#one of them was an “& Everyone” tag so that one's not quite the same measure of comparison

[anistarrose]

I've seen a poll like this for both fandom size and romantic ("/") rarepairs on AO3, but never for platonic ("&") relationships, so:

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Gojo x Reader Fanfic Part 1

You sell yourself to the Doll House to pay your mom’s medical expenses, only to discover your trainer is the guy who bullied you relentlessly in high school: Gojo Satoru.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

On the outskirts of town, there stands a particular shop called the “Doll House”. Inside its walls you can find a “doll” to match any taste you might have. All your desires will be fulfilled, no matter how depraved. Satisfaction is guaranteed! The dolls are exceptionally high quality, thanks to the skillful trainers who work with them twenty-four hours a day, molding them into perfect toys for your enjoyment.

Each trainer has a specialty that they focus on, and they all take great pride in their work. Their methods differ greatly, their approaches vary, but they all follow one rule: never get attached to a doll. After the training is complete, they hand the dolls over to their new owners, and never see them again. However, just once over the course of their careers, trainers are allowed to pick a doll they’ve personally trained and keep her as their own.

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Gojo’s. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Chubby Reader. Dubcon. Pet Play. Bullying. Collars/Leashes. Fingering. Anal sex. Gojo being an asshole.

You stand nervously in the welcome room of the Doll House. The owner is looking you up and down. “Alright, we’ll take you,” she says. 

“Really?” You’re surprised. When a friend suggested selling yourself as a doll to pay for your sick mother’s exorbitant medical expenses, you initially laughed off the idea. Dolls are all slim, sexy women… right? But you’re desperate, so you decided to check, just in case. The Doll House has a reputation for being fair and treating dolls well, so it’s the first shop you went to. 

“Of course,” the owner says. “Tastes vary. We often get requests for… softer women.”

That was a very polite way of putting it. You’ve been of the thicker variety since high school, with more curves than you’d like. But the owner must know what she’s talking about. Still, you’re quite insecure, and the idea of a strange man seeing you naked, seeing every little roll and flaw, was frightening. 

The owner gives you a price, what she’s willing to pay for you. It’s way more than you expected, and plenty enough to cover the medical bills and then some. You think of your poor mother sitting in a hospital bed, waiting for an operation she can’t afford, and your choice is clear.

“Okay, it’s a deal,” you say. 

A contract is signed, money is transferred to your mother’s bank account, and you’re left standing in the welcome room, waiting to meet your trainer. The whole experience is embarrassing, but you did this in secret, telling no one in your family. You instructed your friend to explain things to your mother when she’s well enough to understand, but to tell everyone else you moved far away. At least you’ll be able to maintain a little of your dignity. You don’t want anyone to know you’re in such financial trouble that you had to resort to desperate measures to help your own mother. 

You’re standing in the middle of the room, looking at the floor, when you hear a voice that is horrifyingly familiar. 

“Chubby Bunny? Is that you?”

Oh no. Please no. Not him. 

You slowly look up. Standing in front of you is the tall, gorgeous guy you had a crush on in high school… until he started bullying you relentlessly. 

“Gojo?! Why are you here?” you ask. He was a pompous rich boy in high school. Of course he’s probably here to buy a doll. You’re just mortified that he’s seen you here. 

He smiles as he pulls off his sunglasses. Ugh! Those eyes are so bright, they’re practically blinding you! 

“Looks like I’m your trainer,” he says. 

You feel like someone poured ice water down the back of your shirt. “What?!”

He laughs. “I was surprised when I saw your name on the file, but here you are!”

“I can’t do this,” you say, looking around frantically for the owner. “I’ve changed my mind!”

“Huh? But you already signed the contract,” he says, his smile dropping. “Isn’t it better to have a trainer you already know?”

No. It’s way worse. Indescribably worse. Maybe if it was someone else, anyone else, but not Gojo. 

You met him in high school. Initially, you had a crush on him, like every other girl in the school. He was so tall, with soft white hair and the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen. There wasn’t a soul in the school who didn’t go weak when Gojo looked them in the eyes. 

But you were so shy, and totally certain that a guy as hot as him would want nothing to do with you. So you avoided him. If you saw him in the hallway, you went the other direction. When he said something funny in class, you held back your laughter. When he pulled some stupid stunt for attention, and the rest of the class was cheering him on, you focused on your school work and pretended not to notice. 

Until one day he actually spoke to you. Gojo Satoru, the hottest, most popular guy in school, spoke to you! Unfortunately, what he said was hurtful. He walked by your desk and noticed the cute, round, bunny-shaped keychain attached to your bag and said, “Your keychain looks just like you! You’re both Chubby Bunnies!”

He’d smiled when he said it, making the words seem even more cruel. A few of your classmates heard him and started laughing. From that point on, your nickname was Chubby Bunny. Everyone in class called you that, especially Gojo, who seemed to get a kick out the fact that he’d started the whole thing. 

Every day after that, Gojo teased and bullied you. He made rude remarks about your clothes, “accidentally” knocked your books out of your hands, took your belongings and hid them in his own desk or pockets, just to force you to come and beg him to return them, and even purposely embarrassed you in front of other boys. When you started to like another boy from a different class, Gojo caught you trying to slip a love letter into the boy’s locker. Gojo grabbed the letter, opened it, and read it out loud in front of everyone. That was particularly traumatic. 

The worst part of all was that you had lingering feelings for him that wouldn’t go away, no matter how badly he treated you. Throughout your entire first year of high school, you nursed a pretty serious crush on him. You might have even been in love with him. So when he started bullying you in your second year, it was hard to simply turn those feelings off. 

Now he’s standing in front of you, as your trainer. The very idea of it is unthinkable! Being intimate with him? Being naked in front of him? Who knows what sort of cruel bullying and mockery he would subject you to?!

“Uh, is there another trainer available?” you ask, trying to keep yourself from freaking out right in front of him. 

“Nope, everyone else is occupied,” he says. “Why don’t you want me to be your trainer? That kinda hurts my feelings.”

His feelings?! After everything he did to you? Unbelievable! But you keep your voice as steady as possible and say, “It’s just kind of awkward, you know? Since we went to school together.”

He puts one hand under his chin, as if he’s thinking it over. “Hmmm, I guess so. By the way, Suguru works here too. You remember him, right?”

You feel like crawling into a hole and never coming out. What are the odds that you’d end up at a doll shop where two of your high school classmates work?

“Oh, and Nanami too. He was a year under us but he was pretty popular.”

You turn around, putting your face in your hands. “This is my nightmare come to life,” you mutter. 

Gojo laughs behind you. “Come on, it won’t be so bad. It’ll be like a high school reunion! We can catch up on old times! And besides,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower tone, “you already signed. The owner hates it when people back out of contracts. She’ll destroy you financially. And that would be bad, right? Your file says you have a sick mom.”

You turn to look back at him, and he looks so smug, just like he did back then. But he’s right. You’ve already signed the contract. Backing out now would make your situation a thousand times worse than it was before you came here. 

“The training only lasts six weeks, right?” you ask him. Maybe you could stand it for six weeks. Then someone would buy you and you’d never see Gojo again. 

“Right,” he answers, grinning. “Unless I just keep you!”

A chill runs down your spine. “Haha, very funny.”

You’ve heard about the fact that trainers at the Doll House can keep a doll they’ve trained, but Gojo would never keep you. He treated you like shit in high school. He hated you. 

With a heavy sigh, you lower your head in defeat and say, “Okay. I guess I don’t have much choice.”

Gojo looks happy, and you can only assume it’s because he’ll get to bully you even more. 

“Great, let’s go to my room and get started,” he says, starting down the hall. “Oh, but don’t expect any special treatment just because we’re old friends.”

Friends? That’s laughable. But your fate is sealed, so you can do nothing but follow after him. 

********************

Gojo can barely contain himself as he walks down the hall. His Chubby Bunny is here! And she’s all his for six weeks. For six long weeks, he can do whatever the fuck he wants to her. He’s already getting hard at the thought of stripping her, exploring those curves with his hands, burying his cock in that plush round ass. 

The first time he saw her in high school, he wanted her. He’d always been drawn to soft, cute things, and she was the softest, cutest girl he’d ever seen. He was the most popular boy in school, so he couldn’t understand why she never seemed to notice him. No matter what sort of antics he got up to, she wouldn’t even look his direction. The way she ignored him only made him want her more. He wanted her to look at him, to acknowledge him. But he couldn’t bring himself to directly approach her. 

Then one day he noticed an adorable keychain hanging from her bag, and it reminded him of her. It was a cute, fluffy bunny with big round eyes. Without really thinking, he blurted out that her keychain looked like her, and called her a Chubby Bunny. In all honesty, he meant it affectionately. He thought it was such a cute nickname, and it suited her perfectly. But the other kids in class laughed, and she looked hurt. 

Most importantly of all though, is that she looked at Gojo. For the first time, her full attention was on him. Her eyes were wet as if she were about to cry, and her face was flushed in embarrassment, but she was looking at him! 

The next day, Gojo noticed another boy in class staring at Chubby Bunny’s soft tits, straining against the tight white button up of her school uniform. Gojo didn’t like that. So when she walked by him later, he said, “Don’t they make shirts any bigger than that? Yours is busting off you.”

She looked at him with a shocked expression, but it quickly changed to embarrassment and then anger. She ran out of the room as if someone was chasing her. Shoko, who was standing nearby, slapped his arm. “Don’t be a dick. You shouldn’t make fun of a girl’s weight.”

“Huh? What does her weight have to do with anything?” 

Shoko stared at him. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re being mean or being stupid.”

It didn’t take Gojo long to figure out that the one surefire way to get Chubby Bunny to pay attention to him was to make her mad. So he knocked her books out of her hands as a prank, then enjoyed the sight of her ass in the air as she bent over to pick them up. He took things from her bag when she wasn’t looking, but let her know it was him so she’d have to come over to him and ask for them back. He liked it when she spoke to him, said his name, glared at him. Any interaction was fun for him. From his perspective, he was simply teasing her, getting reactions out of her. 

But it all changed one day when he saw her trying to slip a love letter into another boy’s locker. He’d seen her staring at the boy from afar, and it bothered him. He couldn’t let them hook up! So he snatched the letter from her hand. She’d looked at him with anger. “Give it back, Gojo!”

He looked at her for a moment, not even sure what he wanted to do with the letter. He just didn’t want her to give it to the other boy. On a whim, he tore the letter open. 

“What’s this? A love letter?” 

She tried to reach for it, but he jerked it out of her reach. She was so desperate to grab it, she had pressed her soft body against his in her attempts. He wondered if she saw the blush on his face when he unfolded the letter and began reading it. The more he read, the more desperately she struggled to reach it, and the closer she pressed against him. Then, all at once, while he was still reading it out loud, she stopped reaching for the letter and backed away.

Tears streaked her cute face, causing Gojo to pause. “You’re an asshole,” she said, and then she turned and walked away. 

He hadn’t intended to make her cry. He just got caught up in the moment. He suddenly felt guilty, realizing he’d gone too far. After that, he stopped teasing her. 

It was nearly a year after graduation that he was out with Shoko. She was drinking and Gojo went along to make sure his friend got home okay. They got to talking about high school and Gojo mentioned Chubby Bunny, wondering what she was up to. 

Shoko had given him a dirty look. “I don’t know why you had to be so mean to that poor girl. She liked you, you know.”

He perked up. “She liked me?”

Shoko took another drink. “Our whole first year, she was always staring at you longingly when you weren’t looking. It was really obvious that she had a crush. Then you had to go and bully her.”

Gojo was still absorbing the fact that the girl he’d liked so much had also liked him. And he’d blown it by being a jerk to her. 

Now, several years later, fate brought her back into his life. This time as his personal toy for six weeks. He’s so excited he can barely breathe. He can’t wait to hear what sorts of cute sounds she’ll make when he fucks her, what sort of face she makes when she cums. He’s going to enjoy this. 

******************

Gojo leads you to his room, and once inside, he closes the door behind you. He stands a few feet away, facing you, and says, “Okay, go ahead and take your clothes off.”

You give him an incredulous look. Is he serious? That’s literally the first thing he tells you to do? 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “You’re not shy, are you?”

This sarcastic asshole! He has to know how insecure you are! He made fun of you for years! He couldn’t know it, but you’ve never been fully intimate with anyone before. Partly because of your own insecurity and partly because you’ve been so busy working various jobs to support your mother. You dated one guy for a few months and he never even saw you naked. You gave him a few blowjobs and that seemed to keep him happy. Until you broke up at least. 

“A little,” you say. 

He steps closer to you. “I can help you,” he says, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt and beginning to slide the fabric up. “Raise your arms.”

Numbly, you do as he says, letting him pull your shirt off. He doesn’t even take a moment to look at your bra before he’s reaching behind you and unhooking it, sliding the straps off your shoulders. His hands seem to fly to your skirt, quickly pulling it down as if he’s in a hurry. Then he jerks down your panties, sliding them off your feet. It all happens so fast, you barely have time to be shocked. 

Once you’re fully naked, he steps back and stares at you for a moment before he circles you, like a shark. You feel your face burning. Those beautiful blue eyes are seeing every inch of you, and you hate it. You would have preferred Geto or Nanami. At least they never made fun of you. Being stripped and ogled by your bully is mortifying. 

After making a complete circle, he stops in front of you. There’s a strange look in his eyes. Excitement? Hunger? Is he looking forward to bullying you that much? You use your arms to cover as much of yourself as you can, deciding you’ve given him enough ammo to mock you with. 

“Oh! I have something for you! Hold on,” he says, walking over to his closet. He digs around for a minute before coming back with a small box. He sits it on a nearby table and opens it, then pulls something out. 

You almost wince when you realize what it is: a pair of white bunny ears attached to a headband. They’re high quality, looking rather realistic. These didn’t come with a cheap Halloween costume. He places them on your head and grins. “Wow, so cute! Now you really are a Chubby Bunny!”

This. Fucking. Guy! You glare at him, and in return he just smiles and says, “You’ll get your tail later.”

Tail? You don’t have time to question that before he returns to the box and comes back holding more items. He holds up a pink leather collar with a silver heart shaped ring in the center, then places it around your neck. It’s a little tight, but not overly uncomfortable. He hooks something to the heart ring, and you realize he’s holding a silver chain with a pink leather handle that matches your collar. Is this a fucking leash?! 

Of course Gojo is into some freaky shit. Of course! 

“What is this?” you ask, touching the collar with your fingertips, lightly pulling it from your skin to see if it stretches at all. It doesn’t. 

“I never told you my specialty, did I?” he says, stepping toward his bed. “It’s pet play. Which means you’re my pet for the next six weeks.”

Oh God. This is going to be worse than you imagined. 

As he moves to his bed, he lightly tugs on the leash, pulling you along with him. When he sits down, he pats his lap. “Sit,” he says. You don’t know if it’s a suggestion or a command, so you just stand there, still trying to cover yourself. He pulls on the leash, a little harder this time, and says again in a deeper voice, “Sit.”

You don’t think you’ve ever had real physical contact with him before. Maybe when you were trying to retrieve something he’d taken from you, but that was so quick and frantic, you don’t think it counted. But you have no choice, so you step closer and slowly lower yourself onto one of his thighs. You’re bracing yourself for some kind of joke about how heavy you are, but he just grins at you as one of his hands, the one not holding the leash, begins rubbing and groping all over your body. 

“You’re so squishy,” he says, squeezing one of your breasts. His hand is warm, but you can’t help cringing. You’ve been groped over your clothes before, but this is the first time a man has touched your bare chest. And it had to be fucking Gojo. 

He moves his hand down your stomach, and you stiffen in his lap, hating that he’s seeing and touching everything you’ve ever wanted to hide. But those thoughts evaporate when his hand slips between your legs. If you were stiff before, you’re absolutely frozen now. You close your eyes tightly, turning your face away from him, but he tugs on the leash and says, “Look at me. Look me in the eyes.”

You open your eyes and glance at him, only to find yourself locked in his gaze. God, those eyes. He knows they make people weak. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It feels like he’s staring deeply into your soul as one of his fingers slides between your folds and strokes your clit. 

Your body jolts, and you instinctively try to scoot away from his hand, but he’s holding you firmly in place. Your clit has always been extremely sensitive, so much that you can’t even bear to directly touch it while masturbating. 

Gojo notices immediately. “Have you always been this sensitive?”

He gives the leash another tug, making you look him in the eyes again. You nod. His finger keeps rubbing you, making you whimper. 

“Why are you acting so scared of me?” he asks. “We’ve known each other for years. You know I’m not going to hurt you.”

You just then realize you’re trembling, still trying to get away from his hand, pathetic little sounds coming from your mouth. Of course you’re scared! This man hates you, and he’s currently playing with the most tender spot on your whole body! But you can’t say that out loud. You shake your head and say, “I’m just… not used to stuff like this…”

His finger switches to rubbing circles around your clit, which gives you a small bit of relief. “Oh come on. Your old boyfriends must have had a lot of fun with such a sensitive little clit.”

You’re still shaking, and you try to look away, but he tugs the leash again. 

“Hey, don’t break eye contact!”

You look back at him. You hate looking at those eyes. They take you back to a time and place you’d rather forget. And even worse, they awaken feelings in you that you’ve fought hard to bury. 

“So?” he asks. “Didn’t any of your boyfriends know how to pleasure you?”

“N-no,” you answer. 

“Really?” He has a confused look on his face for a moment as he regards you, his finger still circling your clit, his eyes watching your reactions. “Wait. Have you ever even been touched like this before?”

When you don’t answer, he tugs on the leash again. 

“No,” you finally say, feeling like you want the ground to open up and swallow you. He’s just getting more and more material for making fun of you later. 

His eyes widen, and he says under his breath, “Oh fuck.”

His finger begins rubbing your clit directly again, causing you to jerk and gasp. He’s staring at you, forcing you to maintain eye contact through this whole degrading situation. “Someone told me something interesting a while back,” he says, his face suddenly looking serious. “They said you had a crush on me in high school. Is that true?”

“No!” you yell, tearing your eyes away from him. The only possible way this situation could be worse is if Gojo knew how you felt about him. He’d never let you live it down! He’d mock your feelings mercilessly! 

“What a reaction!” he says, making you look at him again. “Don’t look away now. Look me in the eyes and tell me you never had feelings for me.”

Locked in his gaze, words fail you. You can feel your cheeks heating up, and you know the truth must be written all over your panicked face. 

A grin spreads over his face again. “Say it,” he says, giving the leash another tug and rubbing your clit harder, faster. 

You cry out, squirming under his touch and his stare. Your breaths catch in your throat, but he’s not going to stop until you answer him. 

“I did! I did… have feelings for you!”

His finger slows but doesn’t stop. He gives you a strange look, one you’ve never seen on his smug face before. “Oh man. I wish I would’ve known back then.”

Why? So he could’ve made your life even more miserable? You feel tears coming on, but you’re still being forced to look him in the eyes. You can’t imagine how any of this could possibly be more hellish. 

“But, hey, you’re here with me now,” he says. “We can make up for lost time. I’m gonna make sure you remember these six weeks for the rest of your life. I bet you’re excited, huh? The guy you had a crush on is gonna be fucking you every day! You’ll be sucking my cock all the time. I bet you can’t wait for me to cum in that cute mouth! And I’ll play with this suuuuper sensitive little clit every day!”

You sniffle as tears start to leak out. Why is he saying all this? Just to torment you? All the while, you’re feeling the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt in your life. You’re going to cum right here while your bully watches, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. 

Gojo is still watching you intently, those accursed eyes almost glowing, not allowing you to look away. “I know, I know it feels good,” he says in a soothing voice, his finger relentless. “I bet you’ve never felt like this before, huh? It’s okay. Just ride it out. You’re gonna feel this same pleasure every day from now on.”

It’s all too much. His heavenly eyes locked onto yours, his sultry voice in your ear, his hand at your pussy, him pulling the leash so that your face is almost touching his. You can’t hold back any longer, and an earth shattering orgasm washes over your body. The moan you let out turns into a sob, and you’re left crying freely, your body shaking. 

Gojo watches the whole thing, and once you finally go still in his lap, he removes his hand and wraps his arm around you. “Now wasn’t that fun?” he asks, either oblivious to how totally overwhelmed you are or just sadistically enjoying it. Then he suddenly jerks the leash forward, causing your mouth to crash into his. He kisses you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, his hot breath melding with your own. It’s the kind of kiss you share with a lover, not… whatever nightmare this is. It’s probably his idea of a sick joke. 

“Now,” he says after breaking the kiss, “want me to fuck this virgin pussy?”

You feel dazed, like your mind is going blank. You don’t even care any more. Let him mock you. At least his touch feels good, physically. It’s not like you have a choice in any of this. 

“Yeah,” you mutter as he eases you off his lap. 

“You have to say it properly, Chubby Bunny,” he says, standing up. 

Numbly, you lower your eyes and say, “Please fuck my virgin pussy.”

“Okay, Bunny. Get on the bed.”

You stand there for a moment, feeling lost and vulnerable and uncertain. You don’t even know what you want anymore. Once upon a time, you daydreamed about the idea of losing your virginity to Gojo. You fantasized about him making love to you in some unrealistic romantic setting. So yes, some part of you does want to be fucked by him. But it’s a part you hate. 

While you hesitate, Gojo unbuttons his pants, not bothering to take his shirt off. Then he pulls his dick out, and all the fog from your brain instantly clears. 

Holy shit. Oh fuck. That dick is unnaturally huge. It makes your ex boyfriend look tiny by comparison. How the hell is that monster of a dick going to fit inside you?! 

He notices you staring and gives you the smuggest grin you’ve seen yet. “Like it? This is the cock that’s gonna pop your cherry. Take a good look.”

You hate to admit it. You really really hate to. But that is one beautiful dick. The color, the shape, even the extravagant size… it turns you on.  So fuck it. Let him do as he pleases. You start to climb onto the bed, and he adds more instructions. 

“Get on your hands and knees, and face away from me.”  

He’s going to take you from behind? On your first time? You’re not sure how you feel about that, but you do as he said. After you get into position, he scoots you back closer to the end of the bed, and stands behind you. You feel his hands groping your ass as he says, “I know you want me to fuck your pussy, and I will. But right now, I really want another one of your firsts.”

“What?” you ask, turning to look back at him. 

He has a bottle of some kind of liquid or ointment in his hand, and he squeezes some out. You feel it hit the crack of your ass, and then his fingers spreading your cheeks and rubbing it in. Wait, is this lube? 

“H-hey! What are you doing?!”

He gives you a dazzling smile. “I’m prepping you, Bunny. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, remember?”

“This is definitely gonna hurt!” you screech. “There’s no way that huge dick will fit!”

He gives your ass a light, playful smack. “Calm down. I have a lot of experience with this stuff. It’ll feel great, I promise. Now take a deep breath.”

“Wait-“

“Here we go!”

Your body tenses up as you feel his tip pressing on your asshole. It starts to slip in, and you shudder as you feel the first inch. 

Behind you, Gojo rubs and squeezes the fat of your ass. “Hey, you have to relax. It really will hurt if you stay so tense.”

You take several deep breaths, trying to force your body to loosen up. He slides in a little more, slowly, and then stops. It doesn’t feel like he’s all the way in, but he starts making shallow thrusts. 

It’s uncomfortable, even unpleasant, but it’s not painful. After a while, you hear his voice again. “I’m going in a little deeper, okay?”

You squeak out an “Okay” just before he pushes further in. You feel your ass stretching to accommodate him, and the first hints of pain as he goes even deeper, then starts to pump in and out of you. 

He moves slowly at first, but gradually speeds up, and goes deeper still. How big is he?! It feels like he’ll never be fully in. 

“Ahh… fuck… you said it wouldn’t hurt!” you cry out. 

Gojo suddenly yanks on the leash, pulling you up, arching your back. His free hand reaches around to grab your tit. “I said to relax,” he breathes into your ear. “Just enjoy it. Stop fighting your feelings.”

Again, you try to relax your ass as he continues thrusting into you. It helps, but it’s still uncomfortable. You close your eyes and try to think about how you felt in high school, how you felt the day you first saw him. He was so beautiful, you almost thought he wasn’t human. He surrounded himself with other beautiful people, and you knew those gorgeous eyes of his would never even look your direction. 

Now that impossibly beautiful person is fucking you, not in the way you’d hoped, but he’s still inside you, still gripping your flesh, still grunting out lusty sounds with each thrust. He’s enjoying this. It’s probably just because he gets some kind of thrill from doing something humiliating to you, but the fact remains that Gojo Satoru is enjoying fucking you. 

Thinking these thoughts makes his cock in your ass feel good. It makes your pussy wet. Eventually, it makes you cum, your body going weak as Gojo releases his hold on the leash and you fall face first onto the mattress. Your ass is still up, and Gojo is still pounding it, over and over until you hear him sharply inhale, and then his pulsing cock releases a stream of cum inside you. 

After he’s completely empty, he pulls out, and you fully collapse onto the bed, exhausted. 

********************

Gojo pants as he looks down at Chubby Bunny, at the plush ass he just came inside. Fuck, she’s so cute! 

He lets her rest for a little while before he goes to the corner of the room and pulls out a large, round pet bed. He places it on the floor beside his own bed and waits until she sits up and looks at him. 

“You’ll be sleeping here,” he says, pointing to the pet bed. 

She stares at it as if she’s taking a moment to process it. Then she shrugs as if nothing surprises her anymore. 

After they both clean up in the bathroom, Chubby Bunny curls up in the pet bed. She’s wearing adorable pink pajamas, and Gojo gives her a blanket before getting into bed himself. Before turning out the light, he hooks his end of the leash onto a knob he’d installed on the side of his nightstand. 

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?” she asks. 

“Then wake me up,” Gojo says with a smile. 

“You’re not going with me, are you?”

“Nah, I’ll just unhook your leash until you come back.”

She looks relieved as she makes herself comfortable. Gojo watches her until she seemingly falls asleep, still not quite believing she’s here, with him. He really wants her to sleep in his bed with him, to feel her soft, squeezable body against his all night, but he is still her trainer. He can’t neglect his duty. So he goes to sleep, excited for tomorrow. 

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv @witchbybirth @bloofinntoona @wasurenagusaa @tclbts @tojirin @lucyrocks86 @badbyeyoongi @97britt @aydene @lzaj19 @lyn-lotte @missthatgirl @peachedtv @ladytamayolover @nanam1nx @deegausserr @voids-universe @hinata7346 @maflorex @issracollen

If I missed anyone who wanted to be tagged, please tell me! 

[paceprompting]

stars in his eyes✨

week 3 (and a little late, whoops) for @steddiesmuttyseptember. And a continuation in the saga of why can't I write just porn, this is 6K, wtf.

Rough | lingerie | aftercare | sneaking around (and failing so badly at it)

Rating: mature

Tags: mention of rough sex, shotgunning, teasing, fingering, sexy underwear, semi-public sex

~*~*~*~

Steve didn’t quite know what to expect when Eddie invited him to a gig. Robin, Jonathan, and Nancy, too. But that had been offhand, nonchalant—an Invite whoever you’d like to come with. Got to make sure we’re not too suspicious, right?

Suspicious.

Hiding from the wandering eyes of the people who knew them best. Not standing too close, but making sure not to outright avoid one another, either. They could sit on the same couch, but not with Steve’s arm behind Eddie’s head on the back of cushion. Not with Eddie’s legs splayed in Steve’s lap, as if he could get that spot before Robin anyway.

They’d taken to putting a bowl of popcorn between them just to be safe.

There was other little safety measures like that. They never drove each other around unless they were also driving around Robin or the kids. Steve never parked in front of the trailer and came in through Eddie’s bedroom window. Eddie did the same for Steve’s house, except when he stayed over after a movie night.

All smoke and mirrors. To keep everyone else from think they were sneaking around behind their backs. That Steve and Eddie were keeping something secret from them.

Because that was what they were doing. Sneaking around.

He hadn’t even told Robin. Not in such specific terms anyway. She was well aware that Steve had a “secret paramour”, as she called it. He told her he wasn’t in some Shakespeare romance from English, and all she’d shot back with was, well yeah, you’d probably be dead if you were.

Eddie had asked him not to tell. When they’d clearly moved on from that first mutual hands-down-each-others-pants behind the school gym the day Eddie and Robin graduated from Hawkins High. After Steve had kissed him before the ceremony to help keep Eddie from spiraling out of control and running off before he could finally walk across that stage.

Moved on to long make-outs on Steve’s bed.  To sucking Eddie off in the back of his van after band practice. To Steve keeping a stash of mixtapes with Eddie’s favorite bands on them in his glovebox and Eddie keeping a stash of Cola on hand at the trailer, along with a spare pair of Steve’s glasses for his migraines.

Their standing offer that if either of them called in the middle of the night, the nightmares too much, too real, the other went over with no question.

Steve had peeked in at the end of a couple practices, when he was rounding up the group for a Hellfire night. Had sat in Eddie’s bedroom with him while he plucked out melodies and chords on his luscious red guitar with such speed in his fingers, Steve’s head spun just watching.

But he had no clue how a concert would go.

And being a Corroded Coffin concert, led by a wild child of chaos like Eddie Munson, anything could happen.

Eddie hadn’t forced Steve to come. Knew that the bright spotlights and excessive sound from the speakers could easily send Steve into another migraine. If Steve had to bow out, he would understand. Of course, he could hardly meet Steve’s eyes when he had said that, voice colored by how much he wished it wasn’t a variable.

It had been a good morning, the day of the concert. No auras. No nausea. Steve had even slept well through the night. He knew why Eddie came by around noon when Steve was working, his deep brown eyes wide and hopeful before he said anything.

“Excited for the concert tonight,” was all he said and Eddie grinned, blinding Steve with his dimples. One was slightly crooked now from the demobat scar on his jaw, and Steve remembered how Eddie had started to turn his head away or let his hair fall forward to cover it when he noticed himself smiling.

He wasn’t doing that now.

Eddie quickly rented two of his old favorites from the Horror section to cover up the real reason he’d come by and then left, lingering just an extra moment at the counter to touch his fingers to Steve’s.

Part of Steve wanted to grab Eddie by the front of his Dio t-shirt and yank him over the counter to kiss him. But they both knew better.

He didn’t see Eddie again until the concert.

He nursed exactly one beer and stared at the small crowd gathered at the Hideout. Corroded Coffin wasn’t the only band performing—a sort of talent show of up and comers—but they were the openers. As his eyes lazily scanned the crowd, nodding every so often when Robin nudged him in the ribs to do so, Steve  wondered if he might see Eddie somewhere.

This was his crowd. The long hair, the dark clothes and leather. Steve vaguely recognized some of the names on people’s shirts—all said in the back of his mind in Eddie’s low voice, usually bemoaning Steve’s ignorance of music culture.

Steve knew there was no reason for Eddie to be out socializing. He was probably pacing back and forth in the tiny closet of a dressing room the venue had provided, wringing his hands through his curls and making them wilder than they already were.

A selfish part of him, the one that got to have Eddie in small bits and pieces when they could manage it, wanted to find Eddie and try to soak up all that anxiety for him. There hadn’t been any chance to wish him good luck.

Steve hadn’t even thought of it when Eddie had come by the video store.

God, he regretted it.

“Hey, you want to go to front with me?”

Robin’s voice filtered through to the front of his mind, and Steve had to shake his head before he turned toward her. She stared at him, eyes wide and intense, and her face way too close to his own.

“What?”

“Do you.” She tilted her chin down. “Want.” Widened her eyes and leaned further into Steve’s space. “To go to the front.” She blinked twice. “With me.”

Steve would have pulled away from Robin, but he was already at the edge of the booth with him, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle all crammed together. And he was half-sure that Eddie would never let him live down Steve “The Former Hair” Harrington falling flat on his face at a metal concert.

“Are you going to have to stand like this the whole time?” he asked.

Robin tsked right in his face, but immediately pulled back. “I would say yes, but your breath smells like citrus and yeast. Now, are we going to the front or not, because if we don’t go now, I will have to use you as a human shield to get there.”

Steve looked far over his shoulder toward the stage. Corroded Coffin’s instruments were set up and waiting, and true to Robin’s worries, as the time drew closer to start the crowd was gathering as close to the front as possible.

“I don’t know, Robin,” he said. Sure, Eddie and his band were performers, but Steve could only imagine how much easier it might be to only see people you don’t even know, who probably don’t even care as long as you play half-decent music. “If Eddie and the band see us, it might make them nervous.”

“Oh, come on. Those stage lights shine so bright they won’t be able to see the end of the stage, much less beyond it.”

“Robs…”

“Please, Steve. It’s our first concert. We have to!” Robin clutched onto his forearm, black-painted nails digging in at the points.

“Alright, alright.” He pried Robin’s hand off him and basically tumbled out of the booth with her following after. He downed the rest of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table. Jonathan and Argyle were engrossed in some personal conversation, but Nancy had noticed them leave.

Strangely enough, she had her brows raised at Robin, who gave her a bright thumbs up and then grabbed onto Steve’s arm again. He opened his mouth to question the interaction, but he didn’t know whether to pose it to Robin or to Nancy. And before he could figure it out, Robin darted for the stage and yanked Steve along behind her.

So, it wasn’t until the house lights dimmed and the stage lights brightened that Steve saw Eddie again.

His first thought was how much he wanted to bite Eddie.

Like he had guessed earlier on, Eddie’s curls were a dark, wild mess around his head. The lights surround him shone on the edges like an aura, and Steve had a flash of terror that a migraine had suddenly decided to burst his lovely, pleasant bubble.

But Eddie was only one. Bathed in the intense, bright light, shining at all of his edges and through the loose curls bouncing as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Wearing a pair of overly-torn up black jeans bedecked with chains hanging from his belt loops and an equally overly-cut up Corroded Coffin t-shirt, his scarred sides and tattoos—old and new—in full view of the crowd. His guitar, his darling, shone its dazzling red now that it was were it belonged with Eddie on stage, and Steve’s eyes caught on the glint of his silver rings as he settled his fingers along the frets.

Robin practically vibrated beside him while the emcee introduced the band. Let out an ear-splitting screech even through the ear plugs he’d bought when the crowd cheered for the band. Which, thankfully, were good enough that Steve only winced from the surprise rather than sheer volume.

The drums—Gareth, he remembered—started first. The three-count that led into the starting thrum of the base. Eddie wasn’t singing on this song, since he wasn’t standing in front of a mic. The other guitarist—his name something starting with a ‘J’—joined the bass with an even, low tenor; mouth pressed close to the mic and giving bedroom eyes to the crowd.

And then Eddie…

Steve knew something was coming. In the way he grinned to himself and tossed his hair over one shoulder, practically thrumming and the stagelight aura around him growing and growing until it burst out when he finally played his starting chord.

It was one chord. Only one.

There was another line of vocals, and then he played the chord once more. The sound tore from the speakers right through Steve, vibrating through his bones and into his veins. The opening chords transitioned into Eddie’s fingers flying across the strings, and he moved—always, always moving, never still his Eddie—with the music as he played.

He saw Eddie look out toward the crowd, squinting for a second like Robin said he probably would. But his gaze traveled across as he played, never missing a note, sweat shining on his exposed skin. Steve moved because Robin did, took caught up in staring at one particular member of the band to remember to actually try jumping or cheering.

Eddie’s dark eyes stopped on a particular spot in the crowd, a lascivious grin  across forming his face. His dimples came out in full force, and still he kept playing his guitar like an extension of his body rather than a simple toll to create strange but intense music.

And he realized…Robin was wrong.

Eddie could absolutely see him.

Because Eddie was staring at him.

He’d migrated closer to one of the speakers at the front of the stage, throwing one combat boot wearing foot onto the top of it, splaying his hips out and laying his guitar across the space. He winked at Steve, he fucking winked and threw back his head as he started a solo—rings sparkling points on his hands as Eddie showed exactly why he and the other boys never gave up even when all they could get was shitty gigs. They worked for it, in every note that Eddie created from his fingers on the strings of his guitar.

The solo finished with a long-held chord like the one Eddie had started the song with—a short break for his hands in the song before he’d start up again. And Eddie found Steve immediately again, smiling like a shark in the water, the point of his canines slightly threatening. The harsh stage lights shining down on him like stars in his eyes, points of light directed at Steve.

There was no way Steve was getting out of there without losing his mind.

He’d make sure of it.

~*~*~*~

Steve knew he was staring at Eddie too much.

He blamed it on the two whiskey shots Robin had tried at Jonathan’s behest and then immediately hated, and which he ended up shooting back as they waited for the band to come out to the bar floor after the show had ended.

That and the three joints that were being passed around now in the dressing room.

He’d had to fight every urge in his body—digging his fingernails deep into palms—to be the first one to greet Eddie when he came bounding out from backstage. But it turned out not to be that much of a problem, when Eddie waved them all to join him, Corroded Coffin and another all-girl metal band in the dressing room for the after party.

Eddie had put himself next to Steve, authentically vibrating with so much afterburn energy from the show that it hid the way he tangled his fingers with Steve’s for a quick two seconds as they walked together.

But, just to be safe, they sat themselves on opposite sides of the room once the group had filed into Dressing Room A.

Eddie perched on the back of one of the couches, boots on the cushion like a damn heathen, but nobody else cared. Liquor bottles and red solo cups littered the table, slowly being abandoned now that they’d gotten their hands on the primo shit brought in by Argyle and Jonathan.

At this point, Steve was sure they could just summon the stuff at will.

But he wasn’t complaining.

He sat mainly with Nancy and Robin. Nancy stuck firmly to her second beer of the night, and Robin—only three pulls from a joint into the night—had her head lolled on Nancy’s shoulder, regaling her with a meandering, but thorough recap of the last three episodes of The Golden Girls she’d watched.

Steve made himself stare at the floor as he took another pull from the joint he was sharing with Argyle, but there was only one place his eyes would go as he exhaled, slow and smoky.

Eddie had his head cocked in Steve’s direction when their eyes met again, his pink lips around the end of his own joint as he inhaled. Gareth was talking to him, clearly used to Eddie’s ability hold a conversation without making eye contact, one hand wildly gesturing until Eddie handed over the blunt.

“Please,” Gareth scoffed, pausing to bring the join to his lips. “That move is so tired. Half the time, you can’t even do it right and the smoke just goes all over the girl’s face.” He waved his hand in front of his own face, as half the group groaned (the boys) and the other half nodded in agreement (the girls).

Eddie gave very little reaction. No, his gaze got this very particular glint that Steve had come to learn meant he was about to do something incredibly reckless and Steve could do nothing to stop him. Eddie launched himself forward from the couch to stand, effectively catching the attention of everyone in the room. His cheeks were flushed and his limbs a bit wobbly compared to the usual, but he was focused. Entirely on Steve.

“I bet the deposed king here pulled this move plenty of times in his partying hayday.” He said, crossing from his couch to Steve’s by way of walking right over the table. He jumped down with a dramatic sigh, landing in front of Jonathan—and then promptly plucked the half-gone joint from his fingers.

Jonathan squawked, but Eddie ignored him since he was quickly quieted by Argyle handing him another fresh one.

Steve tried to remain still, remain composed. He was already laid back with one arm across the back of the couch, so all he had to make sure to do was let Eddie come to him and not reach out to Eddie.

Ducking his chin, Eddie pulled from his stolen joint, stepping slowly, slowly toward Steve. He pulled the blunt away, holding the smoke in his lungs and walked forward until his knees knocked against Steve’s.

He exhaled, the smoke curling toward the ceiling along with an offer that burned in Steve’s veins.

“What’dya say, Harrington. Want to show ‘em how it’s done?”

Steve raised his brows, just to play along. He knew his fingers twitched, and if the group was sober, they might have seen him give himself away in just that action. He hummed in the back of his throat, pretending to consider Eddie’s presumptuous question, before he shrugged and ran a hand through his hair.

“Suppose I have some experience,” he said.

Eddie smiled and held out the joint to Steve, waiting until it was in his hand before clamoring straight into Steve’s lap, straddling his thighs with his knees pressed into the cushions on either side. He stumbled, and Steve was sure that it was at least half of a real one, but he took an opportunity where he could find one and placed a steadying hand on Eddie’s hip.

“Bold,” he commented, loud enough for the group to hear. Robin was giggling off the side. Steve ignored her.

“Is there any other way?” Eddie sang, tapping teasing, risky fingers where Steve’s shirt tucked into his jeans.

 He didn’t look like anyone else in the room, wearing a henley instead of a polo, even if it was a dark gray—the closest thing to black in his closet he could find. But he also knew how Eddie liked the look of his arms with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, so he would wear bright pink if it meant wearing the henley.

Steve brought the end of the blunt to his lips while Eddie stared down at him. He could almost swear that the same points of light were in the center of the pinpoint pupils. Like Eddie had carried the stars and the stage lights with him off stage.

He knew they had to be careful. Shotgunning was close contact, but when they had done this before, it didn’t usually end with them separating afterwards.

When Steve had gathered enough smoke, he passed the joint to Robin without looking at her, and then used his newly freed hand to gently hold Eddie’s chin in a cradle of his fingers. Eddie’s lashes fluttered as Steve guided him down. He even had to stop Eddie from going too far, getting too close and just planting one on him.

He pressed his thumb against the point of Eddie’s chin and when he parted his lips, Steve released the smoke in his lungs, soaking into his blood after so long. 

Unlike how Gareth had complained just before, Steve let the smoke go slow, giving out as Eddie took it with his inhale. A few stray wisps curled toward the ceiling, but Eddie breathed in all that Steve had over the course of a dizzying span of time.

Their top lips brushed as the smoke tapered off, and Steve felt it shoot through his spine. He clenched the hand holding on to Eddie’s hip to keep his control, and a couple of his fingers slipped back the waistband of Eddie’s jeans.

He was used to feeling of Eddie’s boxers, the elastic band of cotton. Normally black, but Steve knew for a fact Eddie had a pair of Garfield ones from Wayne that he wore to bed if Steve could keep his mouth shut.

But this…

He felt lace.

“Eds?” he murmured, dipping his fingers lower and finding more and more thin, delicate detail warmed by Eddie’s body heat. “What…”

Eddie planted his hands on Steve’s shoulders and pushed up just enough that Steve would be the only one to hear him. He winked as he mouthed, For later.

“Damn Munson, give the man some breathing room. He just barely made it through his first metal concert,” A loud voice—Gareth—annoying only because Steve wanted to pull Eddie right onto the fucking semi he was now sporting in his jeans, echoed across the room.

Everyone was too drunk, or high, or both to fully take in what the fuck had just happened right in front of them. So Steve was sure it was alright for Eddie to risk another thirty seconds in Steve’s lap to murmur under his breath another offer Steve would have to be dead to refuse.

“Five minutes. Dressing room B.”

Steve nodded, eyes flicking down to Eddie’s mouth. Eddie tutted softly and narrowed his eyes, playful and with a hint of a threat, before he threw his head back and returned to his performed for their audience.

“Stevie here can handle himself pretty well, I think. Knows we’re not all so big and bad.” He slid off Steve’s lap, and did a pretty impressive twirl for how much less sober than he was high. Steve noticed Gareth rolling his eyes, tipping back a drink from the vodka bottle from the coffee table.

He knew he was watching Eddie too much again. And Steve almost didn’t care, until Robin decided that she’d had enough with Nancy and flopped over to lay across Steve’s front instead. He was just glad she hadn’t decided to go for his lap with how incriminating his dick was being in his jeans at the moment.

“M’proud of you, dingus,” she said, voice heavy but not slurred.

He laughed through his nose. “Thanks.”

She raised one hand up into the air, level with Steve’s face. And he honestly should have seen it coming far faster than he did, because then her palm was directly over his nose as she patted her fingers against his forehead. “You did…so good at the concert. Didn’t even complain once that you didn’t understand the music.”

Eddie was the main reason for that. Steve had wanted to know just what about metal music enticed Eddie so much to dedicate part of his identity to it. And, once given the opportunity, Eddie had launched a full-fledged campaign to walk Steve through chord progressions and the actual skills it took to play the chaotic melodies that he loved so much.

There were still some songs that Steve could not hear as anything other than a discordant headache, but, honestly…it was more about watching Eddie talk without restriction.

And, of course, Steve had lost all coherent consciousness while watching Eddie on stage.

Robin had stopped talking, tucking her face into Steve’s neck. He was probably going to have some of her makeup on his shirt, but he’d been covered in much worse before.

He realized he hadn’t been looking at Eddie. Always looking out for him, Robin. Even when she had no idea she was doing it.

Steve looked, and couldn’t find him. He turned to look behind him in case Eddie was doing something strange because the weed had really hit him, but there was no sign of his sexy, lace-wearing metalhead.

While he’d been distracted by a cuddling, giggly Robin, Eddie had slipped out of the room.

He had no idea if five minutes had passed or not.

It was probably better for Steve to be early than to leave Eddie waiting for him when he clearly had a surprise waiting. And the last time Steve had been late, Eddie’s revenge had been swift. Eddie was entirely too skilled with his mouth for his own good.

“Okay,” he said to Robin, easing her off of his shoulder. He’d hoped to pass her over to Nancy, but she had mysteriously disappeared too. A quick scan, and it was clear she wasn’t in the room either, so Steve eased her to lie on one of the pillows. He chuckled when she immediately snuggled into it.

Rising to his feet, Steve turned next to Jonathan and snapped his fingers in front of his face until he got his attention. The dude was blitzed out of his mind, but he wasn’t Steve’s permanent solution anyway.

“Watch her until I send Nancy back here,” he said, pointing at Robin. Jonathan’s eyes slowly followed his hand until they landed, and then he furrowed his brows.

He nodded, solemnly.

“Watch her,” he repeated.

Jesus. Okay.

Steve ran both hands through his hair, damp at his hairline with sweat, and took in a deep breath. They’d all been in there so long, he could taste the acrid smoke in the air, the smell of spilled drinks, a bit stinging when it hit his nose.

If he hadn’t been smoking already, he’d probably have a hell of a contact high.

Cab fares back to the hotel were going to suck.

He made his way to the door and into the hallway, even the stale air of the bar miles above the congested air of the dressing room. He sucked in as much as he could with his mouth open, scanning slowly down the line of three other doors for one marked “B” in large, white paint.

Wasn’t hard to find, and Steve smiled, knowing what was waiting for him on the other side.

“Steve.”

Fuck.

He’d be beelining for the door with Eddie behind it, he hadn’t even noticed another door opening on the other side of the hall.

He’d also forgotten he was supposed to be looking for Nancy.

At least that solved itself.

“Nancy,” he said, too high-pitched. He cleared his throat and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as she hovered in the hall with him, perfect brow arched high. “Finally sick of the smell of weed and sweat?”

“Just using the bathroom.” She pointed at the door she’d come through.

“Makes sense.”

Nancy glanced at the door to the first dressing room. Clearly behind Steve, and clearly being left for another room. “You going somewhere?”

Steve was in the middle of the hallway, in between dressing rooms A and B just enough that maybe Nancy wouldn’t be able to put the very clear two and two together.

“Just stepping out for a minute. Get some fresh air away from the hotbox back there.” Steve managed a single-second smile.

All it did was tip Nancy off. She tilted her head, getting that thoughtful look on her face that unlocked the secrets of the damn universe. She stared at him, and he couldn’t help it.

He looked at dressing room B.

Nancy stood a bit straighter, her shoulders rising. “I saw Eddie leave, too. Few minutes before you.”

“Not that weird. He’s probably exhausted.” Steve shrugged and stuffed his hands into his front pockets.

“So you’re going to his dressing room to…tuck him in?”

Fuck. Again.

“I—”

Nancy knew. That was the crux of it. She knew and nothing Steve could ever think of would convince her otherwise.

“So,” she said brightly. “Eddie, huh?”

He didn’t care that she knew about him.

Eddie, on the other hand, kept all of himself much closer to his chest. And he’d no say in how someone else had found out about him.

Steve didn’t know how else to answer. It seemed pointless to lie. And he wanted to get to Eddie.

“Yeah.” His voice came out as a croak, betraying his nervousness.

“Curly hair and brown eyes are really your type, aren’t they?”

A laugh tumbled out of him, because damn…it kind of was.

Except, Eddie was somehow able to let Steve give him everything every chance he could. So far, Steve hadn’t yet become too much for Eddie. Sometimes it even seemed like he wanted more.

Steve was still trying to wrap his head around it.

Nancy knocked him out of his head with a gentle pat of her hand on his shoulder. She’d walked closer while he was zoned out, and her eyes were pointed as she looked at him.

“Go get your boy, Harrington. I’m sure he’s waiting eagerly for you.” She shuddered, lowering her hand. “Uck, don’t ever make me think about what you two might be getting up to in there.”

“I didn’t make you the first time,” Steve pointed out.

Nancy just waved her hand, dismissing herself from the conversation and headed for the door the dressing room with the rest of the group. Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

Then remembered one last thing.

He turned after Nancy, finding her with her hand just on the doorknob. She must have heard his feet shuffling on the floor, because she was already waiting for his question.

“Could you keep an eye on Robin, please?”

“Of course.” She smiled, opening the door. “I’ve still got to find out how this episode ends.”

Steve let out a surprised huff of laughter, standing in the hall until Nancy had closed the door behind her. He hovered just a second longer, listening to the sounds of conversation that filtered through the door. No one else was going to come out, not in the time it would take Steve to finally join Eddie in the other dressing room.

He could only hope it hadn’t been five minutes yet.

Turned out, he’d just made it.

Eddie hadn’t been expecting him yet, startled enough to jump when Steve entered the room. His curls bounced and then settled over his shoulders, but that wasn’t the only thing that caught Steve’s eye.

Eddie had taken off his jeans already, standing in the middle of the otherwise empty dressing room in his stylishly cut up t-shirt and…lace underwear.

“Holy fuck,” Steve whispered.

Eddie’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, nervously pulling a strand of his hair over his mouth as Steve stood, dumbstruck, in front of the door. He twisted his hair between his fingers, brown eyes flitting to Steve and holding there.

Even if Steve had surprised him, he’d already put his cards on the table. Teased Steve enough to entice him. Now, fully revealing the whole surprise.

The one thing Steve might have expected: the underwear was black.

They were shaped more like shorts than any lacy underwear Steve had ever seen. Very obscene, very short shorts, the cut of them ending just under Eddie’s butt. The legs went further down on Eddie’s thighs, but each and every bit of fabric was just see-through enough to see a hint of Eddie’s pale skin through the lace detailing.

“You’ve been wearing those the whole time?”

A smirk grew across Eddie’s face.

“That’s right,” he said.

And Steve surged forward, a fire burning in his blood at the very thought that Eddie had spent an hour and a half performing in front of at least a hundred people—all the while wearing lace fucking panties for Steve to find on him afterward.

He crossed the room in four long strides, capturing Eddie’s laugh at his behavior with the fierce press of his mouth. Eddie hummed when Steve placed both hands along his jaw, and shuddered from head to toe when Steve kept going, until Eddie’s back hit the wall.

Steve had to touch. He had to.

He brought one hand down from Eddie’s face to the soft flesh of his thigh, fingertips grazing the lace. He sighed, sliding across the fabric to cup the Eddie’s pert, round cheek. Eddie pushed onto his toes, his hands already tugging Steve’s shirt from his jeans.

The underwear was rough against Steve’s palm, scrunched a bit when he massaged and pulled Eddie against him. He could feel Eddie’s dick twitch through the underwear where it pressed against his stomach, and Steve dug his fingers in harder to make it happen again.

“Lube?” he asked, although Eddie couldn’t answer right away with Steve licking into his mouth and biting at his lips.

Steve would have loved to lay Eddie out on the couch behind them, push his shirt up and really see the dark black of the panties in contrast with Eddie’s pale skin. How hi cock stretched out the ffront, maybe didn’t even fit because Steve didn’t know if they made these type of things for guys—but they didn’t have the time. Eventually, the band would need to pack up their things and vacate the bar.

Eddie finally turned his head away to catch his breath. And answer Steve.

“Table,” he panted.

Steve hummed deep in his chest.

“Stay here,” he said, patting Eddie twice on the butt before leaving him.

Eddie slumped back against the wall, rubbing himself slowly through his underwear. He watched Steve jog over the table, laughing softly when Steve stripped his shirt. He’d only been with Eddie for a few minutes, and was already overheating, sue him.

He grabbed the little bottle of lube—perched conspicuously in the center of the coffee table—and returned to Eddie. He’d opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment about Steve’s rush, but he never got the chance for more than a syllable. Not with Steve curling a hand into the thick of his hair, and kissing him hard.

Eddie floundered for a moment, lost in feeling just how Steve explored his mouth with his tongue before his hands landed on Steve’s biceps and he started moving his lips.

One-handed, Steve clicked open the lube bottle. Had to let go of Eddie’s hair since that was his dominant hand, and slicked his fingers. He felt some of it drip onto the floor, but he didn’t really care.

“Give me your hand, babe,” he said, and tipped some more onto Eddie’s fingers. He clicked shut the bottle and threw it to the other side of the room. Eddie laughed as it clattered on the floor, his slick hand bumping against Steve’s bare stomach.

Steve’s head was swimming, he wanted Eddie so much.

“Want to start for me?” he asked, at the same time unbuttoning his jeans with his free hand.

Eddie bit his lip and nodded.

They moved at the same time, Steve getting his hard cock out of his pants and slowly slicking himself with his lubed hand. Eddie arched his back and reached behind him, quickly getting his hand into his pretty, slutty underwear and prepping himself for Steve.

Steve stroked his cock slow, almost leisurely. Watched as Eddie’s mouth parted when he slipped at least two fingers inside, and the tensing of his shoulder while he thrust them in and out. Steve wondered how the lace felt against his hand, getting a little wet from the lube.

“God, as soon as you’re ready, I’m going to put those panties down to your thighs and take you while you’re facing the wall. Going feel that lace dragging against the bruises from my hips on your ass afterwards,” Steve said. His breath caught in his chest when Eddie dug his teeth into his lower lip and stared at Steve through his dark lashes.

His eyes still had that glint in them. The stars from the stage.

“Feeling real frisky there, Steve.”

Steve took in a deep, shaky breath, unable to hold back his smile. “You don’t surprise me unless you want it that way. When you want me to fuck you hard and fast, even if we didn’t have the time crunch.”

“Maybe,” Eddie muttered, arching his spine as he added another finger to whatever his count was. “You still owe me one after this, Harrington. I had to go hours in this scratchy lace while being cooked under those stage lights.”

He was a bit breathless, now. Head tipped back with a soft moan as he hit a pleasurable spot inside him, the sounds of his fingers growing louder. Steve couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and mouthed a messy pattern at the exposed line of Eddie’s throat.

 “Anything.”

”Okay, then.” Eddie’s voice lilted up, and Steve could hear the trickster idea forming in his head.

Steve was either going to seriously regret this or develop some new kink. Eddie had a way of doing that to him.

“You’re wearing them next.”

“Deal.” Steve bit lightly at Eddie’s throat and then stepped back, dragging his eyes down the line of Eddie’s body, clad in black, lace underwear. “Now, turn around.”

[aventurineswife]

What Blooms Between Us

Summary: Luocha, a reserved and enigmatic doctor, frequents your flower shop, seeking bouquets to bring comfort to his patients. Over time, his visits become less about the flowers and more about you, the florist who crafts them with care and a touch of playful flirting. As the two of you grow closer, you uncover the gentle yet sorrowful man behind his calm demeanor, and he finds himself drawn to the warmth you bring to his life.

Tags: @starstruck-halovian (hope you love this!), Luocha x Florist!Reader, Fluff, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Quiet Flirting, Gentle Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: FIRST TIME WRITING FOR THIS PRETTY MANNN AHHHHH!!!

[Original Idea]

The soft scent of freshly picked flowers filled the air as you carefully arranged a bouquet, the gentle petals resting in your hands like a secret you weren't yet ready to tell. The shop was quiet today, and the occasional rustle of the leaves seemed to hum in harmony with your thoughts. As the florist who ran this little corner of the world, you found a certain joy in turning delicate blooms into something special for your customers. But, if you were honest, there was always one customer who left an impression on you—a tall, enigmatic figure who frequented your shop.

Luocha.

He had first walked in a few weeks ago, his tall frame cutting a striking silhouette against the vibrant backdrop of flowers. With his quiet, aloof demeanor, it was hard not to notice how his green eyes seemed to study the arrangements carefully, as if each bouquet told him a secret he wasn't quite ready to share. And when he spoke, it was with a calm that made everyone else seem like they were running in circles.

"Do you have anything... gentle?" he had asked, his voice smooth and measured.

You had nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I have a few flowers that could suit your needs. Would you like me to make something for you?"

He had agreed, of course, and you had put together a bouquet of pastel lilies and white roses—gentle, yet filled with meaning. When you handed it to him, his gaze lingered on your hands for a moment longer than usual.

"Thank you," he'd said simply, though there was something more behind those words that you couldn't quite place.

Since then, Luocha had returned several times, always with the same quiet, thoughtful demeanor. Each time, he picked flowers to brighten his office, to help settle his patients, and perhaps, to ease the weight that seemed to hang around him. And each time, he'd find himself entranced by your careful arrangements, the way you treated each bloom with such devotion, as if you could see beyond the petals into the heart of each flower.

Today, he arrived as usual, the familiar chime of the door announcing his presence.

"Good afternoon," you greeted him with a playful smile, the faintest trace of teasing in your tone. "Back for another bouquet to fill your office with charm, Dr. Luocha?"

Luocha’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. But today… I think I’d like something different."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Different how?"

"I think," he began, his voice steady and quiet, "I’d like something that reflects… what I feel when I see you."

The words hung in the air between you, a challenge, a puzzle wrapped in a mystery. Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your composure, choosing to respond with a teasing smile.

"Is that so? Well, it seems I’ll need to be extra careful with this one, then," you replied, reaching for a bundle of fresh flowers. Your hands moved with practiced ease, choosing each stem carefully, crafting something that felt intimate yet subtle.

As you worked, you could feel his gaze on you—intense and focused, yet somehow gentle. He had always been this way, watching you from a distance, as if every movement you made was an intricate piece of a puzzle he was trying to solve. His quiet nature contrasted so sharply with the way he made you feel—like there was always something more beneath the surface, a connection you couldn’t quite touch, yet could always feel.

When the bouquet was ready, you turned to him, your hands trembling just slightly as you handed it to him. "Here you go. A bouquet that mirrors something between us—something delicate, but with strength beneath."

Luocha’s fingers brushed against yours as he took the flowers, his expression softening. His voice was low when he spoke again, the words laced with a hint of something more than his usual calm. "You always seem to know exactly what I need. It’s... comforting."

Your heart raced at his words, the subtle compliment sinking deep into your chest. You tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I guess I have a knack for reading people. Though, I’d say you’re more of a mystery than most."

He chuckled, though it was quiet, almost to himself. "I’m sure you’ve figured me out by now."

The silence between you two was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You knew he was more than just a doctor, more than just a merchant. But what exactly he was, was something you wanted to uncover. You were drawn to him, to the way he carried himself, the quiet strength in his presence, and the underlying sorrow he tried so hard to hide.

"You’ll be back again, won’t you?" you asked, the question playful yet genuine. "For more bouquets to brighten your day?"

Luocha hesitated for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours. "I suppose... you’ll be seeing me more often than you think."

A flutter of excitement stirred in your chest, but you kept your smile steady. "I’ll be here, as always, Doctor."

As he turned to leave, bouquet in hand, you caught the briefest flicker of something—an emotion, a longing—pass through his eyes before he disappeared into the streets, his footsteps soft but deliberate. You didn’t know what the future held for the two of you, but you had a feeling the flowers you arranged for him weren’t the only things growing between you.

And perhaps, just perhaps, the man carrying the coffin had already found a way to carry something else—something softer, gentler, and far more lasting.

[junhuiste]

experi-meant to be ⋆ park wonbin

pairing: wonbin x gn reader

tags/warnings: fluff, cursing, college au, laboratory environment, one mention of baking, 1600 words

a/n: i meant to publish this on valentine’s day since i had lab that day but i never finished it lol. there’s some microbio lab procedure jargon so like this is what streaking plates is if you want a visual lmfaoao. this is my first published work in like three years it feels weird haha + i might change my layout/header for fics but for now i’ll keep the same layout i've had for past fics

wonbin believes U are the uracil to his adenine—you should always be paired together.

| seunghan: dude 

| seunghan: lowkey i can’t come to lab bc my car won’t fucking start so i’ll have to make it up next week :\ but taehyun and his partner would probably be willing to help you out with calculations and clean up hopefully

Wonbin pants heading up the stairs into the classroom lab, cheeks immediately pink as he’s made a spectacle amongst everyone already sitting and tuned into the TA’s pre-lab lesson. Sighing as he processes Seunghan’s text, Wonbin turns to the drawing of bacterial growth curves on the whiteboard but is soon after preoccupied with the fact that there is no Taehyun on a stool. There’s just your backside entirely in front of him. 

Taehyun is one to set up all his materials before the TA even steps foot through the lab door so if he isn’t here now then that means—

“Guess you’re stuck with me for today.” 

Wonbin tries to swallow but it gets stuck halfway down his throat and is about to go into a choke type cough frenzy when he surprises himself and softly clears his throat instead. His thoughts are all just stuck there—in the middle of his esophagus, begging for them to travel back up to his brain so he has enough stamina to stick it through the four hour class. 

“No hate to him because Taehyunnie’s a tad faster at getting through the steps, so you know, we’re usually out thirty minutes early, but I can promise you I’m better at calculations. And I’m more precise with measurements,” you let out a small giggle before setting your backpack on the floor next to Wonbin’s.

The commotion of pipettes being thrown onto the surface, glass tubes clinking, and sneakers squeaking rushing to obtain their samples is right away drowned out in Wonbin’s ears by the sight of you perched atop the stool a mere few inches away from him. He tries to keep his chest from heaving at bay by taking his notebook out of his backpack and reviewing the method for today’s class. The solution is only short lived though, promptly taking notice of how you gather materials from the drawer while simultaneously reading through your own notebook. 

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Wonbin assumes his seat in the third to last row of his Virology lecture, close enough to the door that he can be among the first to leave as soon as “see you guys next time” leaves Professor Choi’s lips. He longs for the day (ideally it would be quite before the last week of classes but realistically that’s the best he has to offer for now) that he musters up just the slightest bit of courage to join you and Taehyun in the second row, where Seunghan also occasionally accompanies you two. It’s only the third week of this semester, but perhaps the sixth course of his over the past three years Wonbin’s seen you in. From Biochemistry to Rhetoric 2, he has never taken place at a desk next to yours. 

Wonbin’s always aching to know how you’d answer everything he could ever ask you, be it the attendance quiz question or your weekend plans—what time you usually roll out of bed, whether or not you stroll to the local farmer’s market near campus, if you’re spending Saturday with a special someone. He needs to hear you laugh at Taehyun’s cynicism about college. He needs to hear it up close, not having to strain his ear when he’s fifteen rows behind when you crack up at your friend during the five minute break Professor Choi gives the class. 

But Wonbin will take what he can get for now, and if that’s helping you fulfill your wish of completing the lab procedure as quickly as possible, he’ll do it. 

“I can do the calculations for us,” you begin, “would you mind getting our mutant strains at the front of the class and streak the Petri dishes?” 

Wonbin nods almost too enthusiastically and curses at himself for seeming embarrassingly desperate in front of you. Sure, he’d like to muster up the courage to ask you out, but today he’ll try to take it one step at a time.

When Wonbin returns with new plates to grow your bacteria on and two tubes filled with your bacterial strains, you scoot your chair closer to his to later show the finished calculations. He catches a whiff of your light perfume and almost falls out of his own chair. 

As he’s setting up the Bunsen burner for sterilization, you chuckle, “you know the real reason Taehyun’s not here today is because he left town last night to get a head start on the extravagant romantic weekend he has planned with Gaeul.”

“If there’s one way to use our one free unexcused absence, that’ll do it,” Wonbin replies. 

“Do you have any plans for Valentine’s Day, Wonbin? I mean if you did I just hope you wouldn’t leave me early like Taehyun did,” your eyes meet his for a brief second before flitting back to your notebook.

Wonbin’s grip on the matchstick to light the burner loosens. He just barely catches himself before the match could fall from his hand onto the lab bench. What he needed to get a grip on was his fucking sanity—he almost set the classroom on fire because his heart instead is aflame for yours. 

Taking a breath, Wonbin exhales when the flame turns to blue, finally lighting the Bunsen burner. 

“Nope, no plans,” he briefly turns to you. There’s a beat and he considers that asking you back would seem too forward, but he does it anyway. 

Upon seeing your grin before you open your mouth, he turns his attention right back to the tubes and plates in front of him. 

It’s so over. 

For a second Wonbin’s relieved, because he thinks he can actually get through the next two hours without overthinking his micro movements in front of you. Now that it’s over for him, maybe he can actually pay attention to the way the metal loop he’s holding makes contact with the jelly-like agar inside the plastic plate and not disappoint Seunghan with the results. However, it’s not realistic because even still, Wonbin takes note of all your beauty and remains completely bewitched.

“Honestly I wish...I mean Minjeong, Yunjin and I are gonna do a rom-com binge and bake desserts…but you know…not any plans with someone like that…” 

Your temporary lab partner tries to hide his smile and nods silently as he continues switching between spreading bacteria on the plate with the metal loop and then sterilizing the loop in the blue flame. 

The rest of lab goes smoothly as Wonbin tries to quell the embers within him for the time remaining. There’s forty minutes left but technically to you Wonbin knows time is dashing away and it should feel like there’s what but only ten minutes left to do everything. Your pair was a few steps ahead of the others, just like how it would be when Taehyun accompanied you every week. 

Wonbin has been psyching himself up the past two hours to finally ask you out but currently he’s stuck in his head and just can’t seem to get it out. Does he chase you after you’ve stepped foot out of the lab or should he leave you be? Or maybe he can try next week. He’ll keep telling himself that until there’s one day of instruction left and then he won’t see you for three months and then he’ll lament the entire summer to Seunghan that he didn’t say shit. 

He can do that…or just rip the bandage off at an agonizing speed. 

The last Petri dish that Wonbin holds is being wrapped in parafilm to prevent contamination. He’d been going through the motions of the procedure while simultaneously not paying attention to his surroundings, at his own self’s behest. You’ve already cleaned the entire lab bench and he doesn’t notice until he hears “see you in Virology,” and suddenly you’re slinging your backpack over your shoulder. 

It’s now or next week…or never—wait you know that Wonbin’s in your Virology class? What you said is ringing in his ears and it hits him all at once.

Petri dishes in hand and turning around, Wonbin freezes in his tracks.

“Um…”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“Do you want to hang out tomorrow?” his own mouth betrays him and suddenly it’s all coming out much too quickly for his liking. 

You’re about to answer but before you can even get a word in, “I-I don’t mean to interfere with your plans with your friends but uh, if you wanted to do something like that I’m down.”

Your lips press into a line and Wonbin is about to pass out from the threatening fluorescent classroom lights. 

“Park Wonbin…are you asking me out on a date?” He can practically feel his sweat melting the parafilm tape off and a vision of him dropping the Petri dishes in front of you, cracking open and shattering, exposing E.coli to everyone in the room flashes before him. He blinks once and calms his vice grip on the plates. 

“Yes. Yes I am asking you out on a date,” Wonbin looks down at your sneakers, not knowing where else to shift his gaze to. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you smirk, slinging the other strap of your backpack over your other shoulder and saluting.

Park Wonbin swears his heart is on fire and does a backflip off a fifty foot cliff. A curve forming on his lips, he smiles slightly waving with the plates still in his hand, “see ya…”

You halt your forward movement and turn back around, “Wonbin?” he perks up again, “you should sit next to me in lecture on Tuesday.”

[archivalofsins]

I'm glad I don't look in the tag like the shit that passes my dash is like stuff I know, and then Mikoto being hypersexualized on a bimonthly basis with the implied impression that it's fine as long as it's a male being sexualized. I have no stake in it one way or the other. If that's fun to some, it's just fun, and I'm certain other characters are sexualized just as much in different circles. Maybe I'm just lucky enough not to have seen that.

Yet that again would be due to people recognizing subconsciously or not that hypersexualizing certain characters of the cast is problematic on some level. I don't see this sort of discussion as often around Yuno despite the content within her music videos. I don't see it around Mahiru or Kotoko as much either. This is excluding every other character that was a child when Milgram started all together.

This may sound like a complaint or a dig at this fandoms ethics, but it isn't because literally most fandoms treat male characters like this. This isn't something the Milgram fanbase created or anything it's quite common.

It's why Persona 5 wrote those story beats around Ryuji how they did- Because when sexual harrassment happens to a man in fiction it's comedy when it happens to a woman in fiction it's either horror or very notably a moral failing on the one doing it. Or maybe again I've just gotten lucky and haven't read a lot of egregious shit in that regard.

The way all fandom tends to hypersexualize men in general is a byproduct of how the sexual issues of men are discussed in media and ignorance. The same as it is when it comes to hypersexualization and caricaturing of female characters past and present as well. I don't want this to come off as me saying being overly sexualized is a male issue alone. Because it's not. This is a very reductionist explanation of sexualization in media, something that affects all genders differently.

There's much more to it than what I'm saying here. Plus, not everyone does this with the intent of demeaning a character or reducing them to their sexual appeal alone. Some people just find a design sexy or aesthetically appealing that's pretty reasonable. Displaying why that is- is reasonable as well.

However, when that is put alongside comments like "I'd never judge a female character like this, of course, I have some class." It starts to make me raise an eyebrow just a bit. Like, I end up wondering like um why not though?

Hate to be openly pansexual (no i don't this is hyperbole) but um, women are hot, lol. What does no one else think so? Is it bad to point out the features of the Milgram women too. I'm sorry but Mahiru is hot she dresses well and homely she has a decent figure and she is not lacking in the chest department.

It really comes down to preference at the end of the day. Am i going to sit here and say Mikoto looks average? No, like Mikoto, Kazui, Mahiru, and Shidou are all genuinely attractive and can be somewhat charismatic people. Ya know something that a good few murderers are. That's kind of the point of them being the adults of the group.

They are the end result of everyone here younger than them and are more than likely the best at what they do.

Outside of that, it would be weird of me to hold anybody to a certain standard when it comes to what they're attracted to in fiction. Unless they are romanticizing a criminal act or a child. Gotta make that really clear. Since that isn't really occurring here, it is kind of free game. Go nuts, really.

I just find it interesting that everything a person would ethically have an issue with someone doing to a character that's a woman has been done to Mikoto with reckless abandon.

From hyperfocusing on the measurements of his body, overtly sexualizing him regardless of how covered up he is, making assumptions about his romantic or sexual preferences. It's like everything that would make anyone rightfully a creep if they did it to a woman whether that be in real life or in fiction has been done to this one fictional dude to the point it technically happens in cycles. I can tell when a month has ended based on if this man's body is being talked about sometimes, and I shouldn't be able to do that at any time.

It's impressive. I need to note again that I'm not saying this because I'm a prude or to protect Mikoto's very nonexistent innocence. It's just a funny and interesting double standard to look into within any fandom, not just this one. I know it's all in good fun, and this isn't meant to call it out or anybody in any way.

It's just meant to be me going,

"Hey, this is a funny thing that hasn't really been questioned that much that actually ties into other writing tropes in media that are pretty bad. Let's talk about it."

Even if it is not that deep.

Personally, I've always found it interesting as daughter of a guy that suffered interpersonal partner violence and being raised in a community where the sexual assault of both men and women is prominently discussed to see how men and women are sexualized not only in media but by fanbases. Of course, I'm way more interested in this when it comes to black people. However, when a good example of the differences is sitting right in front of me, it's hard to overlook it.

Better excuse, though- Mahiru is hot, too! Maybe stop talking about how she's delusional and instead discuss how she had low confidence and rejection sensitivity. Causing her to not understand what she was doing was too much for the situation as well as made it difficult for her to let the fact that she was not accepted by someone she liked go. Similarly to Mu.

Like maybe this line from This Is How To Be In Love With You deserves a bit more focus,

"What do you think? I know it's not the type of question you want to be asked."

A common question for one to ask their partner about the outfits they put on.

Or this one in I Love You,

"Sigh... No appetite, I can’t sleep, my hair’s a mess. What am I supposed to do now? If you won’t tell me, I can’t be me."

I'm not hungry, I can't sleep, and worst of all- I'm not even looking good right now. Yeah fuck it actually this is a Mahiru appreciation post now that woman served this community several different outfits and this bastard only gave two fuck Mikoto stop complimenting this man for his cycling body.

Yeah, he's fit. We know! The man bikes to work to stay in shape and practices swinging a bat when angry.

But guess what-

Mahiru jogs, and she even has a cute jogging outfit. We've never even seen this man on a bike. Let alone in a cycling outfit.

Q.04 Are you picky when it comes to fashion?

Mikoto: Of course I am. Nobody would want to ask for anything from an unfashionable designer, right?

Oh, you're picky huh. People wouldn't ask for anything from an unfashionable designer, yeah... So, why does Mahiru Shiina's first music video look like a fashion catalogue-

While all we see from you is you putting your clothes where they belong,

Sorry, I got heated there. It's not a fashion competition because we clearly know who would win that. Long story short, Mahiru has a cute design too.

[the-unconquered-queen]

With Blades 2 coming to an end, I just wanna get it off my chest that I'm really not a fan of how they wrote Nia for a great part of this one, particularly vis-à-vis the way they wrote MC. I know I've been saying some stuff along those lines for ages now, but it hasn't left my mind so now I'm gonna actually get into it.

For starters, I think a lot of the issue with Nia's writing was captured pretty well in the tags of this post, particularly on point 2. Like I've said, Nia unfortunately falls into the category of a Mary Sue in that every "flaw" she's given just serves to elevate her to perfection. Hell, even when corrupted—when a person is supposed to be in their most volatile state—the worst she does is be snarky that first chapter (she is aggressive toward MC at one point before this, but it's neither acknowledged nor repeated later). After that, she is entirely normal, just not as much of a pushover, and while I much preferred shadow!Nia, I do think that this really undermines the whole gravity of corruption and b2's emphasis on shadow-light balance, since shadow!Nia comes off as quite balanced already, especially compared to other corrupted characters we've seen.

But here's the thing, that post that got me thinking is months old, and we have gotten more story since then, and what I have noticed is that Nia does, in fact, have one real flaw in canon, but it's the one flaw she's absolutely not meant to have: Nia in canon can at times come off as self-absorbed. She either makes things about herself or doesn't stop people from doing this, and there are multiple examples of it. There is the instance in Riverbend when MC is taking a moment to finally try to process Kade's capture (which, following their own capture, they never got the chance to process) and Nia derails the conversation and makes it about her own grief and is comforted by MC and Mal. Another example is the moment on Gerhard's ship when she vents about the pressure she's been under and lets MC comfort her without at any point considering that MC might have been under similar pressure.

And don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with a character putting themselves first. But when the book doesn't waste a single chance to tell us that Nia's character is the complete opposite and that she is chronically incapable of not being considerate 25/8, it's quite contradictory. I mean, you can even call out Ethan Ramsey, PB's golden boy, on making things about himself at some point in OH, but because, unlike Ethan, Nia is written for you to consider her super sweet and wholesome and perfect, the Blades MC actually contributes to this by performing mental gymnastics to turn something around to be about Nia.

Which brings me to my final point: Blades 2 pushed MC to the side to revolve around Nia, but MC is exactly the person they meant for Nia to be, by virtue of the dissonance between showing and telling. They tell you that Nia is selfless because she always puts everyone else first. Well, I can and did name examples showing the contrary, meanwhile, MC is the one who was been through the most traumatic ordeal and is constantly checking in on everyone else without expecting and without receiving much of the same courtesy in return, even apologizing to Nia because she was "carrying all that weight on her own", never mind that MC always has the weight of the world on their shoulders. They tell you that Nia is the heart of the party, but they both told and showed us that everything fell apart without MC.

Even some of Nia's most defining character traits, MC has in similar measure. Nia sees the best in everyone? MC can be the #1 believer in Aerin's redemption after all the shit he pulled. Nia is trusting to the point of naivete? MC literally trusted Valax while she outright told them at every turn she would turn on them at the first opportunity, and was genuinely hurt by the betrayal. Miss me with MC calling Nia "our better self".

Every trait that they've gone out of their way to tell you Nia has they've shown twofold in MC, which is why it's so exasperating to me that they reduced MC to the conduct through which other characters' (particularly Nia's) stories get told while their own is an afterthought. I am by no means saying that two people can't have similar traits or that two people can't be good people at the same time, but there is something about praising these traits in Nia when, based on these, MC should be held to a similar standard. Instead, they relegated MC (main. character.) to a supporting character in Nia's story, elevating every trait that MC possesses only in Nia while ignoring them in MC to the point that many scenes felt frustrating to play.

[landinrris]

Re: your tag “a top 10 video of the day tbh” - that made me curious. What ARE your top videos of the day and why?

Shuffled back through the videos for this, so here we go in no real particular order because I'm endeared to all of them and horrible with ranking things when they all make my mind vibrate in equal amounts. Shoving this under a "read more" because it got long (top 10 moments and all) and fic-y.

I'll start out with the first real video of the day that I remember (not counting Shaun Farrugia's Insta Story that clued everyone into Lando being on the boat). Just them dancing with each other in essentially a circle of people. Martin's hand on Lando's shoulder, his thumb splaying out along Lando's collarbone. Makes me weak and ill in equal measure. They have several moments caught on camera that feel like a "this is us being close while still in public," type thing.

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Them dancing together at the Decks. Who knows the state of Lando's sobriety at this point. It's so carefree and open. I love the little flags on his cheeks and the ribbon around his head (the chain of his necklace poking out the back of his hoodie overtop his undershirt). I'm pretty sure this is around the same time that Lando asks Martin if he wants a drink as well because Eva's on the other side of Martin as the camera pans up.

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This is a more understated moment that's pretty quick, but I just love that they're dancing in their own little world with everyone. Parked up next to each other because where else would they be? (original video link)

This video of them with Lando asking Martin if he wants a drink 🫠. Lando taking the second to ask Martin if wants anything, Martin pulling him close so he can hear what Lando's trying to tell him, the person recording the video panning over to them and then almost immediately pulling away, Martin stealing Lando's drink and then not letting him go while he pretends to drink it.... it's every bit of the video as you can see 😅. Like bro, you can let go of him, it's okay. But no, it's another one of those little moments I mentioned earlier where they can let themselves have this little thing in the middle of a crowded boat with who knows how many cameras pointed in their direction.

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This video simply because it's cute and short and sweet. Them both vibing. I've put it here more so because of Lando's little dance and shimmy. It makes me sickeningly endeared. Lando may have quit DJing apart from special circumstances, but you can tell he loves getting into the rhythm of it.

I have... too much to say about this one... The fact that they're kind of sequestered off to the side a bit- Lando even behind what looks like a makeshift curtain of clothing. There are a few others around them, but boy if their attention isn't solely on each other. Their little mirrored dance is so much as well. But what absolutely annihilates me is the way you can tell they're both smiling at each other towards the end. Plus the fact that it looks like Lando either leans into Martin as the video cuts, or Martin pulls him in. In any case, it's a moment of privacy and it makes me ill.

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A post shared by Lando Norris #4 (@norris.content)

These are two long Insta stories I recorded for reasons, the first one more pertinent to it immediately being here than the second. I just love Lando sitting in and amongst everyone. He's sitting next to Martin's father (which is an entirely separate thing tbh) chatting and having fun. The second video was included because when the lights go off and a spotlight shines back onto the area he was, Lando doesn't seem to be there, which was an interesting note I wanted to have in the records because of the shot of Martin making his way back in that direction during the first half. Much to think about. (Tumblr didn't like my embedded video, so here's a screenshot of the first bit, but you'll have to go through the link to see all of what I'm talking about)

This was just a quick tiny thing piggy-backing off the last video, but it's a more closeup shot of Lando chatting with Martin's father. It makes me all soft inside that he gets close with the families of the people important to him. (Tumblr also didn't like the embedded video that was originally here, so here's a screenshot if you don't want to click through to see the actual clip)

Putting this video here because of both Mat Normann's arms around Lando, but also because Martin's there vibing and dancing by his side. Like, they're truly just existing and having a good time. Need to know who gave Lando that stupid little visor. But again, I love it for the subtleness and the comfort with how packed that room was.

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A post shared by Lando Norris #4 (@norris.content)

And then finally, this video that might as well be an hour long. The smiles, the bouncing back and forth... Martin's arm moves away from Lando at one point, almost like he was pulling Lando at the beginning. Many thoughts head very full. They almost never get to do this at the same time with each other, and it's an addicting feeling.

[prismsoup]

(tags from @beeb-oob I hope you don't mind me tagging you here so you can see my extra rambling)

TLSPTS indeed is a meteorological superstructure- but more than that, he was a symbol, as many iteraors were during the times from Prototypes to First Mass Construction Wave.

Network - Ah, this one is quite old ! It predates the construction of Twenty Long Spears Pierce the Sky, as it seems to have been recorded during the installation of additional access ports to the Meteorological Superstructure's network. Although it does look like the implementation of an Iterator to the station was already being suggested at the time, under the project name of Display of Power. The rest of the data is only comprised of intricate maps, which I doubt would be of great interest to a little creature like you.

"Display of Power" or "Supremacy of [Concerned House]" (which became "Supremacy of House of Concerns") were two draft names for project Twenty Long Spears Pierce the Sky. It should give you the general idea behind his construction. As iterators were starting to be mass constructed, they became a major tool in displays of religious and political influence. Those which were not Community-constructed (common accord between multiple Houses or Organizations) could be used as the ultimate sign of "being better" than everyone else.

-> I explain the construction waves in this post if you're interested

When you make a product, you need a form of control over it. You want it to spread and promote specific ideas, ideologies, principles, models and systems. And you certainly want it to see you (and present you) in a good light.

It was also a good way to test certain things before implementing them on future models.

Regarding how a meteorological superstructure would be capable of causing damage- there's a few things !

Twenty Long Spears Pierce the Sky is an Unconventional Model - High Processing Power. He was constructed to monitor the Great Equalizer (when it hadnt stabilized yet and when the mass construction of iterators were still heavily impacting the weather in a way that the Benefactors struggled to fully measure). It collects, processes and stores a gigantic amount of meteorological data, but also runs heavy simulations to estimate the impact of a construction (depending on the area) and its viability (construction impacted by nearby structures ? climate too dangerous for installation ? etc..).

Have it withhold the information, or make the machine generate false data and you start having a problem. He probably isn't the only meterological superstructure out there, but it certainly is one way to get in the way of a project the House is against.

As for something way more rare but quite problematic : mislabelled systems and the Physical Network Points.

Here we have a (poorly drawn) example of how TLSPTS is connected to distant meteorological masts. "Physical Relay" means it's a bunch of cables running underground (or above ground in massive protective layers) connecting various "Physical Network Points" (connection hubs, where multiple relays connect or can be connected). "Non-physical relays" are ones not connected by cables.

These masts are all labelled under "meteorological equipment".

In extremely rare cases, this can happen :

Random equipment is connected to the mast or replaces it, but remains attached to the network point under the same label. This can happen for iterator equipment too (though it's generally fixed if the mistake is caught) but would mostly happen to rushed projects.

Legally speaking, the data passing through these networks and marked as coming from "meteorological equipment" is fully accesible by TLSPTS. He is allowed to process and store it- or share it however he wants. Depending on the mislabelled equipment, that access can become more or less problematic.

-> Not canon but in a fun little rp, one poor iterator (Paths Left Untaken by @fauxbia) had the misfortune of having her internal temperature systems marked as "meteorological equipment". Not fun. Especially when her access to her own data could simply be denied due to it. (Also go look at PLU's design she is such a cool character)

Oh !! I almost forgot about the second part of the tags ! Regarding the Docility Protocols !

He isn't aware of them. He can't, either. A fun little aspect of the Protocols is that they prevent the iterator from recognizing them. You could show a comprehensible piece of code to him and he would not be able to recognize what it is, and it would leave his mind the second he's no longer focused on it.

As for how far the obsession goes ? Think of his general relationship with some Benefactors as a worshipper/god relationship ? Sort of ? So yes, "blind reverence cult" type of vibe. But it also becomes hyper possessive later on (post mass ascension).

-> Example (not canon, but still fun) : the skittering. He tore himself from the earth (and effectively disemboweled himself in the process) just to run after TWO Benefactors, who left to reside within another superstructure.

Also last little thing : he does not have a city because he lacks legs (the structure is sitting on top of an older meteorological station) and the top of the can is too close to the cloud layer. (And also the fact he just generates massive storms by breathing).

[secretlywritingstories]

You can feed on me tonight, if you'd like? | BG3 Astarion one shot

Summary: It became a habit to let Astarion feed on you every night. He does it so carefully that you normally don’t wake, until the one night you do.

Tags: During canon Act 2, blood drinking, late night conversation, hurt/comfort

Warnings: Brief mention of canon trauma

Word count: 3.9k

Read on AO3 or below

You didn’t exactly intend to make it a routine, but perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that you find yourself wanting to cling to a certainty when the option is presented to you.

Life has been more complicated lately than you’d ever thought. Being infected with a mind flayer parasite is life-ruining. It should have been death of you already, lost forever to become a thrall.

Only your parasites are different, or it’s the guardian in a damn githyanki artefact protecting you. You still haven’t quite figured out which is which. You also haven’t figured out if this delay is a blessing or a curse.

But there is one thing you are sure of in this whole chaotic journey that you never asked to go on. You like the company. Maybe you’re just all trauma bonding. All of you’ve got issues and stuff to deal with that doesn’t necessarily have a good solution. Too many of your companions are in danger of being blown up, losing themselves to old masters or seeking power that’ll corrupt them.

It's a lot trying to manage it all. Especially because you’ve become the leader of your crew. You’re not quite sure how that happened, but everyone always looks for you to have all of the answers. You have to consider how every single choice will affect you all.

It’s exhausting and scary and every new encounter tests you in a new way.

Maybe that’s why it’s easy to stride over to Astarion every night before you lie down on your bedroll and tell him that he can feed on you if he’d like. You always try to lower your voice, whisper it almost like a secret.

A ridiculous notion because Astarion’s reply is always loud, laced with teasing and appreciation in equal measure. And every single morning, you’re hobbling over to Shadowheart to request that she uses one of her limited spells to do Lesser Restoration on you. That too has become a familiar routine. You don’t even have to ask her anymore. She just does it when she sees you come over.

It was different the first time Astarion bit you. You still remember it quite vividly. During the day, you’d found the boar, a victim of a vampire attack, and how cagey he’d been when you’d tried to ask for his opinion. Still, you hadn’t foreseen that you’d wake that same night with him standing over you, about to use you as his personal juice box.

It’s almost ironic that you’re the one walking up to him every night now.

He’d thought you’d kill him when you woke that first time. You’d seen the fear in his eyes. You remember being baffled that he didn’t just strike to kill you first. He had far more dexterity. He could have gutted you before you’d had a chance to recover.

But he had stood there, fumbling to explain himself, and looking like he was waiting for you to strike him. It was your first hint that something was off about the whole thing. You know more now. About how he was enslaved to Cazador Szarr for 200 years and made to feed on rats as his only nutrition. How the vampire master carved a demonic ritual into his flesh, and left him to wonder how he’d been branded.

If you’re ever making it to Baldur’s Gate before the tadpoles or any of your many enemies get the best of you, then you’re going to kill that vampire – or better yet help Astarion do it.

You let him feed that night, and you don’t regret it. Even if a nagging thought in the back of your mind wonder if he’d have drained you dry, if you hadn’t persuaded him that he’d had enough.

Back then, maybe he would have. But you don’t think he would anymore. It feels like things have changed between you. Not just because of your one tryst at the tiefling party. That did set your relationship down a path that you hadn’t anticipated, and you know that you cannot separate sex and romance like he perhaps can.

But he’d been off that night. Far away in his mind. He’d insisted that he was just holding back when you’d asked, and while you did appreciate that, it didn’t feel like the truth. You’ve never pushed the issue of sex again, and having learned more about how he used his body to lure victims for his master, it feels like the right call.

The feeding, you know he appreciates. He says so every time you allow him it. That’s one of the strange things too. One night, you had been too battered and exhausted and forgotten to tell him that he could bite you. You had assumed that he would do so anyway, since you had been giving him permission time again and again in the days before.

But you’d woken that morning healed and not feeling the tell-tale signs of being bloodless. You’d tried to ask him about if that morning, but you had gotten a rather unpleasant visit from one of the many fiends you’ve got to deal with lately. A new chance had never presented itself.

Astarion has it down to a fine art to bite you without waking you now. It’s almost a little terrifying. You don’t stir at all. He could rip out your throat and you wouldn’t have any way to prevent it.

You’d like to think that any of your other companions would go to Withers and bargain to have your life restored. They’d find more than enough gold on your body for it. And well, they still need you.

Some of them might try to kill Astarion if he killed you. It’s a strange thing to find yourself so surrounded by people who like and want to protect you. You’ve never quite felt this bond with anyone.

But Astarion never kills you, and you suspect that he only drinks a little bit. The blood of thinking creatures, such as yourself, seems to sustain him well. You’re still not sure if it’s healthy for you to bare your neck this often but you would not change it.

It makes him happy.

And he deserves every sliver of happiness that he can get after centuries of pain. It’s why you sometimes stop and bask in the sun a little, even if some of the other party members try to hurry you along. Because you know Astarion wouldn’t stop on his own but you know that he craves basking in the sun, now that he can.

For now. Until you find the solution to the tadpole problem, at least.

It’s too scary to think further than that. Your plans keep getting derailed time and time again. You’re learning to accept that you can never anticipate what will be around the next corner.

You’ve never woken once in the weeks that Astarion has been drinking your blood, but you do tonight. Astarion is drinking from your neck, ever so carefully.

You’re not sure why you wake up this time. Maybe the shadow-cursed lands just creep up on you. For most part, you’ve tried to make camp at the Last Light Inn but sometimes, it’s just not feasible to trek back.

The pain from the bite is different from what you remember the first time. That sharp piercing pain is mollified. It’s a little uncomfortable but it doesn’t really hurt. You’re not sure if it’s the change in your heartbeat or Astarion was simply done, but he pulls back and looks surprised to find your eyes open.

His mouth drops open, ever so slightly. Fangs gleam in the moonlight and a little blood trail down from one of the corners of his mouth. By many people’s standards, this would be the picture-perfect image of a monster.

But his blood-red eyes stares into yours and you don’t see a monster at all. You see the elf that your heart is becoming rapidly entangled with, even if you know it’s a bad idea.

“Oh, you’re… awake. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He sits back on his haunches and wipes the blood on his mouth away with the back of his hand. Wasting a couple of drops. He would not have done that if it was the first time. He made sure to savour and not spill any.

But that was then. Now he’s well-fed. Things are different.

“You didn’t wake me,” you insisted, sitting up.

A mistake. Your head swims from the blood loss and you feel a dizziness overtake you. You would probably have tumbled right over if not for the steadying hands on the small of your back and your shoulder.

“Easy now, peach. I wouldn’t want my favourite meal to die on me.”

There’s a question at the tip of your tongue, even as your head still swims. You force it down and make yourself take steadying breaths. It wouldn’t do anything good to ask about what you mean to him. You’re not sure you’re ready to face that answer.

You’re just going to have to trust that you’re more than a meal.

“I’m fine,” you say.

It’s quite easy to say these days, even if it is a lie. You don’t have any choice to but to be fine. You have to persevere. Everyone is counting on you to solve all of this. And the calamity of what ‘this’ means keep expanding too. You don’t like that you’ve got to take down so many huge and scary villains.

You’re a regular person. You didn’t sign up for this shit.

Astarion clicks his tongue but doesn’t let go of you. His touch feels warm, even though he shouldn’t really be warm as a vampire spawn. Maybe that’s your blood’s doing.

“I don’t need to be particular perceptive to tell that’s a lie,” he remarks.

“Fuck off,” you bite back, partly in jest, but partly also wanting to change the conversation.

It has the intended effect. It makes Astarion laugh, and in turn that makes you smile. You savour every genuine laugh and smile that you can elicit from him. It feels like a small victory.

Maybe that’s going to be your main victory at the end of this. All of the times that you made your companions feel better, even if just for a moment. You’ve helped Gale with his magical items, Karlach with her mechanic heart, Shadowheart with protecting the artefact, Lae’zel with tracking down the creche, Wyll with his pact with Mizora, Halsin with the Druid grove and Astarion with his bloodlust.

And his revenge on Cazador, when it comes to that.

You don’t like mindless murder, which one might not think when they consider the blood that you’ve had to spill along the road here. You always try to go for the lesser evil or talk your way out of most situations, but it doesn’t always work. But either way, it would be different with Cazador.

After what he’s done to Astarion, he deserves ruthlessness.

“My, my, what has you looking like such a murderous vixen?” Astarion asks, finally letting go of you.

You watch him contemplate how to move, before he eventually sits down next to you on the bedroll. That’s the first time that has happened.

You cannot tell him the truth. You’re not sure what he would think about you contemplating killing Cazador. He would most likely approve but you’re still a little scared to discuss the specifics with him. You know he hungers for the power that Cazador has and you’re not quite sure what’ll happen if he gets it.

“Well, murder, of course,” you said with a shrug, and pull your legs up against your front. Making yourself smaller.

Astarion narrows his eyes at you, seeming to contemplate pressing the issue but eventually relenting. The silence seems to settle over the two of you. It’s not exactly peaceful out here with shadows wanting to lurch forward and kill you. It’s almost eerily quiet.

But you’ve got the pixie blessing, so you’ll be fine. The shadows can’t reach you. But you know that doesn’t mean you’re protected from all of the other things out to get you. Like the tadpole squirming around in your brain. You’re never getting used to that.

“You know,” he says, looking out into the shadows, “why do you come to me most nights? So eager to be a snack?”

It was not the question that he’d ask, but you suppose it makes sense. It’s the first time the two of you have really been explicitly confronted with what you’ve been doing these pasts weeks.

Maybe he still thinks you naïve and easy to manipulate. It seemed like that might have been the case at first. Maybe it still is, but then why would he ask? Risk you reconsidering your repeated offers to keep him fed?

“To allow you to feed, you mean?” you ask, wanting him to put it into the exact words.

You like his sass, his flair for the dramatic, but this is quite a serious topic and you need him focused. To strip away some of the façade.

“Well, yes,” he says, still frowning and staring ahead instead of looking at you.

You let out a thoughtful hum and try to string your words into something that would make sense to him. It’s difficult, when it doesn’t really fully make sense to yourself. You’re pretty sure that he isn’t going to accept the explanation that it just feels right.

You’re worried that it would be even worse to confess that you do it just to make him feel a bit of happiness. That feels like it is too big a confession while the world is falling apart around you.

“It doesn’t cost me anything,” you say, and letting out a light sigh, looking out into the same darkness that he was watching so intensely. “And it matters to you. So why wouldn’t I do it?”

Silence settles over you again, but you feel Astarion’s eyes on you now. Boring into the side of your head, observing your profile. The urge to immediately turn is strong but you let yourself wait. You let him see you.

You wonder what he finds while gazing upon your face. If he can see the other answers that you didn’t dare to speak out loud. If he can see the answer that you won’t even voice fully to yourself.

Eventually, you cannot bear it anymore and you turn to face him. His eyes have never quite looked so soft. His whole expression is stunned and a little devastated. And maybe there’s a bit of awe in his eyes too, though you’re almost too stubborn to believe it. This is not how you thought he would look at you. Ever.

“What?” you ask, whispered between the two of you, like a secret for real this time. Everyone else being soundly asleep, for now it’s just you in your own little world.

Astarion is the only companion in camp who doesn’t sleep. He mediates for a few hours but you know that’s not the same as sleeping. Elves don’t need sleep but that also means that he can never escape his own consciousness. He had to live through every second of his 200 years of captivity.

You’re breaking your own heart just remembering his history.

“I… huh, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he says, and his eyes are so big, almost sparkling in the moonlight. They hold all of your attention.

You want to reply that you’ve never quite met anyone like him either, and you would have meant every word, but he continues before you can get the chance to reply.

“Where were you two hundred years ago?” he asks, splitting your heart open.

He draws his legs up against his chest, mimicking your posture. You’ve never seen him sitting like that. There are so many words you wish to tell him, but you fear any attempt at reassurance will just ring hollow.

You cannot change the past. You could not save him when you hadn’t even been born. Yet you find yourself yearning for a different past. One where you could have saved him.

“Where were you when I needed saving?” he continues.

There’s no resentment in his voice, only sad resignation. It does not sound like he blames you, but still the guilt threatens to choke you. If you thought your heart was breaking for him before, you were sorely mistaken.

He had waited for rescue. For two centuries. And none came.

When he finally got out, it wasn’t even a rescue for him. It was a kidnapping. A happenstance that ripped him from one master, but infected him with the intention to bind him to another.

You don’t realise you’re crying until he’s reaching out to gently wipe a tear from your cheek. It’s the most tenderly he’d ever touched you, the pad of his thumb barely brushing along your skin under your eye.

“Darling, you’re far to pretty to cry,” he says, and he clearly tries for a light and teasing tone but it falls flat. “Don’t waste your tears on me.”

It looks like he has even more to say to you. Maybe he feels an obligation to tell you that he doesn’t actually blame you. You both know you could not have helped him. But you find yourself yearning and wishing that someone else had.

Suddenly, every time he disapproved of you going off from the main mission to help someone else makes a little more sense. You couldn’t put your finger on why he would disapprove at first but maybe it wasn’t because he didn’t care. Maybe it was because he cared too much.

You’ve dragged him along on numerous adventures, forced him to watch as you try to help and save everyone. Relentlessly and with all of your willpower because it’s the right thing to do.

Because it felt right to help, even with the numerous threats constantly hanging over you. Because you couldn’t imagine abandoning someone who needed help.

You reach out for his hand, grabbing it before he can retreat it back to his side of the bedroll. He looks almost startled at the touch, and you’re about to pull back when he turns your hand, interlocking your fingers. Keeping your hand in his.

You want to say that you’re sorry so terribly, but you know it will never be enough. You do not want to apologise for not saving him, but to apologise on behalf of the universe that no one else did. Nature is all about maintaining balance but you cannot see how such cruelty can ever balance out.

There is nothing you can say to make this better. There’s nothing you can really do to make it better either. But you’ve got to at least try to provide him some of the comfort that he so desperately needs and deserves.

“Stay with me tonight?” you ask.

His eyebrows shoot up, clearly surprised, and you see how his face pinches together as he makes the wrong assumptions.

“Just here, lying together for the night,” you clarify before the misunderstanding can take root. You’d not ask him to sleep with you again until he explicitly tells you that he wants to. If he ever does, and if he doesn’t, then that’s okay too.

He lets out a little chuckle, sitting back a little.

“But you need to sleep. I’ve already interrupted your rest, despite promising not to do that,” he says and looks almost bashful. It’s a new look on him too. You’re seeing a bit more of him tonight than he’s shown before.

“I don’t care,” you say.

“My sweet, I don’t sleep, you know this.”

“I do. I want to stay awake with you. You can meditate if you want, but I want you to know that you’re not alone. At least not for tonight,” you say and it feels like too much, but you don’t care anymore.

So what if he will use how much you care about him against you? He’s smart, he’ll figure you out soon enough either way. You might as well let him in now.

“You… you’d do that?” he lets out a short laugh. “Normally, I’d be the only thing creeping in the shadows on a night such as this.”

“You don’t have to creep anywhere anymore,” you tell him, squeezing his hand. “Okay? As long as we’re on this journey together, I’m not letting you go. You can have blood, you can have company, you can have someone who’s there for you.”

Astarion whispers your name as if you were one of the gods or goddesses. His eyes are definitely filled with awe this time, looking at you as if you are divine.

“I cannot change the past, no matter how much we both would wish it, but I can help now. I can do something now, and I will. Now and in the future, if you’ll let me. I can’t promise that it’ll be work out. Too much could go wrong, but we still have to try. So please let me try to help you.”

Astarion looks at you for a long moment, and something in his eyes change, as if he sees you in a new light. You know your words was tinged with desperation and you’re letting him know just how much you’d be willing to do for him, but he deserves it. He deserves someone who cares for him relentlessly.

You’re willing to bare your neck to him, not because you trust him not to bite, but because you want him to and trust that he’ll do so gently.

Far too long, he’s been deprived of every ounce of happiness, and you’re going to make sure he gets a chance at as much of it as possible.

In the end, he nods and the two of you try to properly lie down on the bedroll that’s definitely too small for two people. Astarion should go to the other side of the fire and grab his own, but neither of you are operating on logic right now.

You squeeze together on the one bedroll. Your shoulders pressed together, and hands still intertwined. It’s not really comfortable but that doesn’t matter. You have both endured far, far worse.

And it’s still nice. This is nice.

You lie in silence for a long time, and you fight against consciousness to stay awake next to Astarion like you promised him. He was right that it’s a foolish attempt and that you need all of the rest you can get in these parts. But he must also know that you cannot be discouraged from something when you’ve made up your mind.

And you’re glad you fought against the tendrils of sleep when you feel his thumb stroking along the back of your hand. A light and reassuring touch. It grounds you and gives you hope for the future.

You’re not sure that he’s ever going to be okay after everything that’s happened to him, but maybe pockets of happiness will be enough. You hope it will be enough.

[afterdarkprincess]

all you ever did was wreck me (yeah you wreck me)

Relationship: Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins Rating: Explicit Summary: Newly returned Dean Ambrose has a press event at the WWE Performance Center and World Heavyweight Champion Seth Rollins is among those there to greet him. They find one another in a practice room long after everyone else has gone home and things escalate quickly.

AO3 Link

Fun little idea I've had in my head since CM Punk came back, just wouldn't leave me alone. Plus I had to do some Ambrollins eventually for my lil sis :)

tags for @elementaldoughnut12 @feelschicken @harmshake @jeysbvck @southerngirl41 and @imabillyami (if anyone else would like to be tagged in my fics please let me know! 💖)

Warnings for: Frottage, Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Mirrors, Pet Names/Dirty Talk

Seth never thought he’d see the day.

He had seen the email, read it twice to be sure, but even on the way to Orlando he didn’t quite believe it. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw him in the Performance Center with his own eyes.

There’d been buzz of course, all over the internet as soon as CM Punk returned to WWE and “Hell Froze Over” as they all claimed, it was not long before rumors began to circulate that Punk would not be the only one to make the jump between companies.

Seth would like to have believed that maybe Jon would have reached out to him first, that maybe the old wounds would have healed by now and they could be friends again. But he had to find out via email like the rest of the roster. So much for bygones being bygones.

He spends the morning hanging around the performance center, himself and a few other select members of the roster were asked to come and do some spots on NXT as part of the announcement. Roman is noticeably absent, but then again it would be more shocking for the man to actually show up to work these days.

Bianca is there, her hand delicately perched on Montez’s arm as usual, all smiles as she talks to the members of the women’s division that crowd around her. Ford is in the midst of a discussion with Carmelo and Trick, with a few others hanging around.

A few of them had approached Seth earlier, and he’d indulged them enough not to get a scolding but his efforts to appear unapproachable seem to be working.

Seth checks his watch, of course the bastard is late. Couldn’t arrive on time if his life depended on it, he never could. How many nights had Seth spent in the same position, waiting on him, always waiting.

He’s about to give up, make the rounds and give his excuses so he could head back to the hotel and take a nice long shower and postpone this meeting for as long as he possibly could, when the doors swing open.

Dean always did know how to make an entrance. Jon he corrects himself mentally. It’s Jon now. Dean Ambrose is nothing but a ghost from his past.

Hunter follows behind him through the door, and isn’t it Seth’s lucky day? Of course he’s here, eating up the press attention and showing off his new acquisition. He puts his thick fingers on Moxley’s shoulder and it makes bile rise in Seth’s throat.

Thankfully, Mox has about as much tolerance for that as Seth does, and the hand is quickly shrugged off with a thinly veiled look of disgust thrown at the older man.

He must not notice Seth, where he’s standing apart from everyone else, or if he does he doesn’t dignify him with so much a glance in his direction. He talks with some of the younger ones, who look at him with stars in their eyes, and exchanges compliments with Montez and Bianca, thanking them gruffly for being in his welcome party.

Seth idly wonders if even now he could still escape, disappear into the background before anyone notices, delay this meeting that he’s desired and dreaded in equal measure. But of course it couldn’t be that easy.

Melo and Trick ask him for a photo, and they set the shot up directly in Seth’s view. There’s no way he won’t-

Blue eyes meet his, clear and cold like a lake in winter. He’s drowned in their depths before, but god if Seth doesn’t miss that sweet surrender. Dean, Jon, Mox, Dean- it’s Dean his mouth turns up in a cheeky grin for the photo, but Seth knows better, as the man doesn’t even bother to look at the camera snapping the shot, keeping his eyes locked on him.

They thank Mox for the photo, and he finally looks away from Seth, granting him a reprieve. Seth stares down at the floor and tries to get his traitorous heartbeat under control. His pulse is loud in his ears and he’s nervous, like his music is about to hit right before a big match and he has no idea how it’s gonna go.

Seth hears the thud of heavy boots on the concrete, stomping around like always and the smell of cigarette smoke arrives first.

He’s here. He’s really standing here, chewing on a piece of gum and looking at Seth, a wary look in his eye but his expression carefully neutral.

“Hey,” Moxley nods his head, giving Seth a once over.

“Hey yourself,” Seth shoots back, very aware of the people surrounding them, watching their interaction with bated breath. There are so many things he wants to say. His fingers itch with their desire to reach out and touch him, make sure he’s real and solid- that he won’t disappear again.

But as he’s been told so many times over the years, Seth is a coward.

“It’s uh- good to see you.” It sounds lame even to his own ears. The understatement of the century.

Mox’s eyebrows raise, jaw in constant motion, chewing. “Yeah, you too.”

Hunter looks between the two of them, not even bothering to hide the distaste in his expression. “Lets get a photo of these two as well, ey?”

The press photographer sets up as Moxley clomps to his side, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly as he laughs.

Surely he’s joking, hamming it up as usual but it makes Seth feel small, like he’s back in FCW with something to prove and not the reigning World Heavyweight Champion. Seth swallows thickly, and puts on a smile.

He expects an arm to be thrown over his shoulder, if Moxley would be willing to touch him at all. What he does not expect his a hand finding its way to his waist, just lightly grazing at first before squeezing playfully.

It’s a clear sign, he knows all the ins and outs of the language that is Dean Ambrose. It’s me, I’m here. Relax, Rollins.

Seth feels his shoulders drop and relax, and his hand finds the small of Moxley’s back, and he smiles for real.

The camera flashes, preserving the moment forever, but no one but them will ever know what it really means. Seth looks at him as he takes a step back, creating some respectable space between their bodies. “Thanks, Mox. It’s good to have you back.”

His brow furrows and he runs a hand through that rugged beard of his, but he’s interrupted when he opens his mouth.

“It’s Ambrose again, actually.” Hunters voice is smug, like it’s a personal victory.

Seth feels the urge to lash out at his boss, which is never a good look, despite the fact that his heart is screaming in the rightness of it all. He’d take the man with any name, their bond is deeper than that, but it’s the name he still cries out at night as the nightmares replay him leaving.

He whips his head to look at Dean again, who nods. “Was this your idea or theirs?”

Hunter rolls his eyes and walks away.

“Little a both, honestly,” Dean says, shrugging. “Trademark stuff, and it felt right.”

Seth nods, his eyes wandering to where Dean’s tongue darts out to lick at his chapped lips. All sort of absurd ideas float through Seth’s mind, spilling his guts right here and confessing every wild emotion that the other man has stirred in his heart over the last 10 years, replacing the tongue on Dean’s lip with his own.

He goes to open his mouth, though he has no clue what’s about to come out, but he doesn’t get a word out.

It’s Ilya this time, wanting to talk to Dean, which makes sense. There’s a line forming behind him and Seth’s very aware that this isn’t the time or place.

“I gotta run, but we’ll catch up later, yeah?”

There’s a look in Dean’s eyes that he can’t quite place, but he nods all the same, and turns to give the current NXT champ his attention.

Seth feels a twinge in his chest, but backs away. Cowardly. Again.

The afternoon gets away from Seth, in a blur of interviews and a training class on promos. He’d seen glimpses of Dean here and there as they both were led around the Performance center by different sets of staff, waving at each other each time with a resigned misery in their eyes.

His last obligation of the day is sitting down for a long form interview thats going on one of the podcasts, and he ends up talking with Corey Graves for much longer than he’d intended. By the time they wrap up in the studio it’s going on 8pm, and all of the young talent are long gone for the day. The building is quiet, and all but the essential lights are off.

Seth gets himself turned around somehow, trying to navigate the labyrinth of hallways that go from the studios through the offices to the exit. He finds himself near the practice rings, and he hears the sound of a body against the ropes, the heavy thud of footfalls. He thinks he’ll just poke his head in, maybe get some directions to the nearest exit and he’ll be on his way.

Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

Seth swings the door open, revealing a row of punching bags and a solitary ring set up before a wall of mirrors, making the room look twice as big as it is. He catches Dean’s face in the mirror, dripping sweat and beautiful, and feels himself freeze.

Maybe Dean didn’t see him. Maybe he can back out of the room now and find his way out on his own, but he can’t seem to make his feet move and-

“Ey!” Dean’s voice rings out in the quiet of the room. “Was lookin’ for someone to punch.” He chuckles lowly, and Seth never stood a chance of walking away from him.

Seth’s in a pair of loose fitting shorts and a tee shirt, so he can’t even argue that he’s not dressed for this. He cautiously makes his way into the ring, watching as Dean wraps his knuckles in tape.

It’s surreal to watch himself and Dean in the mirror, like a tv show so compelling he can’t pull his eyes away. He’s distracted, Dean’s voice floating in and out of his ear before pulling him out of his thoughts.

“-right?” The cold blue eyes stare at him expectantly, but Seth’s got no clue.

“Sorry, man. Lost in the mirror I guess. Run it back?”

Dean laughs again, “Same old Seth, huh. Just sayin’ this is a far cry from the FCW set up, s’all.”

The understatement of the century. Seth nods, “Yeah, uh definitely beats that old warehouse.”

“Dunno,” He grumbles out. “Builds character in a place like that. Don’t think I’d wanna come up in a place like this.” He gestures around. “Too nice, too clean.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Seth huffs, tugging his t shirt up and over his head, catching just a glimpse of something in Dean’s eyes that he refuses to think about. “So we doin’ this?”

Dean hits him with a look that Seth’s seen a million times before, across rings, across shitty motel rooms and diner booths, nods, and brings his hands up to a grappling stance. “Ready when you are, baby.”

The comment catches Seth off guard, but not enough to give Dean the upper hand as they crash together, limbs locked in a tight embrace. Seth feels each point where their skin meets like a hot stove, burning an impression into him, forever leaving a mark.

It’s like not a day has passed since their last match. They don’t talk much, never have really needed to; not with each other, not since the beginning. They exchange blows as easy as breathing, the rhythm of their bouts matching the pounding of their twin heart beats.

Seth takes advantage of a break and climbs up the ropes, diving headlong into Dean who catches him effortlessly with a laugh.

“Lightweight,” Seth can feel the timber of his voice, the rumble of his chest against Seth’s skin. Real, whole, and here with Seth where he belongs.

Dean flips him into position for a vertical suplex, and his senses are filled with the salty scent of Dean’s skin as his cheek’s pressed against the scar-marked chest. Seth briefly brushes his lips against the skin, flicking out his tongue to taste before he’s brought down hard on his back.

The wind is knocked out of him, though he’s not sure if it’s from the impact or the intoxicating effect that Dean still has on him.

Dean goes for the cover, hoisting up Seth’s leg and draping his weight across his torso with a smug look on his face.

Seth jerks his shoulder up and flips them over, his chest heaving as he stares down at Dean, beautiful Dean. His face is red with exertion and it makes his eyes stand out even more. He licks his chapped lips, just a flash of pink tongue and it sends a hot rush of arousal down Seth’s spine.

Unfortunately, in reversing the pin Seth’s hips landed right on top of Dean’s, and the loose shorts he’s wearing definitely do not conceal the chub of his dick as it swells with desire. Dean’s hips buck in an attempt to throw him off, but it just delivers delicious friction to the place Seth needs and doesn’t want it most.

He’s embarrassed at the pathetic little whine he emits, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth just a moment too late to hide it.

Dean’s eyes widen knowingly before they travel down down to the obvious tent in Seth’s shorts.

Seth can feel his face heat up, and he moves to get off of Dean, ready to apologize and leave and put this behind him but as usual Dean is way ahead of him.

He’s flipped again before he can process what’s happening, but instead of Dean going to cover him for a pin, he situates himself between Seth’s splayed legs with ease.

Dean stares down at him, and Seth’s legs instinctively wrap around his back to keep him there. It’s immediately obvious that he’s not alone in this situation, the hard warmth of an erection against his own.

“P-please…” Seth stutters out, his dick now painfully hard. “Dean- ahh!”

He’s cut off by Dean’s hips grinding down hard into his own, rough and powerful as the man above him groans. His big hands are at either side of Seth’s head, holding himself up and giving Seth a perfect view of his gorgeous chest, covered by scars and a carpet of thick hair.

Seth finds himself reaching up with one hand, slowly as if reaching out to a feral cat who might turn tail at any moment. When Dean doesn’t move, rocking his hips but not running away, Seth cards his fingers up through the chest hair until he finds a nipple with his fingertips. He circles the nub gently in rapt fascination until it’s hard and standing proud and he’s pulled out of his trance by a growl that escapes Dean’s mouth.

“Not playin’ fair, baby.” A hand bats Seth’s arm away and suddenly Dean’s mouth is on Seth’s nipples, licking and sucking and biting just hard enough for it to sting and Seth can’t keep his hips still. He rubs himself against Dean like he’s a teenager again, horny and desperate in a locker room.

His head lolls to the side in pleasure, and he catches sight of their reflection in the wall of mirrors. His legs clenched around Dean’s heaving back as he licks all over Seth’s chest, the way their bodies twist and meld into each other.

He can’t bring himself to look away, but Dean’s hand grasps his beard and tugs his chin so he has no choice but to look at him. “Keep those eyes right here.”

There’s a hard edge to Dean’s voice, and Seth feels himself leaking precum in his shorts. It should be embarrassing but he can’t currently find it himself to care.

Dean pushes himself up onto his knees and Seth whimpers at the loss of contact, though he can’t complain for long. Dean’s shoving his own pants and briefs down to expose the hard length of his cock, giving it a few strokes. Seth’s mouth waters at the sight, but then Dean’s going for Seth’s shorts, pulling the waist band down to free him as well.

“Of course you aren’t wearing underwear, you slut,” Dean says fondly, spitting into his hand before stroking Seth’s dick, dragging his thumb around the thick head and driving Seth wild.

Seth drops his head back to the mat, but Dean’s not far behind coming back to hover over him, their cocks sliding together. Dean brings his mouth to Seth’s neck, sucking at the sensitive skin as their hips rut together. Seth rests his hands on the back of Dean’s neck, holding on for dear life as the hot coil in his stomach gets even tighter.

He’s rapidly approaching his climax, and judging by Dean’s breathing he’s not alone in that. When Dean finally seems satisfied with his work on Seth’s neck, he presses a sloppy kiss against the angry red skin.

“Mine,” Dean growls, and if Seth wasn’t already near the edge, he certainly is now.

“Yours, ah- fuck!”

His breathing rapidly turns to whimpers, and he’s so so close, the pressure of Dean’s cock grinding and sliding against his own and his ragged breath hot in Seth’s ear.

Dean shoves his hand down between them and grabs both their dicks roughly, stroking them both. “C’mon pretty thing, let go for me.”

It’s all the motivation Seth needs, his vision whiting out as he shoots cum all over Dean’s hand and his own stomach. Dean’s not far behind, thrusting into his fist a few more times before adding to the mess between them.

Seth breathes heavily as he comes back to earth, catching sight of himself in the mirror again, locking with the blue eyes staring back at him. He breathes out a laugh, grinning.

“Look at us, huh?” Dean says, a drop of sweat falling from his forehead and onto Seth’s cheek. “You look good under me.”

He blows Seth a kiss in the mirror and that’s when it hits him. In all that, Seth never even kissed Dean. After all this time.

Seth feels tears well in his eyes as he cradles Dean’s face in his hands, running his thumb along the edge of his beard. He gently pulls him in, lifting his head so their foreheads rest together.

“Missed you so much,” Seth whispers. “Nothin’ felt right without you here.”

Their lips meet, and it’s everything Seth’s been craving, sweet and rough and perfect and Dean finally home at last.

Dean bites at his lip as they part, and if Seth were any younger it would get him going again, but he’s too happy, too sated with just holding on to Dean to want anything else right now.

He can feel their cum drying on his skin, and they need to head out of the building sooner rather than later. They’ll need to talk about all of this at some point, though neither of them have ever been good at actually talking about their feelings. But they speak a language all their own, they always have, and it’s more than enough for Seth.

----

Thank you so much for reading!! 💕

[pigeontheoneandonly]

A Happy Feast

So I wrote a BG3 ficlet about my Durge. I'm not tagging it to avoid spoilers, but if you're not expecting some depravity, we're not playing the same game...

AO3 Link

They rolled back into camp near to midday, earlier than expected, but what was expected when a tadpole measured one’s life day by day, anyhow.  Nobody felt good about it.  But all that could currently be said had been aired, at length, and so they deflected into lesser complaints.  Today, it was the menu.

“Not so much as a rabbit track,” Karlach moaned, as she stripped a sapling for tent poles. 

Lae’zel was wiping her face with cool stream water.  “The pleasures of this realm are few, but I would not regret the opportunity to savor a roast.”

“You’d have better luck roasting a stick,” Gale grumbled.  He’d appointed himself keeper of their stores, and knew down to the last dry carrot what they had available to eat.  And it wasn’t as bad as all that, at least not today—if one liked eating vegetarian.

“A stick!” Astarion scoffed, and then made to appear hurt at their suspicious looks.  “What?  I’m as hungry as any, I assure you.”

Nalarin said nothing, herself.  Food was…food.  A necessity and little more.  But these…people hadn’t run.  They didn’t know her, true, not know her, but most others she’d met since their little accident had at least a sense about her, so surely her companions here did as well.  And yet they let her share their fire, travel with them, drew her into conversations, eventually.  Shared their food.  Like they wanted her to live, too.

And so Nalarin quietly took up her bow and headed back out into the wood.

Her errand took some time.  When she returned, she found the others occupied in their own private tasks following a cold lunch, as had become habit on days that ended early. That suited her.  Her task would take some time, with so little experience.

She made the fire away from the camp.  No need for our clothes to stink of cooking, Gale had said, the first time she’d watched him.  If the intensity of her observation had worried him, he hadn’t said.  They were all like that.  Willing to ignore a bit of discomfort for the sake of her company.  It made an unfamiliar curl of warmth in the pit of her stomach, pleased without quite knowing why.  She let that feeling fill her as she fussed over the pots, laboriously scrubbed and chopped and stirred and skewered.  It was good to have something to feel and something to do; it emptied her mind entirely.

By the time the food was ready, Nalarin was thoroughly streaked and speckled with various remnants of her efforts.  She thought she’d got the doneness of everything right, the turnips and carrots in the ash, the meat on the spit, the greens just lightly wilted.  Of the seasoning she was less sure, and the herbs were a certain disaster.  But she could eat it and not make a face, and so she declared it suitable and called everyone over for dinner.

Exclamations of surprise made the warm pool in her belly grow.  “I hunted,” she explained, when they asked how?! 

“If we’d known you were a good tracker, we’d have asked days ago,” Shadowheart declared, plopping down with a loaded plate.  “What else are you hiding?”

Nalarin shrugged, but it hadn’t been a serious accusation.  More pleased, almost teasing.  She drummed her fingertips into the dirt.  Too excited, almost, to eat herself.

After a time, a squirrel crept down from a nearby tree and scampered up her shoulder to shelter in a nest of her thick hair.  She absently reached up to rub its tiny head.  She liked animals; they didn’t make the dreams rise in her, not the way people did, and so it was safe to love them. Self-control with people was so…heavy.  Wearying.  Not having to fight it… bliss itself.

Afraid! it chittered, crowding into her scalp.

Her strokes grew soothing, her thoughts on all the small traps in the forest, designed to break small bodies but not to kill.  The small corpses, pinned into the earth and unmolested by the scavengers, because even animals knew profanity when they smelled it. 

As she cupped the creature in the curve of her palm, across the fire Wyll finished a bite and smiled at her.  “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Neither did I.”  Wyll made her want to control herself.  To draw a knife over flesh and barely cut.  He was a monster much like her; one who made what he wished of his monster.

Her eyes narrowed and shifted to Astarion.  There was a monster not like her.  One who leaned into the monster, one who did not realize or perhaps did not care that it devoured him, inch after inch.  One who did not recognize why he could not rid himself of the monster’s hollow feeling.  The sort of monster, in fact, who made her think one day hers might pit itself against his.

Of all of them at this dinner, she thought he might realize.  But he gave his portion a hard stare, shot her a glance she did not answer, and then returned for another bite.  “Wonderful boar,” he declared.

“Really?” Karlach swallowed.  “I thought it was rat!  They can get quite gamey, you know.”

The tempo of Karlach’s mechanized heart never quite left her sensitive ear.  To take it apart, piece by piece, examine its workings closely and their destruction… Little could be sweeter.  Except, perhaps, to hear again her braying laugh, feel her solidity at her side along the road. 

Maybe they were her friends, too.  Nalarin’s memories might be gone, but some deep part of her was immensely certain she’d never had people who were friends.

Her own plate remained empty.  The conversation continued, but they were used to her not talking much, and their sated voices swirling around her, contented by her effort, was food enough.

* * *

Much later, after the pots were cleaned, the cookfire doused, and everyone off to bed, Nalarin bent over the stream to wash her face clean of the last of the soot.  She often stayed up late.  The cool silence of night felt more home than the day. 

“It is a very terrible thing thou hadst wrought,” said Withers, startling her into splashing her clothes.

But she straightened, and looked at him directly.  “I don’t care for onions.  When what we have is onions, Gale disguises them and doesn’t tell me they’re in the food, so I don’t have to think about it.  How is what I did different?”

His wizened face regarded her for long moments, as if weighing her sincerity.  Her honesty never ceased to surprise him.  But in this, she was confident.  How could it be different?

“Perhaps not,” he answered at last, shrugging, all bony eloquence.  “Still, I wonder—how wouldst thy companions respond, if they but knew they partook in roast dwarf?”

Her mind again saw the little traps and the poor broken bodies she had buried in small graves.  “He was a very bad dwarf.”

Withers looked down his nose at her, an impressive feat given he had no nose.  “Thou wouldst know.”

Nalarin’s lips curved in the dark.  Yes.

She would.

[quietwings-fics]

Dastardly Alien Cheesecake

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Ship: Gen (Ten & Donna) Additional Tags: Trust, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Poison, Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting, The Doctor & Donna Noble Friendship Wordcount: 3761 Summary:

Donna eats something she’s not supposed to.

Notes:

I'm going to state it outright here so that everyone knows what they're walking into: yes, this is a fic about the doctor sticking his fingers down donna's throat to make her throw up. you have now been warned of the contents and can proceed if you so wish.

The honeymoon period of traveling across time and space is followed by the most intense bout of homesickness that Donna has ever felt, which perhaps isn't saying much when she'd never been that far from home in her life before the Doctor.

To stand on an alien planet and realize just how far away she is from her granddad is a massive step up from missing him when he's only a drive away. Her room in the TARDIS is all hers, and it even fills itself with comforts that Donna forgot to bring, — like a blanket on the heavier side and a little squeezy stress ball that always seems to roll out from under her bed when she's upset — but at the same time, it never forgets what it is, an alien ship flown by an alien man. Something about the corners where the walls meet the floor are never right, never quite what a person, a human, would have built.

She doesn’t tell the Doctor about any of this. She doesn't have to. He must see it in her eyes because he starts pointing out little details on their journeys to her. He can somehow find a little piece of home to show her no matter where they are. They wait at a train station that will take them a few hundred miles below the surface of a planet and laugh at the confusing and colorful layout of the map provided, correcting each other back and forth about which station, exactly, they're even waiting at. Another time, he fiddles with a radio (or, what she assumes is a radio) with the sonic screwdriver until it starts to call out mournfully for Major Tom, singing a signal that got sent out into space thousands of years ago all to be picked up by the two of them. Even among aliens, there are commonalities, there are always reality TV shows that play on screens no one is watching (even if the contestants are a little more green... or blue... or translucent than she's used to) and automatic doors that never work right.

Constants in the universe that she'd be lost without, really. The Doctor knows where to look for them.

(Not for the first time, she wonders if that's because of how many humans he's had to curb the homesickness of, or because while she can look up at the stars and know home is still there for her to return to, even if she has no intention of staying, he can't.

Even Timelords must have had reality TV.)

The one constant that can center her like nothing else is food. Everyone in the universe cooks.

“All your memories," the Doctor had started explaining once, and Donna had learned to measure how long he would ramble about something by his tone alone. This voice was the 'at least twenty minutes before he'll take a breath' one. "Are stored away in your hippocampus, rubbing right against where your brain lights up when something hits your tastebuds, so-" Donna had taken those few moments to weigh her willingness to listen to him babble through their entire meal and decided instead to pick up the sandwich he wasn't eating and shove it in his mouth to shut him up. It had worked pretty well.

That’s why, when the Doctor wanders off into the crowd of the party they’re technically crashing and leaves Donna alone, she doesn’t think twice about approaching the buffet table. She’s not having much luck striking up a conversation, so she might as well find something to pass the time. She doesn’t recognize any of the food — hardly surprising when she’s only the third human in the room, as far as she’s seen.

She walks along the table, taking her time and half-wishing the Doctor would come back to keep her company. Maybe he’d gone off and gotten himself kidnapped. She grinned. Now, that would give her something to do and something to gloat about when the doing’s done. 

At the end of the table, just as she begins to despair (and contemplate one of the less appealing looking snacks,) there’s a plate of cheesecake. She blinks at it. It doesn’t squirm, or bleed, or make any weird noises when she gingerly scoops a little onto her plate. It’s just cheesecake. Looks like it, smells like it… She picks up a fork and pokes it one more time before breaking off a piece and putting it in her mouth. Tastes like it. It’s deliciously sweet. 

She eats the whole piece far too quickly. She only tenses once, a scolding voice creeping up in the back of her head that sounds too much like her mother, but then, she’s a billion miles and thousands of years away. Donna can have as much cheesecake as she damn well pleases. 

With a lighter step, Donna takes another piece to wander with. It’s just as good as the first, but she takes the time to savor this one.

”Donna,” the Doctor seems to appear out of nowhere, the only warning of his approach a familiar touch on her back sliding to grip her shoulder for a moment, “oh, you’re going to love this. They’re-“ He stops. She watches the grin on his face suffocate slowly. “What do you have there?” he asks. She’s been in enough life-or-death situations with him that his excited tone dropping so quickly makes her itch with the need to run.

”Cheesecake,” she answers. The Doctor grimaces.

”Right,” he says. “No. You don’t.” Donna looks down at her plate. “Definitely not cheesecake. Very not edible for humans. How long have you been eating that?” Donna feels her appetite drop out of her and pick up a bindle to hitchhike to someone who needs it more.

”I don’t know?” She looks around, which is useless because no one in the future bothers to keep clocks on the wall. They probably just have their alarms microchipped into their brains. The Doctor takes her plate away. He sets it down, and his attention returns to her immediately. His mouth is pinched as he takes her hand in his and starts checking her fingers for… something. 

“How much did you have? Stick out your tongue,” he says.

”What?” But his gaze is deadly serious. Donna sticks out her tongue and fumbles her words around it. “One piece. One and a half.” The Doctor stares very closely at her tongue. He lets out a sigh of relief, which she takes as permission to stop looking like a fool and put her tongue back where it belongs.

”You’re alright. You’ll be alright.” She’s not sure which of them he’s reassuring, but if it’s her, he’s not doing a very good job of it. He puts a hand on her shoulder and starts guiding her through the party. “Come on. We’ll take care of this.”

”Take care of what?”

”Just a minor… major… ‘possibly fatal if we don’t handle it’ case of food poisoning. Why are you putting things in your mouth that don’t belong there?” 

“You’re always letting me eat alien food!” 

“After I’ve made sure it’s safe!” 

“Maybe you should have warned me that death by cake was an option-” She cuts herself off as she frowns at the hallway he’s leading her down now that they’ve escaped the party. “The TARDIS is the other way.”

”I know.” She turns her gaze suspiciously onto him. He dropped the argument far too quickly for him not to be playing it up for her sake. 

“So… we’re going to whatever nurse they have here to pick up the antidote?” The Doctor makes a face that’s answer enough.

”Not quite.” He herds her along to a door near the end of the hallway. The automatic door clicks twice at them like it’s annoyed at having to do its job, and then it only opens up halfway, leaving them to have to scoot in sideways one after the other. Donna goes first.

Another constant in the universe: everyone has toilets. Even species who don’t need toilets create toilets, though those were less than useful to Donna and she really didn’t feel like marveling at universal similarities when she needed to go. Bathrooms also only came in two types, through which you could tell how much the janitors (another thing that everyone had) were being paid: clean enough to eat off the floor or so disgusting that Donna would seriously consider just waiting until they got back to the TARDIS.

This one was, thankfully, the former. Donna breathed a sigh of relief before remembering why the Doctor had brought her here in the first place. He spoke before she could ask. “There’s no antidote for this. Luckily, it’s also extremely slow to break down.” 

Donna can put two and two together.

”You want me to throw up the cake.” It isn’t a question. The Doctor treats it like one.

”Sooner rather than later, yeah.” He rocks back on his heels. Donna peers around. No stalls here, but there are identifiable toilets, which is more than some places can boast of. “I’ll turn around if you want some privacy.”

”I can’t.”

”Sure you can, just-” He unsubtly mimes sticking his finger down his throat. Donna glowers at him. 

“And I’m telling you,” she repeats, “that doesn’t work.”

”How do you know that?” Donna doesn’t answer him. The Doctor grits his teeth together and looks to the side. “Okay. I’ll…” He trails off. “I’ll help?”

”Help?” Donna repeats back to him, incredulous. The Doctor turns back to the automatic door, which has taken its sweet time closing and clicks angrily at him when he moves in range again. He whips up the sonic screwdriver in a flash and quiets the door. The sensor above goes dead, locking it. 

“Donna, we have to get it out of you,” he says. “Trust me when I say this is the quickest, least unpleasant way we can do this.” She does trust him. That doesn’t mean she has to like it.

”So what?” She glances down to the screwdriver he’s fiddling with, almost nervously. “Are you going to sonic my insides?”

”What? No!” The screwdriver disappears into one of his pockets. “Look, I can just- I can help.”

”How?” she demands. 

“I can make it happen,” he replies. “If you can’t do it yourself.”

Donna fixes him with a look. It clicks.

“You are not sticking your fingers down my throat!” She takes a step back and even sweeps a hand in front of her to protect the distance between them.

”Donna-” he starts, stubbornly, but on equal footing like that, she won’t give any more ground than he will.

”Stick your fingers somewhere more useful!”

”Donna.” He tries again, but there’s no argument in it this time. His voice is quiet and serious. His eyes plead with her to let him help. (He’s doing that on purpose, she knows he is, because no one could unintentionally look so despairing. And it’s still working on her.)

”…It’s really going to kill me if we don’t, isn’t it?” she asks. She doesn’t want to look at it. Can’t. Danger is something they’re supposed to be able to run away from.

”Yes,” he confirms. There’s a reassuring lightness to his voice as he continues, stepping forward and waiting to see if she pulls back again. She doesn’t. “Death by cake. Agonizing. Embarrassing. How do I explain that to your mom and granddad?” Donna snorts. It isn’t anywhere close to a laugh. The Doctor is close enough to touch her now, and he does, hands wrapped around her own and squeezing as she takes a deep breath.

”We’ve done weirder, I guess,” she says.

”I definitely have,” he says. “You’ve got a much nicer mouth than most of the ones I’ve gone poking around in.” He squeezes her hands a second time. She looks down at them, at his fingers firmly wrapped around her, his thumb rubbing the back of her right hand. 

“You’d better wash them first,” she says. This close, she can see the Doctor’s relief in the minute drop of his shoulders and the way the lines around his eyes relax into something happier. Her hands still feel warm when he lets them go. She tucks them close to her chest almost instinctively, like she can keep a little of his presence with her. 

She has to pick out a toilet. The locked door means privacy, but the lack of stalls still sets some part of her on edge. Lavatory instincts. The desire not to be seen when she’s about to be at her lowest. No one invites a friend in to watch them throw up after having too much to drink at a party. The last time she must have had anyone around for that, she’d barely been in double digits. She wasn’t sure exactly who it had been, but she remembered having her hair held back to keep it clean while she was miserably sick. 

She got down on the floor next to the toilet. A moment later, the sink the Doctor was using had switched off, and she could hear him pad over. 

“Ready?” he asks as he gets down beside her. She takes a breath.

”No?” She turns to him. “What should I…?”

”Try not to bite me.” Donna’s mouth twitches up for a brief moment.

”No promises.”

The Doctor puts his other hand over hers again, but his fingers rest on her chin first. His touch is very light, very still, waiting to see how she reacts. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. They feel chapped. He waits a moment before moving, lifting his fingers to place two of them against her bottom lip this time. 

“Should I stick my tongue out again?” she asks. It’s strange to speak with him touching her lip. The pressure of his fingers doesn’t impede her at all, but it is… there. His fingers bump her upper lip at certain sounds. They stay where they were when she’s finished until he answers. 

“That would make it easier.” Donna goes to lick her lips again without thinking, but  when she bumps a finger, she sucks her tongue right back into her mouth, slightly mortified. And then she snorts another almost-laugh because she has no idea what else she can do with the feeling. The Doctor smiles. He draws his fingers back to let her open her mouth.

She tries to keep her cool. The Doctor’s finger barely brushes her tongue, and… she bites him. And her tongue. Not hard enough to hurt, but they both hiss in surprise. The Doctor retreats, and she can see the pale indent of her own teeth on the top of his index finger.

”Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. Again?” She nods. This time, the Doctor lifts his other hand and places two fingers at the edge of her mouth, firm against her lower canine and lip and holding them open. She breathes, trying to relax. She doesn’t do a very good job of it. This time, when she feels his finger touch her tongue, she doesn’t bite down. Couldn’t now if she tried, but she’s proud of herself for keeping that reflex under control.

Having his finger in her mouth is… odd. He delves in with purpose. She can feel the pad of his finger slide back along her tongue as his knuckles rub against her teeth. She can hear herself breathing around it. 

He still goes slow, and so it doesn’t feel like an intrusion as much as it does an exploration she’s submitted to. Minute movements of her tongue feel amplified when they rub against his finger. A moment later and his nail bumps up against her soft palate. His eyes narrow and his finger slides deeper until Donna feels the urge to swallow around it.

”Hm.” He frowns. She did warn him. “You don’t have a very strong gag reflex.” 

She tries to respond and resorts to making an insulted noise in the back of her throat when she can’t. 

“I can still trigger it. Give me a minute.” She makes a questioning noise as his finger withdraws. He keeps her mouth open with his other hand. His thumb rests along her jaw, grounding her. Gently, he inserts his middle finger next to his index the second time he goes probing in her mouth. She grunts in discomfort.

She wonders if she should close her eyes. She would, except that whenever she tenses or makes a sound, his gaze jumps up to meet hers. It’s comforting to know that they’re stuck in this strangeness together. 

Breathing around two fingers feels more difficult. They squish against her tongue as they push back to her throat. Sensation becomes less sure the further back they are, until she can mostly feel a pressure that makes her want to pull away. She clenches the bottom of her dress up in her fists to keep still. The Doctor’s knuckles bump her teeth as he probes around in her throat.

It starts as a tingling sensation. Donna frowns. The Doctor pushes somewhere uncomfortable, and she makes an involuntary noise, her eyes welling up. He looks up to her again, and his sure expression is the only thing that keeps her calm. 

He withdraws a little. “Breathe,” he says, and Donna does, once, before he orders, “and stop.”

The constant sound of her own breathing freezes at his word. He pushes his fingers back in. 

Donna feels an awful choking sensation, her throat convulsing around some obstruction, and then a wave of nausea has her grabbing at the Doctor’s hand. He yanks his fingers out quickly as she bows forward over the toilet and throws up. Her throat burns. 

Donna sucks in a breath when it’s over. It hurts. Her mouth feels sour and disgusting. She blinks to see what mess she’s made, but aside from a splatter that she cringes from on the toilet’s side, she got the rest of it where it was supposed to go. 

She inhales again. Her eyes are watery. 

The Doctor is holding her hair. She only realizes that as she comes back to herself, but he’s got it all in his hand, the other on her shoulder holding her still. He lets go, smoothing her hair down back into place. Donna shuts her eyes to feel it better.

”Tell me it’s over,” she mutters. The Doctor doesn’t say anything. She forces her eyes open, unformed tears blurring her vision. “Doctor. Please.”

”Just one more time. I promise.” Donna makes a face, squeezing her eyes shut. She spits into the toilet, but that does very little to get rid of the sour taste flooding her mouth. 

“That better not be the hand that was in my mouth,” she mumbles. The Doctor stops touching her hair, and she regrets calling attention to it. She forces herself to sit up straight again and opens her mouth. She feels disgusting.

The Doctor touches her cheek this time before he secures her mouth open with his fingers. He doesn’t even look grossed out about touching her after she’s thrown up. 

He uses two fingers from the start this time. Donna’s jaw aches slightly. The Doctor’s fingers taste marginally better than the inside of her own mouth right now, and that’s some kind of relief. She’s never had cause to think about it before, but he tastes like… Well, he just tastes like some bloke. How fingers are supposed to taste, like skin and the salt of sweat. Not unpleasant, not enjoyable, and not alien at all. 

“Hold your breath,” he says. This time, she can brace herself as each sensation comes. The growing pressure of his fingers touching things he shouldn’t. The catch in her throat. The spasms. He pulls his fingers away. This time, when she lurches forward, she can feel the way the Doctor catches her shoulders on the way, helping her get everything into the toilet. He’s got ahold of her hair a second later, keeping it out of her way as her stomach’s contents are dragged out of her. 

Tears streak down her cheeks this time. She sniffs, and even the inside of her nose feels like it’s burning this time. She swallows, a mistake that makes her gag again, and then spits up bile from the back of her throat. 

“That’s it,” the Doctor is saying. He’s rubbing her back. It’s the only good thing she can feel right now. “It’s over. You’re safe.” She feels his lips press to her temple as she gasps in air, and then his own relieved exhale. “You’re safe.” 

Donna groans miserably.

The Doctor only moves a little to flush the toilet for her. She slumps into him, and he wraps an arm around her, resting his head atop hers.

“Never eating alien food again,” she mutters. “From now on, you’re bringing me back to Earth, and we’re ordering take-out.” 

“What about that little place on Muscolane?” he asks.

”…One exception for Muscolane.” Leaning against him like this, she can feel his chuckle as well as hear it.

He helps her to her feet. She wipes at her eyes and her nose as he brings her over to the sink. She doesn’t even bother to question it when he picks up a towel to wash her face off with. Donna stands perfectly still for him as he brushes it over her mouth and chin. She balks a little more at him picking a small paper cup from a dispenser and filling it before holding it for her to drink from. There’s something so tremendously earnest about him doing it that she allows it anyway. She sips slowly, fills her mouth and swirls it around, and then spits it into the sink as the Doctor refills the cup again. 

She takes it from him this time and drinks it at her own pace. He starts washing his hands, and her gaze darts down to his sleeve and a very conspicuous stain on it. She should feel embarrassed about that, but she’s too worn out for it. Besides, he knew what he was getting into. 

Someone rudely bangs on the door the Doctor locked. Or broke. Those words usually mean the same thing with him. The Doctor sneaks a glance at her, and when the pounding comes again, followed by demands to be let in, they both have to choke down giggles.  

“Back to the TARDIS?” he asks.

To answer, she takes his hand.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[neriyon]

Then vs Now (November 2019 > November 2024)

Thank you for the tag @stalwart-spirit ! I think most have already done this, so I'll skip tagging anyone directly this time. This is an open invitation to tag me if you get inspired to make your own post tho! I'd love to see what everyone's blorbos used to look like ♥

Gasp, he barely looks different! Hawu'li's actually only ever had one hairstyle change - from the starter hairstyle to the one he has now - during which I also swapped his original forehead dot to the red makeup on the outer corners of his eyes. I did have him cosplaying Popola/Devola for like a month or two back when Tower released, but other than that his looks have been the same ever since that fateful day in post-HW patches where I got annoyed about his mullet clipping through his healer outfit (￣▽￣)"

Since I took the trouble to go digging through old screenshots for this tag game, I'll add some older extra pics and rambling under the cut~

Don't think I ever posted these here, but yeah I had a full Popola/Devola cosplay going on for couple of months after getting that top on patch day haha. Red hair looked pretty nice on him, but wearing anything blue felt weird while I had it, so sometime around when Paglth'an dropped I swapped back to his normal hair.

The True Oldest Screenshot I have of this game, taken Sept. 29 2019 while waiting for Nana (brd) to finish a quest so we could go do Praetorium for the first time (we started playing somewhere around mid-august). I didn't even know how to hide HUD back then, so pls ignore the uh, very weirdly set skill bars.

First meeting with the bratty red cat + first time I could measure Hawu'li next to the pretty blue elf (Dec 4th and Nov 26th). There's like 5+ pics from the CT questline of just... me parking Hawu'li next to G'raha and trying to mimic his pose lmao. I wasn't even shipping them back then, I just found it very fun that they are the same height + share the same face base (and tail).

Very zoomed in since this was from a cutscene, but the last pic I have of Hawu'li with his old hair AND literally the only shot I ever got where his little forehead dot is visible. His bangs covered it most of the time, so I chose to take it away when changing his hair. (Dec 4th, according to screenshot dates I changed his hair less than week later)

Some of the few good shots left of Maito (Jan 19th 2020 / Feb 15th / Feb 18th), my first alt who actually finished MSQ before Hawu'li (with whom I was waiting for friends). She no longer exists at all: she was fantasia'd to Yusui (her older brother) sometime during ShB patches, who in turn was later fantasia'd to Einn sometime after EW gave us bunnyboys. I sort of miss her sometimes (Einn has a retainer made with her characer creation save data but that's not quite same), and have thought doing some silly stuff and maybe merging her and Momo in some way, but we'll see if I ever actually go through with that.

[vidumavi]

Many Sentences Sunday!

thank you @searchingforserendipity25 and @grey-gazania for the tags! From my second age Nimloth & Kids reembodiment fic, the beginning of an excruciating social interaction:

_______________

The twins had found other children to play with on the beach and Nimloth, though letting them out of her sight for long still made anxiety coil tightly in her stomach, thought it best to leave them to it - new people would be good for them after their long isolation. They hadn’t gotten to play with children their age at all since they’d returned.

They were safe here. It would be fine. The sooner she accepted that she could not always hover over them, the better. Nimloth ran her errands, pointedly unhurried, forcing herself to stop and chat every now and then.

The palace of Alqualondë loomed over the docks, blindingly white in the midday sun, a jagged cloud against the azure sky. Nimloth thought that she quite preferred it out here, amid the amiable chaos of market stalls and fishing boats.

After some hours, her steps led her back along the road toward the beach. She was so occupied with keeping her pace measured that she did not take particular notice of the woman walking in the opposite direction until Eluréd and Elurín stuck their heads out of the cart she was pushing.

“Emmë!” Eluréd called and waved when he saw his mother.

The ground tilted beneath her feet. The woman’s face at once split into a cheerful and open smile as she turned toward Nimloth and lay torn and bleeding on the polished floor of Menegroth’s great hall, eyes unseeing. No, not this woman’s face, only one very like it, she told herself sharply and bit her cheek hard enough to return fully to the present, clenching her shaking fingers in the fabric of her bag.

“Children,” Nimloth said, and prayed that her voice did not sound as strained to them as it did to her, “I told you to wait by the beach.”

“We were coming to meet you!” Elurín clambered over the side of the cart.

“Do forgive me,” the woman said wryly, “Your sons have been quite the help and we thought we’d spare you another walk.”

“Of course, no problem at all,” Nimloth replied weakly.

The woman was dressed in well-worn, practical working clothes, her reddish hair was cut unfashionably short and she appeared to be pushing a number of rocks of uncertain purpose in her cart. Does she know? Nimloth thought wildly. But there was nothing in the woman’s easy cheer that spoke of recognition.

She’d been collecting rocks, she told Nimloth, who could hardly hear her over the sound of her own frantic heartbeat. Eluréd was still sitting in the cart.

Then, with a bow, she introduced herself as Nerdanel. I know, Nimloth wanted to say. The words stuck in her throat. Instead, she stumbled her way through her own introduction, giving the same false name she’d handed out all day, glad she did not need to hesitate. Memories she kept carefully detained throughout her waking hours pressed in on her mind.

“These two have quite the eye for colour,” Nerdanel said appreciatively as they began walking back toward the harbour.

“They’re rather neat, too,” Nimloth heard herself say, “I’ve rarely met children so neat.” I killed your son. He looked just like you.

Nerdanel laughed.

“I envy you! Our house was always a mess.”

“Don’t, my daughter is much worse,” Nimloth looked at the twins, away from Nerdanel’s bright, too-familiar eyes that told her to grab her children and run, “She’s a woman grown now, and I find myself sorting her kitchenware.”

_________________

This has been passed around so often now and everyone's been repeatedly tagged, but just in case someone wants to go another round i'm no-pressure tagging @theworldisquietheretooquiet, @samarqqand, @that-angry-noldo, @outofangband, @swanmaids and @polutrope!

[wildnya]

Big Sister Draconia

@leclerc-eisner @imvietnamesenotchinese ask and thou shall receive

i wanted to make an overpowered oc for twst. this is the result.

important edits:

~ no she is not to be taken seriously she’s here to make thing’s funny and entertaining

~since the diasomnia chapters have come out take anything that goes against canon with a grain of salt those are subject to change

i don't have a name for her just yet so if anyone has some suggestions that would be very appreciated(i want to keep that trend of 'mal' or something with `Mel' being the start of the name since granny draconia's name starts with it too) (and yes i have considered Mallory but it's too cliche for me). for shits and giggles her middle names are Meredith Sue

this is a bunch of rambling everything is out of order grammar is weird words are used incorrectly misspellings exist bear with me

i added my christconia edit to catch people’s attention it has nothing to do with the post

tagging @cupids-chamber @twisted-lusty @writing-for-me-at-this-point @bestwishes2u @stupidneko @mrsmephisto @leonakingscholarship @honey-milk-depresso for clout reblogs and mutual attention seeking

first things first, appearance. she is gorgeous and when i say that i mean natural super model body make the girls wet the boys hard the theys/thems sweat and asexuals and gays reconsider their sexuality drop dead gorgeous. she looks like a female version of malleus. but she is much taller than him. if they stood directly in front of each other mal's face would be in front of her chest. the end of her hair stops where her hips and midriff meet and is black and silky soft. what does she use? dish soap yes you heard me she uses dish soap. vil has begun to believe it has to do with growing up in Brair Valley. her boobies are on the bigger side but nothing extreme. hands are rough and callus from combat. same eyes and horns as mal. she looks like she has no muscle on her arms but it is quite the opposite there isn’t anyone alive that’s able to beat her in arm strength. oh and she has a six pack.

she never talks. ever. this is not an exaggeration. no one has heard her utter a word for centuries not even meemaw draconia remembers what her voice sounds like. and then there’s the permanent resting bitch face. only Malleus has been able to get her to smile and even then it's rare.

her magical energy is on a whole other level compared the everyone else’s. she’s so strong she isn’t included in the worlds strongest magicians. has enough magical energy to power all the magic devices in the world for at minimum a century. in this AU of mine there are certain individuals that are excluded from the top magicians list because they’re power is just so immense and can’t be measured. (i actually have two other oc’s in the same situation if anyone wants to hear about them-)

the reason malleus is the heir instead is because she didn’t want it. she’d rather do her own thing, and by that i mean go around the world fighting anything worth her time and enjoying her hobbies. she will leave for years at a time without notice and no one will hear anything about her til she teleports into the castle covered in blood dragging whatever she picked up on her adventure behind her. it is extremely unsettling and terrifying. malleus got used to it at a young age so he has grown immune to such sights.

one time she destroyed a whole empire because the ruler had the audacity to keep bothering her with letters begging to marry her. after that she tossed the responsibility of the aftermath to some trusted subordinates before peacing out like two decades. she’s also annihilated multiple nations for the smallest offenses. insult my retainer? everyone in the castle dies. look down on me for being a fae? you get to watch your friends and family be tortured to death. challenge me to a duel in a rude &/or condescending manner? say goodbye to any appendage that allows you to indulge in your favorite pastimes. you try to feel me up without consent? you will be neutered and be awake for the whole procedure. touch my baby brother? we don’t talk about what happens to anyone who does that.

her dragon form is a lot bigger than mal’s but nothing close to their memaw’s size. for reference malleus has canonically said she is much bigger than him.

lilia served under her during a few wars. not once did she lift a finger. the most that she did was patrol a border once or twice. the only thing she was somewhat active in was helping out citizens.

she likes things that are either much smaller or bigger than her. if you are a short king or queen she might take interest in you. but that depends on if she finds you amusing enough. she will put you in her lap and kinda just, toy with you. your face will be squished, hair will be twirled, and head patted. then she’ll leave you alone to do whatever. but you stay in the lap. the lap is where you live now. she will hand feed you. ask for whatever you wish she’ll get it for you. sweets? on the way. books? give the servants 20 minutes. latest game console and games? you might have to do some explaining to the servants but don’t worry you’ll have it before the next hour.

mal is too big to sit in her lap comfortably like he used to but he likes to snuggle close into her side and cuddle. he’ll rest his head on her boob while she does whatever. if his tail is out it is wagging. there have been numerous times someone has made friends with the floor thanks to the force of the wags. he is obsessed with her to the point he’s lowkey a platonic yandere. had certain things been different he absolutely would be. big sister does not like dealing with troublesome people though so that's that.

honestly if you’re unfortunately malleus’ darling and she exists in this universe you 100% be safe. she may not seem like it but she cares a lot about her homeland and how her family acts as they are a big part of it's image.. she has dealt with many yandere’s over her many years of life and knows how suffocating it is with them. she will not think twice about helping you. and if that means she has to beat some sense into her brother than so be it. she is happy to cast a curse that makes it impossible for malleus to be near you or spend years investigating a way to send you home. and if it really comes it she will be the death of her brother. she loves him more than anything but there is no way in hell she is gonna allow him to taint their home and bloodline.

she is nearly 1000 years old. when lilia first saw her he wasn’t even in the double digits of age yet. at that time she was the equivalent of an older teen in fae years. if you ask him what his first impressions were he’ll say that he thought she was awe inspiring and part of the reason he decided to be a soldier. they first met during his training to be a guard. she was sent to survey their progress. lilia will talk fondly about how some big shoots challenged her to spar and got their asses whooped with out her even taking her hands out of her pockets

speaking of pockets she really likes them. if the outfit doesn’t have pockets for her hands it’s unacceptable someone fetch the royal tailor these pants do not suit my tastes. she likes to go clothes shopping for herself others and pets. she has a lot of pets. she has her own castle up in the mountains and a whole section is dedicated to any animals she has picked up. they are the most spoiled animal babies to ever exist. each one has there own room, area to relieve themselves, and food made only with the best ingredients to match their tastes. her favorite baby is a corgi named Jellybean. she loves it so much she placed a spell on it to always be reborn like a phoenix so long as she lives. malleus has a life long one-sided rivalry with this pup. jellybean loves him. the feelings are not mutual.

she always disguises herself when she’s out shopping. y’all thought malleus had it bad when it came to people being terrified of him? ha even dark fae are petrified of big sister. if you read any parts of the story where mob diasomnia members interact with something related to their fae prince you will see they act similarly to sebek and silver. if big sister is in the room they would be acting the same as the majority of the school population does to malleus. she walks into denny’s and within minutes the entire restaurant is cleared. can’t blame them though she actually murdered grandpa draconia cuz he was tainting the family name. while memaw, papa, and mama draconia unconditionally love her even they feared her power to a point. mal is one of the so few the number doesn’t even reach the double digits people that isn’t afraid of the power within. that’s mostly because of his sister complex tho.

back to shopping she prefers to go out and shop for already made clothes. she can be very impatient so if she does need to get something custom made the poor unlucky individual has to literally close shop/put everything else on hold to make her outfit less they get on her bad side. only granny draconia and her late mother were able to get her to put up with this. they’d go as far as to hire the best of the best and have them collaborate to complete the job within a few days to keep her from coming after them. she likes turtlenecks a lot. more likely than not if she’s on an outing she’ll be wearing a turtleneck. same goes for lounge clothes. a perfect go to gift for her. malleus made a self designed matching turtleneck sweaters for her and himself one year for christmas. every year he designs a new pair for them. she has kept every single one, but she’ll never admit to it.

she loves to drag take those she cares about on shopping sprees. if she takes you you are the focus. she does not take multiple people if she can help it and this is her way of saying “I care about you” so suck it up and let her do her thing. you will be woken up before the crack of dawn and won’t make it back home until jesus crispy it’s 2 in the fucking morning please take me home i am about to pass out. on the bright side she will buy you anything you desire, clothes or not, and carry you around if she already isn’t.

do not complain. she does not take kindly to this and this is a way to get kicked from her proclaimed harem. yes she has one but not in a traditional sense.

like dragons in fairy tales she’ll hoard anything she finds interesting. she gets bored easily when something isn’t challenging enough. that’s where living things come into play. as stated before she has a whole section of her castle dedicated to pets. well there is a smaller castle located not far from her main one that is solely for those in her “harem”. it’s not actually a harem harem. just a bunch of people she thinks are amusing that she kinda just, kidnaps whenever she feels like it. of course they all have their own room like the pets but they also each get a personal servant and chef provided by her. (a lot of them are actually the ghosts of people who she killed, they are bound to serve her until she either releases them or dies oof) when malleus took part in the masterchef event he begged her to visit. as the best big sister ever she granted his wish but didn’t join as a judge. she is very aware of others view of her and didn’t want to ruin the other kids fun so she waited until after the event. malleus convinced ruggie to stay and cook too as he wanted the experience to be as close to what the others had. big sis took one look at the yeen and knew immediately he was going to be added to her collection. Malleus can pick up on the subtle changes in her body language easily after years of trailing after her whenever he could. he has complicated emotions about her harem and is very hostile towards the males apart of it in particular. poor ruggie is so confused and terrified for his life why is malleus suddenly glowering at him with smoke coming from his nose and why is his sister staring at him like she wants to eat him. needless to say the kitchen was pretty hot after that. but hey, at least ruggie can mooch off of the seemingly endless money big sister has. (she has expired a small amount big business bosses too for being greedy assholes and taken over their companies instead of destroying them. y’all thought kalim’s was wealthy? ha she makes sunshine child look poor) she has picked up others from NRC too, Riddle and Epel are 2 of them. they are smol angy kids in her eyes and she loves to carry around cute tiny things like them. Idia and Ortho are there too. ortho is a robot with a soul and who is also an adorable mischievous child he is a prime example of her favorite characteristics. idia had fascinating hair and is easy to fluster, another prime example of what she likes.

she does not like Grim. his voice annoys her.

more likely than not she’ll probably like what personification mc has taken on too. mc is probably the only man malleus approves of in the harem if he identifies as such.

this is getting long imma end it here if ya want to know more pop into my inbox i’m more than happy to answer questions

ps i will be posting a nsfw version on my adult blog so if ur interested hop over there-