. And as it was, this was a horrible ending for his character. Having him forgive Storm, having him go back to calling him "Master" and thinking of him as a mentor, having him welcome Storm back into his life after three seasons of cutting him out of it. Then ending it like that, acting as if Storm deserved to be forgiven and as if this is some happy ending for Ajit.

This is why this episode leaves such a bad taste in my mouth, it's such a horrible ending, even if it wasn't intended to be. I assume the writers thought it would be nice for Ajit to reconnect with his father figure before the show ended. But Ajit's whole arc read as him being supposed to break free from the manipulation and realising Storm wasn't that great! Ending his arc on this note feels so sour and such a disservice to his character, especially after how well written he was during Armored Alliance.

Ajit was Bakugan Battle Planet's best written character and it just makes me so furious that he was given such a bad ending to his character arc in the final season.

I personally believe when Storm said that, Ajit should've had a line more along the lines of... "Yeah, I'll save the world.. But not to prove anything to you, I'll do it for my friends and for myself. Because no matter how much you taught me... I'm following my own path now. One that you're not a part of anymore." Albeit probably not that exactly because that's quite long and dramatic... But you get what I mean.

Of course Bakugan is a show aimed at children, I understand they can't exactly come out and say that Storm was manipulative and was grooming Ajit into becoming a phantom thief. However, it's still obvious that was the intention and that's quite clear to older viewers and to younger viewers who can see themself in Ajit's situation. Ending Ajit's arc like that sends a bad message that people like Storm will change and become better and that you should forgive them. Which is generally not true.

I just wish they'd chosen to end it in a way that didn't have Ajit allowing Storm back into his life and that the writers had put more thought into it.

Legends was a thirteen episode season, so I understand some things were rushed but this was one of the most important things they had to do in the season and it's so upsetting that Ajit's arc was the victim of this rushed writing.

Anyway, that's about all I have to say on this topic for now! Thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts on this topic. Do you think this ending was okay? How would you have changed it? I'd love to know!