#that's not a tag i was ever expecting to write

[dollgxtz]

When Pleasure Calls

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: In the middle of sex, Sylus gets a business call...only he decides he doesn't want to stop ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, humiliation, use of evol, use of petnames like kitten, oneshot

AN: Okay so this is loosely based on a tweet I saw and it literally wouldn't leave my brain until I wrote it....so here we are. I figured the best way to end my break and start being more active again was to start writing all the fics that won't leave my head. Enjoy!

Sylus was balls deep inside you, each thrust a raw, primal connection that left you both breathless. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his low groans, creating a rhythm that was all your own. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, keeping you both locked in the moment, lost to everything but each other.

It had been an entire week since you’d spent any real time together—a week that felt more like a year. Sylus didn’t waste a second making up for the lost time. What started as an innocent cuddle on his bed, his arm lazily slung over your waist, quickly shifted into something else entirely. One minute, he was tracing slow circles on your back, murmuring something about how much he’d missed you, and the next, the air between you thickened, charged with unspoken need.

Somehow, without either of you meaning to, that easy closeness morphed into a full-blown, heated mess of tangled limbs and stolen breaths. His lips found yours, first soft and teasing, then hungry and demanding, as if he needed to make up for every second you’d been apart. Before long, the room was filled with the sound of muffled laughter, whispered names, and the quiet creak of the mattress as you lost yourselves in each other.

His hands roamed over you with a possessive tenderness, fingers tracing the curves of your body, memorizing the lines anew with every pass. The weight of him above you was a comforting pressure, a grounding force as you surrendered to the tide of sensation, every thrust a wave that built the pleasure higher and higher, threatening to crash over you.

"Nghn, right there! Don't stop, please..." you pleaded, your voice hoarse with desire, your fingers digging into his muscular frame as if your life depended on it. Sylus, attuned to your every need, knew he had found that sweet spot within you, that spongy, pleasure-laden tissue that sent sparks of delight through your body.

Just as he increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and harder, driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy, the sharp ring of his phone cut through the air like a knife, slicing through the intimate atmosphere. You froze, your eyes widening as you glanced at the illuminated screen, the unfamiliar contact name confirming your suspicion—one of Sylus's business associates.

Sylus sighed, his brow furrowing as he eyed the screen with a mix of annoyance and detachment. "I can call them back later. I’m busy right now."

That’s when it hit you—the mission. The Hunters Association’s urgent directive to recover the stolen protocore, traded away through shady backchannels. You had completely forgotten about it until now. The urgency surged through you like a jolt of electricity. Without thinking, you grabbed his arm. "Didn’t you say you were expecting a call about the protocore? This could be it. I need that lead for the Association. Answer it," you urged, your voice firm despite the sharp look Sylus threw your way.

He blinked, then smirked, the kind that was equal parts amused and incredulous. "I don’t think I’ll ever get used to my kitten barking orders at me," he said, his tone dripping with lazy charm. But to your relief, he reached for the phone anyway. "Alright, boss. Consider it a favor."

He pressed the screen and lifted it to his ear. His voice dropped into that cool, no-nonsense register you’d heard a dozen times before.

"Speak."

The man on the other end began to speak and you realized Sylus was still halfway inside you. Thinking the fun was over for now, you started to move out from under him, ready to let the moment pass. But Sylus wasn't done. His hand pressed you back down against the bed, and before you knew it, he was thrusting into you again, impossibly deeper this time, his cock filling you completely.

You struggled, caught between surprise and arousal, your body pinned beneath his, his cock completely filling you with each powerful thrust. You tried to silently plead for him to stop, embarrassed by the situation, but your words were lost in the quiet moans that escaped your lips as he pounded into you, his pace relentless. You quickly covered your mouth with your hands, trying to will yourself to quiet down.

"I'll only meet tomorrow. That's firm" he said into the phone, his voice steady despite fiercely pounding and stretching your pussy. As if this took zero amount of effort from him. You tried to keep quiet, biting your lip and keeping your hands pressed to your mouth to stop the sounds from escaping, but it was hard. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure through you, making it nearly impossible to maintain your composure.

You attempted to scoot back against the bed, seeking respite from the pleasure Sylus was delivering, but your efforts were in vain. With a swift and possessive motion, he wrapped his powerful Evol around your waist, pulling you back onto his cock, sealing your body to his, ensuring you couldn't escape the sensations he was about to unleash.

"Ah...ah..." you panted, your breath coming in short gasps as he thrust deeper, his cock seeking out that sensitive spot within you once more, very determined to bring you right to the edge.

Sylus kept talking, his voice smooth and calm, even as he moved inside you with a fierce rhythm. The phone call was just background noise to you, but you caught snippets of his conversation, the professional tone at odds with what was happening.

"Yes, I understand," he murmured between thrusts, his voice a soothing contrast to the pounding of his cock against your sensitive walls. "No tricks, or foul play. You should know how this goes by now."

You were struggling, trying to focus on anything but the way he was driving you closer to the edge. Each thrust felt like it was pushing you further into a world where nothing else mattered but the heat and friction between you.

Minutes ticked by as this humiliation continued. How much longer could you hold on? How much longer would he torture you like this? The question echoed in your mind, a desperate plea for relief as your body teetered on the brink of finishing.

Sylus's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and desire as he looked down at you, fully aware of the power he held over your pleasure. He knew exactly how close you were, how your body trembled on the precipice of release, and he relished the control he had, maintaining a casual conversation while pushing you to the brink.

A knowing smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the game he was playing—testing your limits, seeing how far he could take you while keeping up the pretense of a casual chat. His eyes held a challenge, daring you to surrender, to let go of your control, even as he kept his voice calm and composed, a stark contrast to the raw passion he was eliciting from your body.

He continued his steady thrusts, his movements purposeful, each one designed to drive you further into a world of pleasure, where resistance was futile, and surrender was the only option. Sylus took pleasure in watching you struggle, your body betraying your attempts to hold on, even as he maintained his casual conversation, a master of this sensual game.

"Yes, that will do," Sylus confirmed, his voice steady, his pace merciless as he continued to thrust into you. "I'll have my men prepare the meeting."

Your response was a muffled moan, your body arching against his, unable to form words as the pleasure overwhelmed you. "Mghn... Ah!" you cried out into your hand, your voice a mixture of surrender and ecstasy, your body trembling on the edge of release, the sensations too powerful to hold back.

Sylus, his body slightly glistening with sweat, paused for a moment, his thrusts slowing as he looked down at you with an intense gaze. His eyes, red and smoldering, held a silent command, a silent invitation for you to surrender completely. A slight smirk played on his lips as he watched you, his expression conveying a clear message:

"Go ahead, cum for me."

The tension inside you coiled tighter, every nerve screaming for release as he begun to pick up the pace once more. You bit down on your hand, trying to keep the sounds from escaping, but it was a losing battle. Sylus's thrusts were unrelenting, each one bringing you closer, until finally, with one last, deep push, he let go, pumping his hot and sticky seed deep into your belly just as he wrapped up his call.

The sensation was too much, too intense to resist. Your body tensed around him, shaking with the force of your orgasm, your muffled moans filling the room as you rode the waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"Alright. See you then," Sylus said, finally hanging up the call. He pulled out slowly, leaving you both breathless and spent, the hum of the conversation now just a memory drowned out by the echo of your shared climax.

You lay there, catching your breath, the remnants of your climax still thrumming through your veins. But as the haze of pleasure began to clear, irritation started to bubble up inside you. You propped yourself up on your elbows, shooting Sylus a look that could melt steel.

"Seriously?!"

He caught your gaze and simply chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that only fueled your annoyance. "Oh, don't act like you didn't like it," he said with a grin, clearly amused by your reaction. "How could I ignore a needy kitten in heat for a phone call instead?"

Your glare could have sliced through stone, but he just shrugged, unfazed by your anger. "Besides," he continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he chuckled, "I'm great at multitasking. I just secured you that protocore and made you cum while doing so. Shouldn't you be overjoyed right now?"

Despite your best efforts to hold onto your anger, the corners of your mouth betrayed you, tugging upwards into a reluctant smile. The heat rising to your cheeks was undeniable, a flush that had nothing to do with anger. His laughter was infectious, and before you knew it, you were chuckling too, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

"Alright, alright," you conceded with a playful roll of your eyes. "I'll forgive you this one time, but don't think this is going to be a regular thing."

Sylus grinned, clearly pleased with your surrender. "Deal," he said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved with that easy confidence of his, leaning down to scoop you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, carrying you towards the bathroom with a tenderness that were a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. His touch was gentle now, a soothing balm to the fire that had raged between you, and you found yourself relaxing into his hold, the last remnants of your irritation melting away as you settled into the comfort of his embrace.

[angelkiyo]

complacer • k. sakusa

during a boys' trip to mexico, sakusa finds himself involved in a bet to get laid while at a nightclub with his teammates after going through a messy breakup. so what happens when he accidentally runs into his friend with benefits from back in college?

tags - drabble + nsfw/unedited, overstim if you squint, draft from august 2024, + ive also never tried writing smt like this sooo…

sakusa kiyoomi felt like he was suffocating, being squished in the corner of the nightclub with his drink while babysitting his three other teammates who were planning on who to hit on next. it was currently the off season and the four msby players decided to take a vacation to mexico to relax and have fun (it was all bokuto and atsumu after seeing some tiktok vlogs about a vacation to mexico). though sakusa should have known better, as his definition of fun was different than his teammates’.

“yer so borin’, omi.” atsumu had his hands on his face while he slurred, “single now, have some fun! i didn’t like that fucken bitch anyway.” atsumu took a heavy swig of his drink while lazily mumbling some shit about his ex.

“get yerself laid. there’s so many hot people here so take yer pick. i'm sure you'll find somebody."

sakusa just frowned at his teammate in response while serving himself and taking another shot of tequila. that’s right, he was single. he had recently broken up with his significant other two weeks before his trip as he found them cheating on him. so to cope, he just practiced and practiced. he honestly thought he took it well.

in the rare occasions that he is in a relationship, they usually last at max 3 months. it’s either “you don’t pay attention to me” or “does volleyball matter more than me?”. relationships after college felt of convenience, to feel something. sakusa felt himself lost in thought until he felt a cold splash on his chest and bokuto apologizing repeatedly.

the entire nightclub was hot and humid and it was summer in mexico so sakusa felt utterly stupid at the fact that he wore a long sleeve grey button down with a white undershirt. he felt disgusted at the fact that there was some sugary cocktail on his shirt and left to the bathroom to clean off before he could blow up at bokuto.

he rushed to the bathroom, cleaning the drink off his shirt and took off his button down, leaving sakusa in his undershirt for now. the constant bass of the reggaeton playing in the night club along with the heavy smell of weed and alcohol had sakusa feel hazy, his head feeling heavy on top of his neck. he decided on ditching his friends as he could always apologize tomorrow, he was sure they'll forgive him if he treated to breakfast tomorrow anyway. plus, hinata was the only one not shitfaced enough to at least order an uber. sakusa clung to his forehead as he bumped into someone who also seemed to head the same direction in annoyance.

“¡mil disculpas! -oh, sakusa?”

now that’s a voice he didn’t expect to hear in sometime. he comically whipped his head at the nostalgic voice and saw you, in your flowy, see through, navy blue blouse, black flowy skirt, and black little kitten heels. you looked pretty, meanwhile he felt that he looked crazy with how he was gripping a shirt that had an alcohol splatter on the chest (which was visible). the fact that he felt so hot and sweaty that his black curls clung to his sweaty forehead felt absolutely uncanny considering his aloof demeanor. an almost crazed expression etched on his face as surprise was all he could feel along with annoyance due to his teammates and the heat.

“l/n, hi.”

he didn’t have much to say, you still looked good as you did back in college. you and sakusa were friends with benefits. one accidental one-night stand turned into an every week thing. every time sakusa lost a game or got stressed over an exam, he’d take it out on you during sex, not that you complained. it was a mutual agreement. however, you were the only girl he’s ever felt nervous about.

“how’s life been?” you held a coy smile on your face as you eyed him. you played with the hems of your skirt as you looked at him with your doll-like eyes. eyes like you enjoyed playing with him, “you look bothered. um, were you-?”

“i’ve been good. um, im not gonna do anything uh-“

“oh um, i was gonna go to a bailé, if you wanna come?”

“um, sure.”

fuck it. it sounded better than staying at a hot and humid nightclub.

you two only walked a block in peaceful silence as the buzzing nightlife of the city filled the background noise. that’s until he felt a buzz from his messages:

from: miya atsumu

i see u lwft us yhu btich

if u ght laud ill desdass pau u 20 bucks

you opened the door to a ballroom club where a band was playing bachata, “im gonna go say hi to some friends!”

sakusa nodded and looked at his surroundings. at this point, the night went fairly well as the ballroom was decently occupied (considering the nightclub a block away was popular).

that’s until he felt a tap on his shoulder from you with a nervous smile etched on your face, “hey, would you want to be my partner for this song?” he felt his eyebrows raise, “what? i mean sure but i don’t know?”

it was almost comical how your eyebrows mirrored his moments ago. was he too blunt?

“i can teach you, don’t worry about it.”

right.

you took his clammy hands and held on his shoulder ss your other hand held his right, placing his left on your waist, “look, not that hard. just move your hips to the music and you’ll be fine.”

sakusa kiyoomi would consider himself to be a rather stiff individual. somebody who isn't fond of dancing or anything that didn't require him to be particulate with his movements (such as volleyball), yet when he is with you, he can't help but feel like putty in your hands. as he spinned you (or at least attempted to) amongst the colorful lights of the ballroom, you looked stunning.

"i look ridiculous."

you laughed and squeezed both of his hands as his footwork began to mirror yours, "wanna leave?"

he scoffed, "we barely got here." — "yeah but you don't seem to enjoy this"

your tone was teasing as you quickly bid farewell to your friends and took sakusa with you. just like that.

the two of you ended up heading to your apartment to catch up from college.

“have you tried speaking spanish? i mean to talk to locals. doesn’t your teammate, hinata speak it?”

sakusa shrugged, “not really and shoyo is just learning. he speaks portuguese.”

“so what do you know how to say?

“olá, como está o seu dia? that’s pretty much it.”

you nodded as you ended up pulling out a cigarette from your purse and your silver lighter. smoking was a rather nasty habit you had, since college. nevertheless, he’s the one who got you the lighter as a goodbye gift after college. you side eyed him and brought the cigarette box to his face.

fuck it.

sakusa had the cigarette and put the wrong side in his mouth, where you stopped him. "you're doing it wrong. have you ever done this before?" — he hasn't and you read him like a book.

you laughed and and took the cigarette in his mouth, "im not about to pressure you, kiyoomi. don't forget you're an athlete too. plus, we're here."

after a few flights of stairs, you two were finally in your apartment.

the next couple moments were a bit of a blur; first, you simply put your bag on the coat hanger next to your door, then you turn around where he starts kissing you on your couch, with one of your hands cupping his face endearingly while the other tugged and played with his curls.

you straddled him on the couch and kissed him as he massaged your ass from below your skirt. was it wrong to say it was nostalgic of college?

maybe, but sakusa needed a cathartic release from the intensive stress of his career and felt no shame going back to his old ways from college.

you lifted up your shirt to take to off, where sakusa felt his mouth go dry. you flashed him a smile and threw the blouse on the recliner near, “got them done a bit after graduation.” you were talking about your nipple piercings, the sleek metal rod gave a bit of edge and personality to the complete work of art that is your body.

you went back and kissed him with more intensity, your tongues almost fighting for dominance as sakusa had one hand on your waist, and the other caressing your breast. in his old relationships and sexual encounters, kiyoomi wouldn’t even dare attempt foreplay and kept himself at a boundary— god forbid they wanted to make out the way you are doing right now. however, with you, he was on edge all the time, pushing away his inhibitions.

“shit…kiyoomi.” you breathed out as kiyoomi started attacking your exposed breasts, his tongue swirling around your areolas and rods. he felt a wave of pure nostalgic euphoria hit him, intoxicated by lust at the same time as he felt you grind against him. the utter symphony of your breathless whines and moans was music to his ears, adding onto whatever desires he had at the start of his night with you.

your whines only became louder as he slipped his hand into your panties, rubbing circles on your clit, causing for you to pull on his black curls in utter pleasure and grind on his hand.

“please, let’s do this somewhere else.” your head laid on your shoulder as your plush legs latched onto his waist where he carried you to your room, throwing you on the bed.

kiyoomi threw his undershirt to the side and kneeling to look up at you and your blissed-out expression, “do you have a condom?”

even in your state, you flashed him a sly smile, “we won’t need them.”

he scoffed at your teasing words, taking off his slacks and sweat-drenched undershirt.

once he was in his boxers, you hung your arms around his neck for him to lower his posture to meet your lips, the sound of your lips clashing breaking any silence.

you placed him spread on the bed, crawling on his breathless form as you rolled down his boxers to be met with his cock, springing out towards his abdomen. it was slightly bigger than you remembered, with it being a little curved and its cute swollen pink tip spilling slight precum. still, you weren’t mad. at all.

you licked your lips and pumped at his dick, kissing at his swollen pink tip leaking with pre-cum, “god i missed this…”

kiyoomi didn’t know what to say. he was speechless. maybe it was the alcohol or the lust still intoxicating his system but this felt cathartic.

you began going in, giving his dick little kisses until you began to take it in your mouth little by little and sucked, causing him to let out the quietest of moans. as you sucked him off, you felt him gently push at your head, causing you to go faster. you began to caress his balls, which made his dick begin to twitch and him to whine. you maintained eye contact as you pumped his dick while you sucked, feeling spurts of his cum in your mouth as he released. “s-shit…y/n.”

you crawled back up and placed your knees to each side of his legs, “is it okay if we?”

kiyoomi nodded and looked at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “i thought we were, y/n.”

you smiled at his words and aligned his dick to your entrance and slowly went down, whining at the slight hint of pain that was brought by him slightly stretching you out. all you both could hear was the wet squelch of your pussy being stretched out by his hard cock.

“careful, y/n.” kiyoomi licked his bottom lip as he grabbed onto your hips and slowly helped you move on his cock. you attempted to move your hips yourself, gasping at the sheer pleasure when he began to thrust upwards. you grabbed onto his shoulders and then pulled on his hair as you felt the sensation overtake you, moving your hips side to side while he thrusted and rubbed on your clit simultaneously.

it felt too much for both of you, with this being the first time you’ve gotten laid since college.

until kiyoomi stopped.

kiyoomi flipped you on your back as he began to stand up, making you giggle, “thought you didn’t have this in you?”

“you’ll see.” kiyoomi licked his thumb and began circling your clit again before bringing your legs on his shoulders, “o-oh my god…”

kiyoomi slowly inserted his cock in your pussy again, adjusting to the tight squeeze you had on him. he began to thrust in you roughly again, making you moan as you gripped on his bedsheets. it felt almost overstimulated as he kept on, with said thrusting becoming sloppy shortly after you had reached your orgasm finally. it hit you like a truck.

you felt like an incoherent mess, grabbing onto his neck again to kiss him with more fervor, a string of saliva connecting your lips. it felt almost too much with the pace he was going. then again, kiyoomi was an athlete with an insane amount of stamina. however, you felt his thrusts become sloppier and the speed become slower until you felt him spill his cum in you, feeling warm.

he quickly muttered an ‘I’m sorry’ and became even more flustered.

you smiled as you threw your forearm on your eyes, “you’re okay, it’s okay.”

he slipped his cock out of your pussy, making you feel his cum drip out of you all cold.

you attempted to sit up with your elbows, softly sighing. he carried you in his arms to the bathtub in your connected bathroom, taking a bath together in peaceful silence.

———

kiyoomi has a habit of waking up early—however, he hasn’t gotten this good of sleep since high school.

he looked over to your blissful figure asleep and smiled. until he checked his phone.

“what the fuck?” kiyoomi ran his fingers through his hair as he checked his phone, spammed with several (hundred) calls from his teammates.

he kept scrolling amongst the barrage of “where tf r u” and “hello?” messages until he was greeted with a venmo notification from miya atsumu sending him 20 bucks:

i knew i could count on you ;)

[stevethehairington]

wip whenever

tagged by the lovely @livingincolorsagain 💕💕 ty friend!!

i think i started writing this one waaay back before s8 even started airing, so it very much takes place in a world where eddie went to get christopher much much earlier and where he actually grew the mustache while on that trip so it's braaaand new when he gets back. it's been a hot minute since ive touched it tbh, but it's a fun one so i'd love to get back to it soon!

Buck frowns. “I don’t,” he says.

A little wrinkle forms between Hen’s eyebrows. “What?”

“Hate it,” Buck clarifies. “I don’t hate it. I— I like it,” he admits, and hates how he can feel himself flush.

“Oh,” Hen says, without judgment. She doesn’t sound very surprised either, like she’d been expecting that. Which, yeah. Okay. He probably hasn’t been, like, the most subtle.

“Why haven’t you told him that?” Hen questions. “Buck, he’s been chasing after your opinion all day.”

Buck laughs, humorlessly. Drops his head into his hands for a moment before he turns his wild eyes onto Hen again. “Hen,” he says, serious, “I can’t do that. I really can’t do that.”

Hen looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Why not?”

“Because me liking it is the problem,” Buck says, a little desperately.

“I’m not following,” Hen replies.

Her eyes flicker over Buck’s shoulder, but he’s too busy squeezing his eyes shut as he groans, threading his hands through his hair before dropping them lamely into his lap. “I like it too much,” he tells her.

And— it feels good to say it. To uncage those feelings and let them fly free, finally. He’s been sitting on them all day. Since the second Eddie joined them in the kitchen this morning, with that stupidly gorgeous Texan sun-kissed glow to his skin, and that radiant smile that Buck is sure has been permanently glued to his face since he’d been reunited with Christopher, and that— that fucking mustache. That ridiculous, goofy, inexplicably hot mustache. Fuck.

It shouldn’t be doing the things that it’s doing to Buck. It shouldn’t.

But it is. It is, and Buck’s been slowly losing his mind having to keep that to himself all day.

“Buck,” Hen says, warns, but Buck doesn’t let her cut in, he’s on a roll now. If she didn’t want to hear this she shouldn’t have asked.

“Like, more than I should, probably,” he continues. “Way more than I should.”

“Buck.”

“It’s just so— god. And he looks— ugh.” Buck can’t even find the proper words for what he’s feeling. He’s sure Hen gets the gist, though. “I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my life, Hen. And— and that’s precisely why I can’t tell him that I like it! Because, like, there’s not exactly a friendly way to say, hey, Eddie, yeah, I think this is the hottest you’ve ever looked, and it’s kind of sort of driving me crazy, and I’ve spent all day contemplating the pros and cons of fucking mustache burn because I really just want—”

A clatter sounds out from behind Buck, and he freezes, words stopping on the end of his tongue and— and heart stopping in his chest because fuck. Fuck.

tagging: @withacapitalp @i-put-the-star-in-bastard @tidesreach @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @henderdads @thefreakandthehair @inell and anyone else that sees this and wants to join in!! 💕

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (home)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: sunrise

- Next part: the lady of the west

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

From the Chronicles of the Realm: The Departure of House Lannister and the Princess

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"The morning of House Lannister’s departure from the Red Keep was marked by clear skies and a chill in the air, as though the realm itself hesitated to see Princess Y/N Targaryen leave the capital. The grand procession began at dawn, with Lord Jason Lannister at its head, flanked by his bannermen and retainers. The Lion of Casterly Rock shone brightly on their crimson banners, and the sound of hooves against stone echoed through the streets of King’s Landing.

The princess rode beside her husband, her unseeing lilac eyes turned toward the sky, as if sensing her dragon above. Silverwing, the great silver dragon once ridden by Queen Alysanne, circled overhead, her shadow passing over the city and casting a momentary darkness upon the crowds that gathered to watch the departure. The sight of the dragon and the princess together struck awe in all who beheld them, a living testament to the strength of House Targaryen.

King Viserys himself bade them farewell at the gates of the city, his jovial mood tempered by the bittersweet nature of the occasion. 'My sweet daughter,' he said, embracing her one last time, 'you will always have a home here.' The queen and her children were present as well, though the young princes and princess seemed more curious about the dragon than the momentous nature of the event."

Mushroom recounts:

"Oh, what a scene it was! The lions strutted through the streets like they owned the city, and truth be told, they looked the part. Jason Lannister, all golden hair and smug confidence, sat tall on his horse, basking in the attention of the crowds. And there she was, our little princess, as serene as the Maiden herself, seated gracefully beside her husband. A pity she couldn’t see the chaos that followed in their wake—children scrambling to catch glimpses of Silverwing, merchants cursing as their stalls were knocked over, and more than one lord muttering about dragons being brought so close to the city walls.

Silverwing, ah, she was a sight to behold! The old girl hadn’t lost her grace, though I’ll admit I kept my distance. There’s something about a dragon that makes even the bravest man think twice, and I am no brave man. The princess spoke to her in High Valyrian, calming her before taking flight. And oh, the way Jason stared at her as she mounted that beast—it was as if he couldn’t decide whether to be terrified or in love.

Now, if you ask me, the real story lies in what came after. Daemon Targaryen, ever the scoundrel, watched the whole thing from the shadows. He didn’t say a word, but I swear on my twisted back that his eyes followed Silverwing into the sky like a hawk tracking its prey. Mark my words, there’s more to that story yet."

Ser Harrold Westerling’s account (as written in his personal letters):

"The departure of House Lannister was as grand as one might expect from such a family, but it was the presence of Princess Y/N Targaryen and her dragon Silverwing that made the occasion truly remarkable. I stood among the Kingsguard at the gates as the procession left, ensuring the royal family’s safety while they bid their farewells.

The princess conducted herself with the dignity befitting her station, though it was clear that the separation weighed heavily on both her and the King. Lord Jason appeared attentive to her needs, and one could see the care in his actions as he helped her mount her dragon. The bond between the princess and Silverwing was undeniable; the dragon moved with surprising gentleness under her guidance, as though she understood her rider’s limitations.

Prince Daemon, curiously, was notably absent from the formal farewell, though I later glimpsed him near the Dragonpit. Whether this was coincidence or intention, I cannot say."

Grand Maester Mellos adds:

"As Silverwing soared above the Lannister party, her great wings beating against the sky, the people of King’s Landing marveled at the sight. The princess, though blind, commanded the dragon with the ease of a seasoned rider, her High Valyrian echoing through the air as she guided Silverwing toward the western horizon. Lord Jason and his men followed below, their crimson cloaks a stark contrast to the pale sky.

It is said that the procession reached the outskirts of the city by midday and began the long journey to Casterly Rock. Reports of Silverwing’s shadow passing over towns and villages along the way spread quickly, with many claiming it to be a sign of Targaryen strength and the enduring bond between dragons and their riders.

However, such power also drew whispers of unease. There are those who wonder what role dragons might play in the future of the West, and whether House Lannister’s newfound connection to the Targaryens will bring prosperity—or fire."

Mushroom concludes:

"So off they went, the lions and the dragon, leaving King’s Landing to return to their den. But don’t be fooled into thinking this is the end of the story, oh no. A dragon in the West? That’s a tale worth watching. And let’s not forget Daemon—he may not have spoken, but he’s never been one to let things lie. Mark my words, the Rogue Prince isn’t finished with his little star. Not by a long shot."

The grand gates of Casterly Rock loomed ahead, their gold-inlaid carvings glinting in the fading afternoon light. The Lannister procession approached with a sense of triumph, banners fluttering in the wind, the lion of House Lannister roaring boldly above them. Jason rode at the head of the column, his posture proud, his gaze fixed on the towering fortress that had been his home since birth.

Beside him, you rode gracefully atop your sleek black mare, your hands light on the reins. Though you couldn’t see the Rock rising before you, the familiar sound of seabirds and the faint tang of salt in the air told you that you were nearing your destination. High above, Silverwing circled once before landing on the nearby cliffs, her massive form settling with a rumble that echoed over the landscape.

Jason turned to you, his green eyes softening as he dismounted. “We’re home,” he said, his voice warm.

With practiced ease, he moved to your side, reaching up to help you dismount. His hands were steady and sure as he guided you down, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “You’ve done well,” he murmured, pride evident in his tone. “The journey was long, but you handled it beautifully.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing over his as you stepped down. “It wasn’t so difficult,” you replied softly. “And I had you by my side.”

Jason’s smile widened, but before he could respond, the gates of the Rock opened, and a group of retainers and guards spilled out to greet their lord and his new lady. At their head was an older man with strikingly similar features to Jason—broad-shouldered and exuding the same air of confidence, though his face was lined with the marks of age and experience.

“Jason!” the man called, his booming voice carrying easily over the din. “Welcome back!”

“Uncle Damon,” Jason replied, stepping forward with a grin. The two men embraced briefly, a firm clap on the back exchanging between them.

Jason stepped back, gesturing toward you with a flourish. “Uncle, may I formally introduce you to my wife, Princess Y/N Targaryen. I believe you met briefly during her visit, but now, she is truly Lady of Casterly Rock.”

Damon Lannister’s eyes flicked to you, his expression shifting to one of polite warmth. “Princess,” he said, bowing slightly. “It is an honor to welcome you to our home again, this time as part of our family.”

You inclined your head graciously, your hands folded neatly before you. “Lord Damon, the honor is mine. Casterly Rock is as magnificent as I remember.”

Damon’s smile grew, a hint of pride flickering across his features. “And now, it is your home, my lady. If there is anything you require, you need only ask.”

“Thank you,” you replied softly. “Your kindness is greatly appreciated.”

Jason placed a hand on your back, his touch gentle yet reassuring. “Uncle Damon has been overseeing the Rock in my absence,” he explained. “He ensured all would be in readiness for your arrival.”

Damon waved a hand dismissively, though there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “It was my pleasure. We Lannisters take care of our own, after all.”

Jason chuckled, steering you slightly toward the grand entrance of the fortress. “Come, Y/N. There’s much to show you, and I think you’ll find the chambers I prepared to your liking.”

Damon fell into step beside you both, his gaze flicking briefly to the cliffs where Silverwing rested. “The dragon caused quite a stir when she arrived. The guards weren’t sure whether to cheer or flee.”

You smiled faintly. “Silverwing is a gentle soul, but I imagine her presence can be… overwhelming.”

Damon let out a low laugh. “Overwhelming, yes. But impressive all the same. She’ll be a fine addition to the Rock’s defenses, should the need ever arise.”

Jason’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of potential threats, but he quickly masked it with a smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said lightly. “For now, we celebrate.”

The three of you entered the towering halls of Casterly Rock, where a feast awaited to mark the occasion.

The great hall of Casterly Rock was alive with celebration, its high vaulted ceilings echoing the laughter and chatter of the gathered Lannisters and their bannermen. Long tables were laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, and an array of fruits and cheeses, while golden goblets brimming with wine were raised repeatedly in toasts. The scent of spiced lamb and honeyed cakes wafted through the air, mingling with the warm glow of the torches and chandeliers that illuminated the room.

At the high table, Jason sat at your side, his hand resting lightly on the arm of your chair. He wore a look of pride and contentment, his green eyes gleaming as he surveyed the feast in full swing. To his left, his mother, Lady Leonella, beamed with unrestrained joy, her hair styled intricately and her gown a deep crimson embroidered with golden lions. Beside her sat Damon Lannister, his booming laughter carrying across the hall as he raised yet another toast.

“To Jason!” a bannerman called, standing with his goblet held high. “And to the princess! May their union bring prosperity to House Lannister and strength to the West!”

The hall erupted in cheers, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. Jason inclined his head graciously, lifting his goblet in acknowledgment. “To the West!” he called, his voice carrying over the noise.

“To the West!” the crowd echoed, draining their cups with gusto.

At the center of the hall, a minstrel began to play a lively tune on his lute, joined by a small group of musicians. Servants moved deftly among the tables, refilling goblets and carrying platters of food, while children darted between the benches, their laughter adding to the festive atmosphere.

Lady Leonella turned to her sister-in-law, Lady Joanna, who sat beside her, her own golden hair streaked with silver but still bearing the unmistakable beauty of the Lannister line. The two women leaned close, their conversation quiet but animated.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had cause for such a celebration,” Leonella said, her smile bright. “Jason has always been headstrong, but seeing him so… devoted, it warms my heart.”

Joanna chuckled softly, sipping her wine. “He’s grown into his role admirably, hasn’t he? And the princess—she carries herself with such grace. The court spoke highly of her even before the wedding.”

Leonella nodded, her eyes briefly flicking to you as you spoke quietly with Jason. “She’s a fine match for him. Intelligent, poised—and that dragon of hers.” She lowered her voice slightly, though there was no malice in her tone. “I never thought we’d have a dragon here at the Rock.”

“Few would dare to cross a Lannister now,” Joanna remarked, her lips quirking into a wry smile. “Not with Silverwing perched on our cliffs.”

Leonella’s laugh was soft but genuine. “A fair point. Still, I’m simply glad to see Jason happy. He’s earned this.”

At the high table, Jason leaned closer to you, his voice low. “Are you enjoying yourself, my love?”

You tilted your head toward him, a soft smile gracing your lips. “It’s a lively celebration,” you replied. “Your family has been very welcoming.”

“They’d better be,” Jason said with a chuckle, though his tone carried a note of sincerity. “You’re one of us now.”

A servant approached, bowing deeply before refilling your goblet. Jason nodded his thanks before turning back to you. “I’ll warn you now,” he said with a grin, “there will be no shortage of toasts tonight. It’s tradition.”

As if on cue, another bannerman stood, his voice booming. “To the future of House Lannister! To Lord Jason and the Princess of the Rock!”

The hall cheered once more, and Jason leaned back in his chair, raising his goblet with a knowing smile. “See what I mean?”

You laughed softly, lifting your own goblet in acknowledgment. The warmth of the wine and the joy of the gathering filled you with a sense of belonging, even in this unfamiliar place.

Throughout the evening, the toasts continued, each one more elaborate than the last, and the feast stretched late into the night. By the time the hall began to quiet, the musicians switching to softer tunes, Jason turned to you, his hand covering yours.

“Shall we retire, my lady?” he asked, his tone gentle.

You nodded, feeling the day’s events catching up with you. “I think that would be wise.”

Jason stood, helping you to your feet with the same attentiveness that had marked every interaction since your marriage. As the two of you left the hall, the lingering warmth of the celebration followed, a promise of the future you would build together at Casterly Rock.

The fire crackled gently in the hearth, filling the room with a comforting heat as the evening chill began to creep in. You stood near the edge of the large canopied bed, as you listened to the faint sounds of movement behind you.

Marna and Alys, ever diligent, were putting the final touches on your belongings. The faint rustle of fabric and the clink of a jewelry box being placed on the vanity reminded you of the home you had left behind.

“Everything is as you like it, princess,” Marna said warmly, stepping closer. “If there’s anything else you need, just send for us.”

“Thank you, Marna,” you replied softly, offering a faint smile in her direction. “You’ve both been a great comfort to me.”

Alys dipped into a quick curtsey before following Marna to the door. The older woman glanced at Jason, who stood near the hearth watching you, before offering a knowing nod. “Goodnight, my lord, my lady,” she said, ushering Alys out and closing the door gently behind them.

The silence that followed was almost palpable, broken only by the steady crackle of the fire. Jason approached you slowly, his footsteps deliberate, and his eyes softened as they settled on you.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You turned toward him, your hands clasping lightly in front of you. “I will be,” you admitted, your tone tinged with vulnerability. “It’s just… strange, being so far from my family. From everything I’ve ever known.”

Jason’s expression grew more serious as he stepped closer, his hands finding yours. His touch was steady and grounding, his thumbs brushing soothingly over your knuckles. “That’s to be expected, Y/N,” he said softly. “You’ve left so much behind. It’s a lot to adjust to.”

You nodded, your voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “Even Ser Lorent… he’s always been there, always watching over me. It feels strange not having him outside my door.”

Jason’s brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “I understand,” he said, his tone low. “But you won’t be alone here. I’ll make sure of it.”

You tilted your face slightly toward him, sensing the sincerity in his words. “I know you will. But it will take time.”

Jason cupped your face gently, his palms warm against your skin. “Take all the time you need, my love,” he said. “This is your home now, and I’ll do everything I can to make it feel that way. I know it’s not the Red Keep, and I’m not your family, but we’ll build something here. Together. A family of our own.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you felt the first stirrings of comfort settle in your chest. “A family of our own,” you repeated softly, the idea both foreign and grounding.

Jason smiled faintly, leaning down until his forehead rested lightly against yours. “Yes. A family of lions and dragons.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and tinged with affection. “That does sound fitting.”

His lips curved into a smile as he tilted your chin upward, his gaze fixed on your face. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. And I’ll be here every step of the way.”

His words were a balm to your lingering fears, and you leaned into his touch, your hands resting lightly against his chest. “Thank you, Jason,” you whispered. “For everything.”

“Always,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

His lips found yours in a tender kiss, the warmth of it spreading through you like the fire crackling in the hearth. The kiss deepened, his hands slipping to your waist as he pulled you closer, the earlier tension of the day melting away in the intimacy of the moment. You responded in kind, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his doublet as the space between you disappeared entirely.

The world outside the chamber faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other’s warmth and the promise of the future you would build together.

The morning sunlight filtered through the heavy drapes of your chambers, casting a warm amber hue across the room. The faint sound of the sea crashing against the cliffs below was a comforting backdrop to the quiet rustle of movement as Jason dressed, preparing to leave for his duties as Lord of Casterly Rock. You sat at the edge of the bed, your fingers lightly brushing the embroidered lions on the coverlet, listening to the steady rhythm of his steps.

Jason approached, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. “I won’t be far,” he said gently, his voice warm with affection. “Just the usual matters to attend to—ensuring the ledgers are balanced, hearing petitions from the bannermen.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your face toward him. “Your work is important, Jason. I’ll be fine.”

Jason crouched slightly, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s still new for you here,” he said, his tone quieter now. “But remember, this is your home, too. If you need anything, send for me.”

“I’ll be alright,” you assured him, squeezing his hands gently. “Marna and Alys will help me.”

Jason smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good. I’ll see you later, my love.”

With one last glance, he rose and left the room, the door closing softly behind him. You listened to the fading sound of his footsteps before turning your attention to the soft voices of Marna and Alys.

“Shall we begin, princess?” Marna asked kindly, her voice carrying the same steady warmth you had come to rely on.

“Yes,” you replied, standing slowly. “Let’s start with the room.”

Marna approached, her steps deliberate so you could follow the sound, and gently took your hand. “We’ll go step by step,” she said, guiding you toward the vanity. “Here’s where your jewelry is kept, along with your brushes and combs. Alys has arranged everything neatly.”

You felt for the smooth surface of the vanity, your fingers brushing over the cool wood and the polished edges of the jewelry box. “Thank you, Marna,” you said softly. “It helps to know where everything is.”

Next, they led you to the wardrobe, where Alys carefully described the arrangement of your gowns. “We’ve hung the lighter fabrics to the left and the heavier velvets and furs to the right,” she explained. “And your slippers are on the lower shelves.”

“Good,” you said, running your fingers along the smooth fabric of a gown. “This will make it easier.”

They continued, showing you the placement of the seating near the hearth, the side table with a pitcher of water, and the chest at the foot of the bed. Each touch and description helped you map the room in your mind, making the unfamiliar space feel a little more like your own.

Just as you finished, the door opened, and Lady Leonella stepped in, her presence immediately commanding but not unkind. “Good morning, Y/N,” she said warmly. “I trust Marna and Alys have been helping you settle?”

“They’ve been wonderful, as always,” you replied with a small smile, turning your face toward her voice.

Leonella approached, her footsteps sure and deliberate. “I thought I might take you around the castle today,” she said. “It’s a grand place, but it can be overwhelming. We’ll take it one wing at a time.”

“That would be helpful,” you admitted, your tone soft but sincere. “I didn’t have enough time during my last visit to learn much beyond the great hall.”

Leonella chuckled lightly. “The Rock has a way of humbling even the sharpest minds. But don’t worry—we’ll make sure you’re familiar with everything you need.”

Marna and Alys finished their tasks, stepping back with respectful nods. “We’ll leave you in Lady Leonella’s capable hands,” Marna said. “Call if you need anything.”

“Thank you, both,” you said, feeling a deep gratitude for their kindness.

Leonella took your arm gently, her touch firm but not overbearing. “Shall we start with the central wing? It’s where most of the day-to-day activity happens.”

You nodded, your smile growing. “Lead the way.”

Together, you left the chambers, your mother-in-law’s confident guidance and warm voice helping you navigate the vast halls of Casterly Rock. 

The corridors of Casterly Rock echoed with the faint sounds of the household bustling to life—servants moving about their tasks, distant chatter from the kitchens, and the faint hum of sea wind through the high windows. Lady Leonella’s arm guided you steadily as the two of you walked, her steps purposeful and her voice warm and conversational.

“This corridor leads to the solar,” she explained, her hand lightly guiding yours to brush against the cool stone wall. “Jason often spends his mornings there reviewing correspondence or entertaining guests. It’s one of the best-lit rooms in the castle, thanks to the large windows.”

You nodded, committing her words to memory. “It sounds beautiful,” you said softly. “I’ll have to visit it when he’s working.”

Leonella chuckled lightly. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy the distraction,” she said. “Though don’t let him convince you he’s always so diligent. My son has a knack for making even leisure look like work.”

The warmth in her voice as she spoke of Jason made you smile. “He seems quite dedicated to his duties.”

“Oh, he is,” Leonella agreed. “But I’ll admit, there were times when I feared he would never settle down. Jason has always been… particular.”

“Particular?” you echoed, curiosity piqued.

Leonella’s steps slowed slightly, her tone turning more reflective. “He’s always been confident, self-assured—some might even say arrogant at times. But beneath all of that, he’s a man who wants more than wealth and titles. He’s always sought something… deeper. I worried he’d never find it.”

You tilted your face toward her, sensing the emotion behind her words. “What changed?”

Leonella paused, her hand briefly tightening on your arm as she considered her response. “You did,” she said simply. “When Jason spoke of you after his return from the capital, there was a light in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. He described you with such reverence, as though he’d discovered something he didn’t think was possible.”

Her words brought a faint flush to your cheeks, and you smiled softly. “He said those things?”

Leonella laughed gently, a sound filled with affection. “Oh, he tried to hide it at first. But a mother knows her son. I could see it—he was smitten. And when he asked for my thoughts on pursuing you, I told him to go after what made him happy.”

Her steps resumed, guiding you toward another hallway. “Jason can be stubborn, but he’s always had a good heart. You’ve brought out the best in him, Y/N. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Your heart swelled at her words, and you squeezed her arm lightly. “Thank you, Lady Leonella. That means so much to hear.”

“Please,” she said with a smile in her voice, “call me Leonella. We’re family now.”

You nodded, the gesture small but filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Leonella.”

As you walked, she pointed out more of the castle’s layout, describing the dining hall, the armory, and the private library where Jason often retreated when he sought solitude. Each description painted a vivid picture in your mind, helping the vastness of Casterly Rock feel a little less overwhelming.

When you reached a quiet balcony overlooking the sea, Leonella stopped, letting you take in the salty breeze and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. “This is one of my favorite spots,” she said softly. “Whenever the weight of the Rock feels too heavy, I come here. It reminds me of the freedom outside these walls.”

You leaned slightly against the stone balustrade, the cool air brushing against your face. “It’s peaceful,” you agreed. “I can sense why Jason values it here.”

Leonella’s voice softened. “He does. And now, with you by his side, I think he’s found what he was searching for all along.”

The sincerity in her tone brought a lump to your throat, and you turned to face her, your hands clasping hers. “I’ll do my best to make him happy,” you said earnestly.

“I know you will,” Leonella replied, squeezing your hands gently. “And if you ever need anything—guidance, reassurance, or just someone to talk to—you’ll always have me.”

The bond forming between you felt stronger with every word, and as the two of you stood there, the vastness of Casterly Rock no longer seemed so daunting. With Leonella’s kindness and Jason’s love, you felt more certain than ever that you could carve out a life here—one of strength, family, and belonging.

[shouchan11]

💚🚒 Mouthwashing Age Regression AU Pt. 3🍼💚

Part 3/3: Last up, Baby Jimmy!

Other Parts: Curly, Anya

Features: Little! Jimmy x CG! Reader

Tags: baby regression, trauma regression, involuntary regression, nursing, female reader

Hope you enjoy! I had the most fun writing this one, so it's a bit long, hehe ♡

Jimmy

Listen... Jimmy is a trauma regressor. LET ME SPEAK LET ME SPE-

He has terrible mommy AND daddy issues, as well as abandonment issues, and it shows when he regresses. He just wants to feel what it's like to have someone care about him unconditionally, to have someone see that he's in need and show him kindness instead of violence. (You can't have a Jimmy HC w/o angst, you know...)

He is also a baby/toddler regressor, ranging from ages 0-4 ♡

He calls you a mixture of Mommy, Miss Y/N or just Miss, and Ma'am

He has a fair amount of agere gear, mostly from you after lots of moaning and whining from Jimmy that his crappy dollar store baby pacifier and bottle weren't very good.

You love spoiling him though and he loves being spoiled; like if you buy him gifts, then there's no question that you love him, right? and it makes him feel special ♡ So you spoil him! with adult pacis, paci clips, baby loveys, pretty baby bottles~

This does not stop Jimmy from being a BRAT.

“Noo, lemme do it!” Whenever you go to pour him a drink or make him a snack, he's always got a little pout or rolling his eyes... so sassy!

Expects you to cuddle him and play with his hair and let him lay his head in ur lap all the same... touchy baby

I think he involuntarily regresses as well usually, and it's the only time he'll ever cry, because he's not really in full control.. He'll be embarrassed and not talk about it once he's big again but he just needs to get the tears out :((

Speaking of crying... since regression is likely cathartic for him, he thrives off of punishment as well. Sitting in the corner or writing lines are your go to methods when he's being especially naughty. He's not used to being punished any other way than spanking or hitting, so the fact that you're actually trying to care for him and fix him in a way... yeah it makes him cry. When he gets out of timeout and you're there to give him a big hug and tell him you still love him, he's very teary eyed but it's a good cry. He's never felt this level of care before and it means a lot to him that even when he's being nasty or bratty you still love him...

Dw he is always going to throw a tantrum or two, he is a brat afterall, but deep down he's happy that you even care enough to stick around after he's being a brat... :3c and how can you not, his scrunched up pouty face is just so cute..! :D

His favorite toys are trucks.. he's a baby so he kinda just rolls them back n forth but he will babble all about them to you. It's very interesting stuff, you know.

He has such an oral fixation.. He's obsessed with nursing/bottles but he always always has his paci or his thumb in his mouth, or a sippie in his hand :) He's also a tv kid... he will just stare at cartoons for hours.. he's an easy baby in that way....

His favorite thing to do with you is nursing. (If you like that sort of thing, otherwise a bottle is fine too) He's soo calm, he'll definitely fall asleep while doing it. It's the best way to be put to bed, cuz he's surrounded by your scent and your maternal presence holding him.. ☺️ like he just goes full baby.. ♡♡♡

Speaking of, he's VERY clingy with his Mommy... if you get up for one sec he's like “where are you going?” or wordlessly following you through every room while you're tidying up or doing chores, just wrapped in a blankie and wanting to be around you. Probably is always physically clinging to you whenever he can, even if it's just holding tightly to your shirt while you're making him dinner hehe

He really can't do anything while he's little.. you're gonna have to really be like his mommy and help him get dressed and make all his meals and give him a bath and put him to bed... hehe! He loves being taken care of.. ♡

LMK What you thought in the replies!! My askbox is always open ♡ I originally posted these on my regression blog, but I decided to make an account dedicated to mouthwashing, which is this acc! :))

[bearprofessorr]

chasing the stars.

being kind costs nothing, but earns you so much more than you could ever imagine.

ship: bfd!declan o'hara/fem!reader. tags/warnings: slow burn, alcohol mentions, panic attacks, fluff/comfort, no y/n. word count: 2.5k.

--- a/n: i've already written p2 and i'm just saying it is way slower development wise than i'm used to writing - however, it'll get there i promise <333. I'll edit it and get it up probably when im part way through p3 just to keep the flow of posts decently consistent (famous last words). enjoy <3

---

Declan was, as ever, stressed as fuck when he came back from work - barely stopping for a quick 'hello' before heading into his office and slamming the door shut behind him. You, as had become habit on a Friday night, were two glasses of white wine deep, cooking some new recipe with Taggie in the kitchen as a new years resolution the pair of you had made to broaden your taste palettes. Taggie was busy being a perfectionist measuring out the dough into the tray, and you - with no real intention one way or another - took the chance to peek your head around to check in on your best friend's dad. You disappeared from the kitchen with a quick, "Be right back, Tag." that was quietly acknowledged before she went back to adjusting the balls of dough. You lingered outside of the door, hearing the frustrated mutterings of the Corinium show host, hesitating before knocking lightly on the hardwood. The mutterings paused, and you heard the scratch of wood against wood, then heavy footfall until the door clicked open. Declan, expecting it to be his daughter, started to speak as the door opened, "Tag, look I'm - oh-" He paused, gathering himself in a fraction of a second, "Hey love, are you alright?" His voice softened from the slightly accusative tone he started with, eyebrows knitting together as he tried to read your neutral expression.

"Yeah no, I'm okay." You started, with Declan nodding along with a tired expression in his gaze. Your eyes dropped from his as you admitted, "I was actually coming to check in on you."

"There's no need for that, love." The nickname slipped so easily as he spoke to you, and you gathered he had no idea how close you held the endearment to your heart. "I'm alright, but thank you."

He stepped back from the doorway, going to close the door, and in a moment of confidence, you pressed your hand against it to stop the movement. "Are you sure? You don't look fine, if I must say, Mr. O'Hara."

Declan took a deep breath in at that, he had been caught, it seemed. He clicked his tongue before conceding, stepping back again to open the door of his office to you. "If you insist, I'll regale my troubles."

"Oh, I insist, I wouldn't be able to sleep without knowing what ails your soul." You joked as you walked into his office - the one place in the house that was wholly Declan. His books adorned the grand bookshelves on each wall, his work was stacked into haphazard but organised looking piles with sticky notes plastered over them, the whole room was quintessentially him. Even the scents of whiskey and lingering smoke made the room more like his. You almost felt like the room would start to push you out, with your flour covered skirt and light perfume made of peonies and vanilla acting like a magnet to repulse you from the space. Except, it drew you in, the one place in your best friend's house that it made sense you never spent any time in - apart from the obvious personal bedrooms of the house's other inhabitants.

"Make yourself comfortable, we might be here for a while." He smiled to himself, the weight on his shoulders lifting slightly with the mere concept of someone to share the burden with. Someone who he had never really spoken to in much depth - not counting the drunken talk of philosophy that he often fell into with whoever would listen. The door clicked shut behind him, walking past your to sit behind his desk, where he was already part way through a glass of whiskey - which if Taggie knew she would chastise him for, but she wasn't here.

"So, what's got you in more of a huff than usual?"

"What do you know about what's usual for me?"

"If I hadn't heard all of it from Taggie when I haven't been here, the past 3 weeks that I have been here when you come back from Corinium you've been in varying states of joy or outright despair." You shot back, which Declan silently responded with his tongue running along the the backs of his teeth, "Do you need me to repeat the question?"

"No, no, heard you loud and clear." Declan put a hand up in mock defeat, "I don't know how much has gotten to you about Tony Baddingham, but he was being even more of an arsehole than usual." He spat his bosses name out like it was rotten, even with the conversational tone of his words, "Gave the Thatcher interview to Veriker."

"James Veriker? The daytime show guy?" Your jaw dropped a fraction, enough for Declan to pick up on the visceral reaction it caused within you, "He could barely interview a chatterbox never mind the fucking PM."

"You're telling me." Declan bit back a scowl, feeling the tension rise in his jaw, reaching instinctively for the whiskey glass and taking a long sip. "Baddingham saw me as too much of a flight risk for 'handling' the woman 'cause I didn't want to ask about her fucking kids."

Declan took a deeper breath at that, the embers of his anger being sparked from where they had previously settled. You took that as your moment to comment, "He's not going to outshine what you could - and have done. It'll be considered monumental because it's independent TV, not because she got the true 'Declan' treatment - like she deserves."

"Right." The older man shook his head at the thought of James Veriker opposite the PM on his stage. "He won't stray from what's asked of him 'cause at the end of the day, he's Tony's lapdog."

"Didn't take you for being a gossip, Mr. O'Hara." You accused playfully at the insinuation, finally getting comfortable in your seat.

"Please, love, you can call me Declan. No need for the respectful parent shit around here, alright?" Again with the endearment, you could at least write off the smile that immediately plastered across your features as being from getting to first name basis with your friend's dad.

"Noted, Declan." To stop the fluttering in your chest, you tried your best to steer the conversation back to why you came here in the first place, "Is that really all it takes to get you in such a storm? Correct me if I'm wrong, of course, but there has to be something else."

"Well then, you should consider journalism with an instinct like that." Declan deflected, looking from you to the swirl of amber liquid in the centre of his glass, hesitating to even form the next sentence in his head - since then he would have to acknowledge it's truth. Regardless, you were ruthless, poking him again.

"So there is something?" You assumed it was some secondary work troubles, something else infuriating about another one of his co-workers that lingered in the after hours of his workday. What you didn't immediately catch onto was how he had nearly frozen on the other side of the desk, biting the inside of his cheek, breathing deep to hold back the emotion that had bubbled to the surface.

As soon as you did, though, you stood from your chair, raced around the other side of the desk to try and comfort him, unsure entirely of how to proceed, what was appropriate to do when your best friend's dad was close to breaking down in front of you. "Hey, hey," You tried to get his attention, his eyes flickered to the sound of your voice but he was still frozen, "Look, I get that you might not want to tell me - is there someone I can call? Maybe Rupert? I know he lives just across the field-"

"It's alright, love, I-" His voice choked up, jaw tensing his mouth shut as his lip quivered. Now that you were closer you could see the tears pilling up on his waterline, threatening to break the barrier and fall down his cheek. The gloss of his eyes only made them look younger, his deep brown irises reflecting the golden light of the room.

"Declan?" Your voice was quiet, having lost all power and confidence it had when you walked into the room compared to now, "If you need me to go, I can. I'm sorry if I overstepped at all."

You waited a moment for a response, but as you leant yourself off of his desk, his hand came out to reach for your arm, his hold noncommittal. The silent agreement between you was clear, even if he didn't want to speak, he really did not want to be alone. He still didn't say a word to you, but he turned his head to meet your gaze, looking up at you with his doe-like eyes. That was enough for you to rest back on the edge of his desk, adjusting your own arm so his hand slid into yours. It wasn't meant as a romantic gesture, your fingers weren't intertwined at all, it was just for the reassurance that you were here, and you cared for him. You squeezed his hand once, a sympathetic look in your eyes matched with an upside-down smile.

The soundscape of the outdoors replaced your conversation, the archetypal noise of the countryside, the rustling of leaves and choirs of chirps as the sun dipped below the horizon, coating the sky in shades of pink and orange. You both stayed as you were for minutes, until Declan broke the silence with a quiet admission, "I- you can't tell Tag about this," He prefaced, waiting for you to acknowledge it, as much as it would hurt your to hide anything from your best friend, it was necessary in the moment. He took a purposeful breath, "Her mother and I, you probably know from Tag it's not been the best as of recent."

You nodded, still holding his hand.

"I have a feeling, that if nothing changes, it won't get any better - if you catch my meaning." His voice was solemn, one admitting defeat in a war instead of the typical talk of a long-term relationship like his with Maud. "And, I don't think I can change anymore."

It was your turn to sit and process, as Declan stared into the middle distance, loosely focused on the door; While his other hand came up to cover the bottom half of his face, realisation settling in. Your gaze was set out of the window behind the desk, in front of you, watching the world pass by as your mind raced. You couldn't tell Taggie, never mind if Declan hadn't made you promise not to, it simply wasn't your place to break that type of news to her, no matter how close you two were. The only other thought at the forefront of your mind was how to help Declan relax, how to calm him down, get him out of the spiral he was at the precipice of throwing himself into the centre of. If it was anyone else, you would take them out on the town, forget over a bottle of wine and music loud enough to drown out their thoughts. Although, you assumed from Declan's general introverted personal life that a rowdy club would be the last place he wanted to be in this kind of state. Instead, you did the logical thing, since your own mind had run dry of ideas.

"How can I help?" You suggested, not realising that at some point, Declan's gaze had moved from the door to you, for long enough that when you looked down to get his attention, it was already fixed on you.

"A distraction would be nice."

"Like a story?"

"If you've got one."

"Yeah, it's probably all going to seem petty to you, but they're the only ones I've got of any interest, unfortunately."

"Go ahead."

You regaled some bygone tale of a schoolfriend's suspension, all the way from your young teen days but still fresh in your mind and still just as scandalous. You became more animated the more you got into the story, your hand slipping away from his to gesture excitedly about the chase around the school grounds that your friend was involved in, with teachers and students trailing behind to watch as it all unfolded. Your eyes were rushing around the room, never settling, so you couldn't see the fondness in Declan's eyes as he watched you speak, and how quickly it helped him forget about his own troubles simply by the guidance of your voice. "And then," You paused, overcome with laughter at the memory. "Then," you gathered yourself, looking to Declan to reach the apex of the story, "She got stuck on the fence while she tried to climb over it, and had to get the fire brigade in to cut her out!"

"That's…" Declan chuckled alongside you, "And you said you went to an all girl's school?"

"Mhm!" you agreed, "The amount of crazy stuff that went down in that place, you'd think it was a TV show sometimes."

"If what you've just told me is anything to go by, I might just have to agree with you there, love." He paused, thinking on the details of the story, "Are you still friends with this girl?"

"No, no not really," You shook your head, appreciating the last warm embers of the sun as it fully disappeared out of view, "I hear about her and her lot every so often, some new escapade they've gotten wrapped up in, or old stories that finally get all the details filled in."

Declan nodded along as you spoke, his voice softer but with a clearer tiredness underneath, "Like a cold case, then? Those always fascinated me, keeping tabs on seemingly dead ends just for the hope of a revitalisation."

You made an affirmative sound, letting the conversation fall into a lull as you took in a deeper breath, appreciating the serenity of the moment, breaking the silence with a quiet, "Are you feeling better?"

He muttered a small 'yeah' following it up with a sincere, "Thank you, love."

"It's no worry, you needed it, and it cost me nothing to help - so why wouldn't I?"

"You're a selfless girl, honestly." He smiled to himself, the pull on his heartstrings a problem to deal with later, "Tag is lucky to have you."

"Speaking of!" The time had been lost on you, a part of you was sad to have to leave, but there was only so long before Taggie would get concerned of your absence, "I should go check if she needs any help finishing off the food."

Declan gave a polite smile as you got up from the desk, brushed off your skirt, leaving a small puff of flour in it's wake and rushed off to the kitchen, not before pausing at the door for a moment, turning back to Declan and letting him know, "I'll poke my head round once they're ready, if you're still here."

"I will be, thank you."

[daisyishedwig]

I was tagged by @bitbybitwrites and I'm so excited to get back into writing this year. Last year I set a crazy reading goal for myself and did almost nothing else, but this year I want to get back into my other hobbies, writing especially, so hopefully you'll see more of these!

This is from a little something I've been messing around with, it doesn't have a title yet, but it's currently labeled as "Ghost!Blaine AU" in my files.

The second time Sebastian brought a boy home they made it all the way to the bedroom before he heard a loud crash from the kitchen and had to pull himself away from the tangle of limbs to investigate. All of his cabinets were open and the contents had been dumped on the floor. Bowls, plates, cups, food, all of it. The boy was standing in the middle of it, looking shaky and breathing heavily. 

“Out,” he barked, and it was the first time Sebastian had ever heard him speak. His eyes flickered with rage and when all the lights went out, Sebastian’s date, once again, ran for the hills. 

Sebastian closed the door behind him and leaned against it heavily for a moment before he steeled himself and moved swiftly to his room. Rifling through the few unpacked boxes in his closet he retrieved a small but ornate box and a rosary. He stalked back to the kitchen and walked right up to the boy still standing among the wreckage, his shoes crunching on broken glass.

“Do you know what this is?” Sebastian asked, presenting the box. The boy startled back a few steps when Sebastian locked eyes with him. The lights flickered with the boy’s unsteady breathing. 

“I-I–”

“It’s a sealing box, currently empty, purchased the day I signed the lease to this place.”

The boy’s eyes were wide and terrified. He backed up a few more paces but Sebastian followed until he was backed into the cabinet behind him, his back bent at an awkward angle as he tried to lean further away from Sebastian, but all that did was give Sebastian more height to tower over the cowering ghost. 

“It’s a lot of work to exoricse a spirit, work I wasn’t particularly keen on doing when you seemed harmless, but now?”

“I’m-I’m sorry,” the boy said, his voice nearly a whimper.

“Do I have to use it? Or can you keep your blatant homophobia in check?” 

“Im not… that’s not–”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him but he wouldn’t meet Sebastian’s expectant stare. 

“It won’t happen again,” he said softly. 

“Good,” Sebastian said sharply. 

He opened the box and dropped the rosary back inside before setting it on the counter. The boy flinched but didn’t do more than straighten up when Sebastian moved away from him.

This week I'll tag @calsvoid, @lusthurts, @kurtsascot, @sperrywink, @fallevs

@shame-is-a-wasted-emotion, @wowbright, @lady-divine-writes, @backslashdelta, @cryscendo

@katyobsesses, @leydhawk, @polvmetis,

@andersonsmythe, @sandy1907, @andyandersmythe, @annepi-blog, and @kayla6

and anyone else who wants to participate!

[nyancat11122]

A dream - Happy Belated Birthday, Genya

okay so i know im late and that his birthday was a week ago, but i love to procrastinate (also exams had me in a vice grip these past few months so im really sad i havent gotten to posting!)

tags: heavy spoilers for demon slayer manga epilogue, like REALLY big spoilers, and shinazugawa brother angst. Word count of 800

A dream. A dream where Aniki visited me. Talked to me. Smiled at me without the hatred lingering behind it. A smile where it showed I was his brother. 

Suppose it was only a dream, though. Only a birthday. He was still in the butterfly mansion, making a fool out himself, shoulders always hunched a little too forward, enough to cancel out his burly build. Or so Mr. Himejima had said. 

Genya counted the days he spent without his beloved brother. A little under 1688 days, equalling to five birthdays. A gag gift was what he received from Shinobu, the head of the manor. He was shocked the lady had remembered in the first place. It didn't feel like a simple gag gift to him. 

A calendar and a diary. The words didn't go one ear out the other this time, and the insect pillar even looked a little… Melancholy. As if she was reminiscent of her own younger days when she had kept one, back when she wasn’t the head of the butterfly manor. (which had felt forever ago to her, he had learned.)  He accepted the gift, but not without fumbling over enough  “thank you’s” for Kocho to giggle and leave him be. 

The items were stashed safely in the drawer next to the plush bed he lay in, quietly looking over the calendar to see when he’d be discharged. The younger Shinazugawa was hesitant to ink anything in his new diary just yet. So he’d leave it until there wasn’t an annoying trio of younger boys constantly bustling around him as if Genya ever liked them. 

It only clued him on who he’d write about second, Sanemi being first. 

his hands cramped with training from earlier, but that didn't stop him from immediately reaching for the crisp and fresh new journal, brush in hand and dabbing a bit of ink onto the first page. He thought about his brother. The dirty looks Kocho gave him. The trial he faced against Hashira. Himejima’s brutal training. The feeling of the soft dirt underneath his fingertips while treating those bonsai trees. The sound oud ass gun currently stashed securely on his hip. The taste of demons. 

That sour, bitter taste of flesh that was not akin to animal meat nor human (not that he’d know what human tastes like.) It brought him back full circle to the odd Kamado siblings, one a demon and one a human. Which names he did dare to say in the confinements of his diary, nothing good. The words dripped with jealousy and envy. But that was information that nobody would get out of him; as long as his older brother avoided him. 

With the first few pages, Genya counted himself lucky. There was no need for a lock on this thing like other diaries. Hell, he could barely read his own words. They might have thought it was Genya’s own crow that used their beak to write, pecking each word on the page. He would never consider himself much of a writer. Only in solitude, where he could pour his heart out onto paper through the dark ink, hiding behind that leather journal. 

—------------------------------

“Ah, Mr. Shinazugawa, you're awake sooner than expected.” Politely, Aoi gave a bow of her head at his bedside. Clouded lavender eyes drifted to the dark wooden box held tightly to her chest, her fingers straining so hard against the damn thing he wondered if she was trying to break it. 

Sanemi let out a noise somewhere between a grumble and hum. “What's in it?” 

The box soon dropped in his lap, startling him with the massive weight he was not prepared for, and the jostled noise that came within it. Aoi, ridden with grief herself, scurried off to tend to another to busy herself. Possibly Tomioka, who was still trying to get up despite his back injury. 

He popped open the top of the box, eyes widening in confusion from what was inside. A calendar and a diary. They seemed used, by the looks of the diary’s spine being broken straight down the middle. In half. Blotches all over the cover of it. The calendar was clearly marked and left last in December of last year. It was spring, according to the blossoming tree located right outside of the window hovering over Sanemi’s bed. 

The former pillar was at a loss, reaching into and grabbing the small book, flipping to a random page. 

Fuck. 

It was Genya’s. His little brother's shitty handwriting and even shittier way of words. Sanemi could scarcely bring his eyes to even skim through it. It was a problem he’d face once the wounds were not so fresh. This wasn't a world he needed to torture himself anymore, Sanemi told himself, trying to calm his racing heart and the dread that squeezed his throat. His own blood began to burn his skin. It was as if his own mind tried to block out the overwhelming guilt that erupted at the mere sight. 

Sanemi had once told himself that no words Genya ever told him would hurt him. Not even the disastrous insult his precious little brother cried out while holding their fading, dead mother. No – He had instantly forgave him, despite the words in his brother's diary that said otherwise. 

These words certainly did hurt. 

[anime-scarves]

Ok. So. Cocaine Bear was actually hilarious. I hadn't seen any of the promotional material and just knew that I needed to see a movie about the time a bear ate a bunch of cocaine. By all accounts this was actually a good thing because apparently the trailers and ads really hype it up as this amazing movie that's gonna be better than everything. And it's just not. And that's ok.

What it is, is a hilarious comedy slasher where the slasher is a bear zonked out of its mind on cocaine. A lot of the comedy was genuinely funny and they knew exactly what they wanted the movie to be. It's not going to win awards, but it's going to make you laugh a lot and have a good time.

[linkedin-offficial]

local full time technician gets alot more than she bargained for, more at 8

some stuff for dragons in my flight rising lore! sirko runs a circus on the outskirts of hyrule, and pipimi unfortunately gets wrapped up in the places hijinks after being hired by them to be a full time technician.

more details under the cut!

like stated previously, sirko is the ringleader of a circus called "the sensational sunset circus", popular for its sunset aesthetic and plethora of attractions. pipimi was attracted to this job offer because she was looking for an excuse to get away and leave her old life behind. so, she applied, and the moment she arrived, she was adorned with compliments and attention. to her suprise, she was the only new hire theyve had in years. and the longer she stays, shes grows quite certain she knows exactly why.

(and yes, the tadc parallels are apparent .. oops 😭 my brain loves to unconsciously attach my hyperfixations to eachother)

all of the members of this circus are very different and have quite striking personalities. the current list of the living (excluding sirko and pipimi) is as follows :

mowbray - (he/him ; sibling and right hand man to sirko) a fairly lax individual most of the time. one of the few of them with a braincell. can usually tolerate most things but can very easily snap if you bother him enough. friends with pipimi solely because they both are somewhat smart enough to not go insane immediately.

holiday - (she/her ; makeup artist and costume designer) fairly laid back and super duper chill, and easily one of the sweeter members of the circus. she doesnt hesitate to bring others up in mood and try to help where she can.

she has a .. "special connection" with pipimi, letting her call her 'holly', and visiting her often. she says its just because of how often her clothes tear, but most of the other members speculate other .. interesting reasons.

jaxton - (he/him ; That asshole) probably the one guy who most likely wouldnt lay down his life for pipimi. he constantly bullies her, teasing her at every chance he gets.

when he isnt messing with her though, hes trying out new tricks to impress the locals and maybe scam some out of their money. hes tried countless times to help his fellow coworker iskam try and become better at her scam artistry, but iskam certainly isnt smart enough for his precious arts. what a shame.

iskam - (she/he/they ; "future seer" vendor) a particularly clueless individual, he enjoys trying his hardest to predict others futures, genuinely believing hes right when in reality, she just makes things up. the money is just a bonus to her endeavors. couldn't count to 100 if you asked.

on the plus side, they like the company of pipimi, mostly because she tries really hard not to hurt others feelings. pipimi knows iskam is wrong, but wont say it.

pakwan - (she/they ; resident dumpster fish) somehow more clueless than iskam, but still just as cheerful. she enjoys a melon snack more than anything in the world. well, not really. she enjoys pipimi's company more than anything else, and often accidentally splashes her with water with excitement when pip comes by.

she loves doing tricks, especially for pipimi. pipimi loves to listen to pakwan ramble about her day. in a sort of mutual peace of mind, kinda way.

mang - (he/it ; horrible little rat bastard thief) being small and cunning has its advantages, and mang uses them well. known to be the local thief of the circus, it takes every opportunity he can to sneak about and steal anything he can fit into his pockets. if you can get on his good side however, youll never lose another key again. because of this, it quite likes pipimi.

halimaw - (he/they ; the beast of the basement) dangerous and cunning. halimaw is sly with his words but bumbly and outrageous at the same time. large and un-anxious, he wont hesitate to bite your head off if you refuse to listen to him. gets what he wants, and when he doesnt, he takes by force. these are primarily reasons why he was locked down there. better safe than sorry.

saya - (she/her ; sister to holiday and ex-partner to halimaw) very reserved and almost acts as a mediator. she values her dance skills VERY seriously and considers dance the ultimate art, much to her sisters dismay. they dont fight about it however, and they are quite close.

anyway, thats it for now!

ill probably be talking about these 10 sometime in the future but for now have this !! i love thinking about them and they mean alot to me <3 circus freaks

[lovesickeros]

☆ words better left unsaid

{☆} characters zhongli {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere {☆} word count 0.4k

He sits as still as a marble statue, a moment in time – of power, of the singing of metal against metal that fills his ears, of the smell of blood so heavy he can still vividly remember it, even now – he had long since left behind, carved into stone.

You, on the contrary, are not so still. Your hands caress his body like you are a painter creating stroke after stroke with your brush – up the curve of his horns, mindful of the sharp point, down to the scales of his cheeks and the sharp, jagged edges of his teeth that barely fit in a jaw not made for them.

And he let's you – oh how he lets you. He does not think there is anything in the world he could deny you.

He dares not breathe, fearing it will shatter this moment in such a way that he will never get it back. He is not meant to be a living being, in this moment – he is no Archon, nor even the mortal Zhongli. He is the canvas of which you paint your masterpiece with wandering hands that leave goosebumps on his skin.

And what a feeling it is. Euphoria, he thinks, is an apt description – yet at the same time nothing can truly put a word to the feeling of the Creators gaze falling upon him and him alone, to know your touch and to hear your voice.

His body cramps and aches at holding the position for so long, but it is so easy to ignore, so easily drowned out by the waves of adoration that swells in his chest. It is so very easy to ignore the way his body protests when your hands cup his face, and he feels like he must be the luckiest man in the world.

It is so very easy to forget everything when you are so close he can feel your breath against his lips – so easy to forget that he should stay still when he coils his tail around your waist, his arms encircling your back – mindful of his claws.

There is no word to describe the feeling of your lips, the warmth and softness with which you look at him in the moments before your eyes close, the feeling of your body and his entwined like you were never meant to be apart. He does not even try to put it into words – his actions will do it instead.

And perhaps you will not recognize the possessiveness with which he holds you, but that's alright.

He has all the time in the world.

And so will you.

[python333]

task force 141 reacting to [reader] telling them corny jokes during a mission — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the title says, tf141 reacts to you telling them some corny dad jokes during a mission!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], bad jokes.

note ME AND MY 23 FOLLOWERS ARE STRAIGHT CHILLING RN. i love all of u. anyway gaz is in this one!! yippee!! i thought about ghost and his jokes in that one part of one of the cod games idk ive never played them i watch other people play it but you guys know what im talking about. i also just figured out that i should probably specify gender neutral reader for my fics?? so i'll start doing that! ANYWAY enjoy!! this is all fluff and has some classic tired parent & hyper toddler energy in the first part :}

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ insert exasperated sigh here.

➥ he will let you keep telling him jokes, however he will only respond to them with a simple, tired, “Uh huh. Good one. Very funny. Nice one.”

➥ tired dad energy.

➥ the first one you told was okay. he laughed at that one. the tenth one? please, god, just stop talking and put him out of his misery.

➥ he wonders how you know so many jokes, and then wonders if you got them all from ghost.

➥ if you did get them from ghost, trust that he will be telling the man himself all about how you constantly told him bad jokes over comms.

➥ if you just happen to know all of these, he won’t be surprised.

➥ he’ll put up with all of the jokes, for your sake, of course.

➥ the first time this happens, you’re both on a pretty insignificant mission compared to other ones you’ve done.

➥ you’re both talking over comms, just making sure you’re both okay.

➥ that’s when you started your attack.

—

“Captain?” You’d asked, listening as Price hummed in acknowledgment of you talking, “Wanna hear a joke?”

You could practically hear his hesitation, before he responded with a tentative, almost scared, “... Sure, [c/n].”

A delighted grin split across your face as you asked him, “How does dry skin affect you at work?”

He thought for a moment before asking, “How?”

“You don’t have any elbow grease to put into it.” You heard Price give a small chuckle, and decided to ask, “Wanna hear another one?”

Price’s second mistake of the evening, “Sure.”

“Where do boats go when they’re sick?” You asked, still keeping a lookout on your surroundings on your end while focusing on telling your Captain shitty jokes.

“Where?” Price asked.

“To the boat doc.” It took Price a moment, before he huffed out a small laugh and muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “Jesus, that’s terrible.”

Without warning, you tell him another one. He asks why, when, how, or what, whichever was appropriate for the joke you told, and slowly but surely his questioning tone became tired and exasperated. You don’t know why, but somehow his miserable tone made you even more motivated to tell him corny jokes.

“Do you just… memorize all of these?” Price asked in the middle of you telling a new joke, sounding almost astonished.

“Yes I do. Just for these missions, I do,” You answered confidently, smiling when Price sighed. You continued on with your joke, and even though Price didn’t respond verbally, you still told the punch line. You had repeated this for at least ten minutes, all of those minutes appallingly slow to Price, the poor man having to endure your bullshit for such a short yet such a long time. At the tenth minute, the only thing that stopped you from continuing was Gaz’s voice coming on over comms and interrupting you, telling everyone else on the mission that they could head back to the rendezvous point. Price, relieved at the interruption, gave a thankful sigh and you could hear him getting up from his spot before he muted himself.

You sighed as well, yours a direct opposite of Prices, full of disappointment, but you let it go. Besides, you’ll always have more opportunities to terrorize Price with your jokes on the ride back to base!

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ he has the same reaction he had with ghost telling him corny jokes.

➥ he’ll call your jokes terrible, but will still laugh at them somehow.

➥ will 100% put up with your jokes, will laugh every time, even if his laughter slowly becomes more and more strained, he’ll laugh.

➥ tells you some jokes back, but after your 4th joke, he gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ he will suffer for your entertainment, guaranteed.

➥ he will be sure to remind you of how terrible your jokes are though!!

➥ he’s honestly impressed by how many jokes you’ve memorized.

➥ he’ll happily support you doing this to other people, no matter how much it damages his soul when you do it to him.

➥ the first time you do it to him, he starts getting deja vu from when ghost did it to him.

➥ “Oh, God, no’ ye too,” he’d groan playfully the moment you start telling him jokes, getting flashbacks.

➥ enjoys your jokes, even if he would do anything for you to shut up, he still enjoys them.

—

You and Soap were camping out in the same spot—atop a roof of a tall building that was just tall enough to give you a view of practically every other building in the area as well as the ground. It was cold up there, the air so cold that every time you’d exhaled, your breath turned to white condensation before fading into the clear sky.

It was fair to say that you and Soap were fairly bothered by the cold, so you really had no other option, you just had to start telling your jokes. How else could you warm the both of you up? Sure, it wouldn’t do anything physically, but mentally? It was sure to practically melt Soap’s brain.

“Soap?” Soap hummed and looked over at you, “Wanna hear a joke?”

Soap smiled, and decided to humor you, “Sure. Joke ‘way.”

“Why couldn’t the bike stand up by itself?” You asked, turning fully towards Soap. He didn’t bother to think before asking, “Why?”

“Because it was two-tired.” It took him a moment, but eventually he huffed out a small laugh and nodded.

“No’ bad,” He’d hummed, “Want me to say one?”

“Go ahead.”

“How did vikings communicate with one another?” Soap asked, turning fully towards you in turn.

“How?”

“By Norse code,” Soap had said with a grin on his face, clearly proud of the joke. You laughed quietly at it.

Without asking, you tell another joke. “Why did the bed wear a disguise?”

“Why?”

“It was undercover.”

Soap chuckled and turned back down to the ground, assuming you were done. But, oh boy, did he assume wrong. You told another one. He asked for the punchline. You delivered. You told another. He asked again. You delivered, again. Can you recall just how many jokes you told that fateful night? No. Does that make the memory any less funny to look back on? No.

Soap’s expression slowly turned to one of misery, his laughter becoming strained and slowly coming to a stop, the light in his eyes fading away as God himself seemed to appear behind you and reassure him that it would all be over soon. God, how he wished that were true.

Soon enough, you were both told over comms that you were able to safely make it back to the rendezvous point, and Soap couldn’t be happier.

He let you tell him more jokes during the walk over there, of course, and made sure to tell you how awful they were, but still endured them for your sake.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ it’s like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life.

➥ he’ll put up with your jokes and will tell you a joke back every single time.

➥ at some point you guys will probably use a joke on each other that the other one told you.

➥ he actively enjoys the joke-telling.

➥ he probably tells the first joke and that’s what triggers you to tell him your own.

➥ he’s annoyed soap, gaz, price, and a few others with his jokes, yet you’re the first one to go back and forth with him.

➥ every time you tell him one he’ll make a mental note of it and remember it for annoying people on future missions.

➥ probably thinks some of the jokes are genuinely funny but still knows that it annoys people.

➥ if you tell him a corny joke related to ghosts, he’ll probably laugh more.

➥ i am aware that that is pretty corny in itself but look at the title man what did you expect.

➥ he’ll probably tell some jokes about your [c/n] to you back.

➥ he’ll know when you’re reusing a joke and calls you out on it.

➥ “Does this require more creativity than you expected, [c/n]?”

➥ [in a perfect imitation of matpat’s voice] i find his jokes delightful! [in regular voice, now whispering as if scared i’m going to get caught by ghost saying this] i’m lying. he’s my fictional father figure so i am very much obligated to enjoy his jokes.

—

”[c/n], how copy?” You heard Ghost’s voice crackle through over comms, and pushed the PTT button on your small ear piece to respond.

“Copy, doing just fine,” You responded, “Little bored, if I’m gonna be honest.”

“Oh really?” Ghost breathed out, sounding amused. You could hear some gunfire on his end, and the wind his his earpiece making the annoying whoosh noise you hated. Just a few moments later, Ghost spoke up again, “Y’wanna hear a joke to ease your boredom?”

“Sure,” You’d hummed, looking around to make sure you were still safe to just stay where you were and chat for a moment.

“What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back?” Ghost asked, his voice dry and sarcastic. You thought for a moment before shrugging—even though he couldn’t see you—and asking, “What?”

“A stick.” Ghost delivered. The stupid joke made you huff out a small laugh and mutter under your breath something about how good it was, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically hear Ghost’s self-satisfied smile.

“Another?” Ghost offered.

“How about I tell one?”

“Alright. Go ‘head.”

“How do ghosts stay in shape?” You asked, listening to Ghost’s amused huff on the other end of the line, like he knew where you were going with the joke but decided not to say the punch line for you.

“How?”

“They exorcize,” You responded, grinning, proud of yourself for thinking of that one.

“That’s not bad,” Ghost hummed, “Not bad at all.”

Ghost stayed quiet for another moment before asking, “Where do fish keep their money?”

“Where?”

“In a river bank,” Ghost said, his smile almost audible in his words.

“Nice one, L.t,” You breathed out, laughing quietly.

“We could do this all night,” Ghost mused, oddly happy at the sound of your quiet laughter, a little rustling audible on his end.

“Is that a challenge?” You asked in response to his musings, to which Ghost responds with a simple, affirmative hum. You think for a moment, before asking, “Why can’t a leopard hide?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s always spotted.”

Ghost hummed, mentally writing that one down before asking, “Why did the scarecrow get an award?”

“Why?”

“Because he was outstanding in his field,” Ghost delivered. With each joke you cringed more, and yet you kept responding with the same bullshit. The two of you went back and forth with the shitty jokes, eliciting responses from each other like, “That’s a good one,” or, “God, that’s awful.” It really had no in between, it was one or the other.

Eventually, and just in time because you were beginning to run out of jokes, Price’s voice crackled through over comms, letting you both know that everything was now under control and gave you both the coordinates for the rendezvous point. Before you get up from your spot, you can hear Ghost asking Price, “Wanna hear a joke?”, and Price’s quick response of, “I’m good”, the quick interaction making you laugh quietly.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” You muttered, voice full of amusement.

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Ghost huffed out, chuckling quietly when Price groaned and muted himself.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ he just gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ i’m actually in full belief that he’ll just let you tell jokes and won’t even respond.

➥ if y’all are in the same spot, he’ll just stare at you in astonished silence, wondering how you know all of this and also wondering if he’ll make it out of this alive.

➥ i think he’s lovely, i also think that he would just let you do whatever.

➥ it’s like an older brother participating in his younger sibling’s tea party with their stuffed animals and bright pink plastic tea cups and fake tea.

➥ he considers taking out his earpiece but then realizes that that’s a bad idea so he just suffers through it.

➥ surprisingly, it’s easy to focus on his tasks even with your voice in the background.

➥ he’s only heard of ghost’s shitty jokes, and thinks that this might be worse, somehow.

➥ i mean, it’s not like he can’t ignore it, but he feels kind of bad that he does.

➥ he hums every now and then to remind you that he’s listening but he’s too caught up in pretending to listen to actually listen.

➥ when the mission’s over and you eventually stop telling your jokes he realizes how quiet it is without your voice in the background laughing at your own jokes.

—

“Why do bees have sticky hair?” You asked, this being about your twentieth joke of that evening. Gaz hummed in response, tone questioning, and you delivered the punch line, “Because they use a honeycomb.”

Gaz didn’t pay much attention to any of your punchlines, really just letting you get all of this out of your system, figuring that if you didn’t do it now it’d happen to some poor soul later. He accepted his fate early on, the moment you told your third dad joke, he knew it wouldn’t end. Call it a sixth sense of his, knowing when you’d be persistent in your quest to annoy every member of the 141, but he just knew.

“Where do surfers learn to surf?” You asked, giggling quietly at your own joke, despite the punchline being stupid. Gaz didn’t even respond, yet you still delivered, “At boarding school.”

Gaz considers taking his earpiece out for a moment, then thinks again and decides it’s probably better not to, knowing Price’s voice could crackle through into the earpiece and let you both know to head to the rendezvous point. Sighing quietly, he continued to look around him, scanning the area as he walked around, making sure no enemies were left alive. Your voice still hummed in the background, the sound becoming more normal to him and less distracting.

“Why did the tourists feel disappointed after seeing the Liberty Bell?” No response from Gaz. “Because it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“What do rabbits need after getting caught in the rain?” A small, questioning hum. “A hare dryer.”

You continued to tell your jokes, and in the middle of one, Gaz interrupted.

“Y’know,” He started, “If you didn’t already have a call sign, we’d be calling you Jester.”

“I’d love to go by Jester,” You laughed quietly, lightly, “I feel like it’d be more fitting.”

“Probably, yeah,” Gaz chuckled quietly, about to say something else before Price’s voice came through over comms and let you both know to head over to the rendezvous point. After you stop telling your jokes and mute yourself, Gaz can’t help but notice how quiet it becomes.

He got a bit too used to your voice, it seems. He muted himself and sighed, pulling up the coordinates to the rendezvous point and heading over there.

[chirpingchorus]

> looking for an fma 03 fic > ask author if their fic is 03 or mangahood > they don't understand > pull out an illustrated diagram explaining what is 03 and what is mangahood > they laugh and say "it's both, ma'am" > read the fic > it's mangahood

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

OH MY DESTINY, HOW FAR YOU HAVE SPRUNG NOW ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru gojo goes north.

word count; 5.3k

contents; satoru gojo, canon divergence, HEAVY jjk spoilers (for chapter 236!! but also kinda 237), fix-it fic, me coping w/ the manga for 5k words straight, canon-typical violence and death, implied stsg, probably non-canon compliant use of binding vows (but do i care? no), gojo satoru lives.

a/n; yeaaa this is literally just me coping <3 needed to write this for my mental health. he’s fine guys trust me

the experience is not altogether unfamiliar, on its own.

he’s felt it before. even now, he can still vividly recall it; a girl he failed to protect, a boy he failed to save. a man with a scar on his bottom lip.

that sickening numbness, as he lied in a pool of his own blood. sticking to his hair and tattered clothes, the colour red flooding his subconscious. that cold, cold sensation — a jarring shift, chilling and ruthless, going from everything to nothing. tiptoeing the line between life and death. 

emptiness. sinking deeper into the abyss, that all-enveloping darkness. that awful feeling of pure helplessness.

(he could never forget it.)

back then, though, gojo is certain he didn’t feel this way. all he could think about twelve years ago was survival — clinging to the weak flutter of his heart, a dying butterfly. clawing his way up to the skies. anything to escape that harrowing sensation, a kind of desperation all humans feel in the face of certain death, spurring him on. but now —

he almost welcomes it. nearly content in its approach. it should frighten him, but it doesn’t.

through half-lidded eyes, vision blurred by sweat and blood and dust, gojo watches the sky.

it's beautiful, he thinks. as beautiful as ever. peaceful, unchanging, soothing in an eerie kind of way. that clear blue, fading a little at the corners as his muddled mind grows just a little darker, a little more fatigued. he can barely gather the strength to keep his eyelids open. 

yet he keeps his gaze on that endless sky, as if it’s all he’s ever known.

with every passing second, the world grows just a little more blurry. pale dots spread around the corners of his vision, like grains of stardust in an ever-expanding cosmos, clouding his senses. there’s a buzzing in his head that won’t go away. everything looks as if it's spinning, and he can barely tell left from right, north from south. everything is growing darker, so fast that it’s alarming, and gojo can’t seem to even think clearly.

but he can still see that blue, blue sky. bluer than he ever remembers it being. even as snow begins to fall, descending upon shinjuku as if bidding him farewell. the sky takes on a gray hue, but that shade of blue is still all gojo can see, as he takes shallow breaths and half-heartedly attempts to remain conscious. willing himself not to give in just yet, choking on his own blood. 

and it's an odd feeling, really. one he never thought he'd meet again, but here it is, it's back — and it's all-consuming. beckoning him into a place he’s never been before. the unknown. 

it's not scary. gojo doesn’t think he has it in him to feel fear, anymore. but it's a strange sensation, as death kisses its way up his neck, sending shivers down his spine; as the numbness spreads, devouring him whole.

it’s unknown. thoroughly and wholly. and that unknown is overwhelming, all-encompassing, it’s all he can see before him, it's —

ah.

gojo takes a deep breath. the air burns his lungs.

everything's ending, isn't it?

it would be so easy. to simply close his eyes, let them flutter shut as that all-encompassing sensation takes him down to earth. to allow himself to simply rest, for a moment. wouldn’t that be nice?

it would be so easy.

gojo watches the sky. it's all he can do. 

the numbness keeps spreading throughout every cell of his body. he can barely feel the blood trickling down his chin, or the harsh bite of the winter cold, his skin buzzing with ache. he can't feel his arms or his legs, and he knows exactly why. everything in the world is closing in on him and god, he just feels so fucking tired.

ah. ah. more darkness. more numbness.

everything and nothing, all at once. slipping away into oblivion. the snow keeps falling but he can't see anything, can't hear anything, can't feel anything, anything at all.

nothing. nothing. less than nothing.

— and then, suddenly, an airport.

"yo."

gojo blinks.

a boy. a boy with black hair, tied into a small bun. a dead boy. his best friend.

suguru stands before him, and he looks exactly the same as gojo remembers. young, bright, with those awkward bangs still hanging over his face. grinning boyishly, and greeting him with youthful cheer. 

gojo feels young, too, he realizes — the weight on his shoulders a little less heavy, the familiar black of his sunglasses obscuring his vision. but he can still see the flicker of suguru’s cursed energy clear as day. as if it never left him.

feigning a mild displeasure, gojo makes a face. he hears himself speak, but his mind and six eyes continue to spin in circles, trying to comprehend the sight in front of him. trying to make it understandable, figure out what’s going on. 

but he doesn’t succeed. because it’s impossible to understand. and, really, that’s answer enough. 

huh.

so this is what the afterlife is like?

he inhales through his nose, basking in the clear air, and it doesn’t burn his lungs. his chest feels lighter than it’s been in years.

that seems a little too good to be true. 

"you’re kidding me. this sucks.”

suguru makes a kind of face like he’s pouting, plopping down in the seat right next to gojo’s. the white haired boy stretches his limbs out and huffs, pretending the sight in front of him doesn't send a tremor running through his very soul.

suguru continues to speak and gojo continues to listen, all while observing the scenery in front of him.

the airport looks familiar. through the glass windows he can see a glimmer of the blue sky, and a plane waiting to take flight into the clouds. the air smells of summer and jet fuel and new beginnings. it’s pleasantly cool, a light breeze caressing his skin and coaxing a hum from the confines of his throat. 

(he remembers this airport. remembers having his arms full of vending machine snacks, trailing after suguru as he dealt with all the annoying technicalities. amanai was there, too, watching a plane soar up into the sky with childlike wonder. a little anxious, as she boarded the plane to okinawa, and then back to tokyo.

her first and last flight.)

suguru is there, right next to him, and he’s speaking. breathing. like something out of a dream, the kind that always haunts gojo in his sleep.

he breathes in, and then out. 

suguru is there. and not just him – nanami and haibara are, too. all young, all dead. all somehow breathing; he sees them inhale and he sees them exhale. he hears them speak and it’s like nothing ever changed. 

they speak of regrets, of south and of north. nanami doesn’t seem to regret a single thing, and gojo is glad. even yaga is there, he notices belatedly. even amanai, and her maid, and a certain man with a scar on his bottom lip. everyone all together again.

the airport buzzes with warmth. nostalgia, as suguru’s laughter rings in his ears. and gojo grins, in tandem, bright and childlike. wallowing in the tender atmosphere. 

the sight in front of his eyes is perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect. a glimmer of spring, one he never quite managed to forget. a vibrant flicker of blue, one he thought he’d lost forever.

his one and only blue spring of youth, right in front of his all-seeing eyes.

a little too good to be true.

with a sigh, gojo stretches idly, smiling a little to himself. his joints don’t ache, his head isn’t buzzing with fatigue, and his heart feels lighter than it's been in recent memory. 

“now i’m hoping this isn’t a dream,” he hears himself mutter, allowing his eyes to flutter shut at last. he can still see suguru’s cursed energy, and everyone else’s. he isn’t alone. what a nice thought. 

and it’s strange, gojo thinks. it really is. he’s dead. sukuna killed him. he’s dead, his remains are lying somewhere in the streets of shinjuku, and that should bother him. he should be punching the floor and screaming, cursing sukuna’s name with every fiber of his being — it should frighten him, the realization that everything has ended.

but it doesn’t. 

gojo isn’t afraid. and he isn’t upset, either. he bears no grudge against anyone, just like that day twelve years ago.

he’s with suguru, now, and his juniors. his old teacher. the people he cares for are with him, and the airport smells so nice. everyone is young, and happy, and none of them will ever have to kill or be killed again. 

calling it anything less than heaven would be doing it a disservice. 

gojo smiles, exhaling a relieved breath. one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding til now, stuck in the back of his throat for the past decade. a tiny thought makes it to the forefront of his brain, like a spring breeze flitting in through an open window.

like this, he thinks, i could die with no regrets.

“— except that’s not true.” a voice proclaims. “is it?”

gojo opens his eyes.

suguru looks at him. everything goes silent. everyone else has already gone blurry, a little faded, as if they aren’t what’s really important. as if the entire world has narrowed down to just this; him, and suguru, in the corner of an airport too precious for words. that one decisive slice of heaven. 

suguru opens his mouth, and speaks, and his voice has a finality to it that fills gojo with a mellow kind of dread. 

they look into each other’s eyes, and both know what’s coming.

“the students are outclassed.” suguru rests his chin on the heel of his palm. ”you said it yourself — sukuna wasn’t giving it his all when he fought you. he still has more than a couple cards up his sleeve, doesn’t he? like his incarnation.”

gojo listens to suguru speak, not saying a word.

“they’re no match for him,” he continues, unperturbed. “all of them are going to die. every single one.”

suguru leans back in his chair, still looking straight into gojo’s eyes. seeing through him, gaze filled with a certain sharpness. a little cruel, but there’s a kindness there, too. as if he’s simply ripping the band-aid off, trying to make it as painless as possible. 

he clicks his tongue.

“and you still haven’t buried my body, either.”

a moment passes. then two.

gojo smiles to himself, rueful. a little saddened. 

“.. damn,” he grins, weakly. leaning back in his chair, slumping against the soft leather. “couldn’t you have kept indulging me for just a bit longer?”

suguru smiles. a soft thing, in the flicker of the light. a little too good to be true. “sorry,” he chimes. “but the plane is leaving soon.”

as if on cue, the pa system sounds.

flight to okinawa; departing in nineteen minutes.

“it hasn’t left, yet,” suguru hums, and it sounds like an inevitability. ringing in gojo’s ears. “you know what that means, don’t you?”

he does. he does, but it still hurts. gojo looks into suguru’s eyes, and sees himself reflected in them — young, transparent. blue. fading, but not quite faded. not quite dead.

and maybe it’s to be expected. maybe he was just trying to delude himself into believing the alternative, into believing that an afterlife as sweet as this could really be waiting for him. maybe it was naive, a childish fantasy. 

but still —

”haah.” a heavy exhale, fatigued. gojo slumps even further into his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. running a hand through the soft strands of his hair. ”oh, gimme a break. and here i thought i could finally relax for once.”

a chuckle flows from suguru’s lips, amused. ”you aren’t the type to go down like that,” he murmurs. ”c’mon, satoru. there are still things you need to do.”

”how?” gojo scoffs. ”i’m split in half. and i’m too exhausted to use my reverse cursed technique.”

”eh,” suguru shrugs. ”you’ll manage.”

gojo shoots him a dubious look. ”you’re acting like it’s a papercut,” he huffs, crossing his arms. ”my guts are on the fuckin’ pavement.”

”oh, quit your complaining already," suguru rolls his eyes, and shoots him an accusatory glance. "i died with a hole through my chest. at least your heart is still intact.”

”i wanted to make it painless for you!”

”well, it hurt like a bitch. so thanks for that.”

gojo pouts, fighting back a smile. he thinks suguru must be doing the same. and it’s juvenile, a little twisted — but then again, weren’t they always?

suguru cocks his head. beckoning gojo into taking action. ”you’ve still got some fight left in you,” he says, and there’s a fondness to it. ”you always do.”

”get up, satoru.”

silence. unbroken, unperturbed. if he focuses enough, he thinks he can hear the distant buzzing of cicadas, the crinkling of soda cans. the whistling of the wind. placebos; memories ghosting his subconscious. 

it’s quiet, for a while. gojo stares into space, blinking slowly. then he parts his lips.

”suguru.”

the boy in question turns towards him. but gojo looks up, instead — eyes set on the roof, like he’s trying to see beyond it. into the comfort of the blue sky. 

suguru hums, a cue for him to follow. and gojo closes his eyes.

”i think… i might be tired.”

silence. no one says a thing.

”i think i’d prefer to stay here,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. tapping his fingers on his knee. ”in the past, like this.”

the scent of jet fuel and summer lies heavy in the air. gojo inhales it, greedy. as if savouring it. trying to make it a part of his being, filling his lungs with sweet nostalgia so it never goes away.

”we could just stay here. together,” he muses, barely above a whisper. there’s a kind of longing to the tilt of his voice, something soft. ”couldn’t we? never moving forward, or back.”

the words taste salty, on his tongue. an ocean breeze. a whisper; ”we could just stay like this.”

suguru’s gaze trails from satoru, down to his lap. his bangs follow the slow movement, silky strands falling over his eye. the chuckle that drifts from his lips doesn’t have much humour to it. 

”haha… you’ve never been the type to stay in one place for too long, satoru.”

gojo clenches his fist.

a moment passes.

”you want me to go back,” he hears himself say, somewhat bitter. ”you want me to go back, and then what? there’s nothing i can do. i’m not the strongest, anymore.”

”you are.” suguru’s voice is firm, decisive. ”you can still win. you know exactly what you need to do. there’s only one way to get out of this.”

gojo sighs. one hand in his hair, tousling it. mildly frustrated. ”… it’s risky.”

”you’re bleeding out.”

”if i do this — i won’t ever be the same.” gojo turns to look at suguru. ”i sure as hell won’t be the strongest, anymore.”

”and would that be such a bad thing?”

silence. the two boys look at each other — one dead, one half-alive, both connected to the other. for eternity. suguru’s eyes are full of understanding, as they look into the blue of satoru’s. 

”there’s always been a gap between you and everyone else. that’s what you said, before. aren’t you tired of it?”

a brief intake of breath. gojo closes his eyes.

that’s right. that aching gap. the solitude that comes with absolute strength — a weight he’s borne all his life. doomed never to connect with others, never to be understood. doomed to always live in the sky, far away from the earth and the ocean.

the title of the strongest. a cross he alone had to bear.

(did he ever really want it? or was he just resigned to it, conditioned from the very beginning?)

the feeling of isolation that’s been haunting him for decades seeps into his skin. the cruel knowledge that no one will ever truly know him; even worse, the knowledge that it’s all for the best. you can admire a flower, and help it bloom, but you can’t ask it to understand you.

such a cruel curse to be born with.

suguru’s voice fills his mind, his senses. the flicker of his cursed energy is gentle, like an ocean wave rolling in right before the sun sets. ”you said it yourself, satoru.” gojo can hear the smile in his voice. ”you love everyone.”

love. it always comes down to that, doesn't it? the greatest curse of them all.

(but he could never bring himself to fully throw it away.)

”there are still people waiting for you, out there,” suguru reminds him. and gojo knows that he’s right.

he still hasn’t buried suguru’s body. that thing is still inside his head, doing god knows what. and his students — they must be fighting sukuna, right now. if he’s lucky, no one’s dead yet. if he’s lucky. then there’s shoko, of course. and ijichi, everyone else from the school.

not just that — the world itself is waiting on him. waiting for him to pass on, so it can crumble away. waiting for him to make it, so he can stitch it back together. 

dying isn’t a luxury satoru gojo can afford. he knows that, he does, but —

(dammit.)

”suguru,” he starts, hesitant. voice more feeble than he ever remembers it sounding. almost childlike, in its uncertainty. “what… should i do, from here on out?” a beat. ”where should i go?”

suguru raises a single eyebrow, and then tilts his head. ”do you really need me to tell you that?” he asks, a little teasing. gojo’s reply is instantaneous.

”i do.”

the airport falls silent, again. 

”i’ll listen to you,” he elaborates, tapping the edge of his chair, absentminded. eyes shining with a glimmer of something awfully tender. ”so… it has to be you.”

suguru inhales, softly — fresh air wafting through his transparent lungs. breathing out in a meek chuckle, with a soft shake of his head. almost in disbelief. ”well, in that case…”

a smile. he meets gojo’s gaze. ”then i think you should go north.”

gojo looks into his eyes. a moment passes, slow, detached from space and time. a moment that matters more than anything. their eyes meet, and in suguru’s eyes, gojo sees a reflection of their youth.

what a shame.

”alrighty, then.”

placing his palms on his knees, the white haired man gets up from his seat. stretching his arms with a soft groan. a sigh flows from his lips, drifting out into the clear air. 

”so much for finally getting a vacation,” he huffs, frowning as he casts a jealous glance at his best friend. ”you dead people have it easy, you know that?”

suguru’s still smiling, but he’s not getting up from his seat. the pa system sounds, again. a little louder this time.

flight to okinawa; departing in six minutes.

a deep breath. air flows into his lungs, and then back out; soaking up the summer air he knows he’ll never quite get a taste of again. no summer will ever feel as warm as this one did.

suguru stays right where he is. young, dead. smiling. the same smile he wore when gojo killed him, framed by the setting sun. the same kind of sunset that’s beginning to form outside the translucent windows of the airport, nostalgic and sweet, dyeing the clouds in a soft pinkish hue.

it’s breathtaking. 

”will i see you?” gojo asks, before he can stop himself. eyes still stuck to the setting sun. ”when everything ends.”

…

suguru chuckles, once more. rueful. gojo thinks it sounds just a bit meek, a little like he’s holding back tears. ”maybe,” he breathes, shrugging halfheartedly. not meeting his eyes. ”who knows?”

it’s not the answer gojo wants to hear. but he’ll take what he can get.

and finally, suguru gets up. slowly, methodically. elegant, in the way he moves, the way he brushes non-existent dust off his baggy pants. smiling, hair swaying softly with the breeze. gojo finds his gaze, and that smile shifts into a lazy grin. one so distinctly suguru that it can’t possibly be just a figment of his imagination. 

”don’t find out too soon,” he quips, teasingly. ”alright?”

a slap. gojo doesn’t see it coming, and it knocks him forward — he stumbles slightly, lanky legs moving clumsily, sunglasses falling off at the impact. his back stings, a little. 

over his shoulder, he looks back at suguru. the boy has a hand raised, and his grin is playful, brimming with warmth. except he’s no longer a boy — now he’s wearing traditional robes, hair much longer, face a little more hardened. but that grin is still the same as ever. gojo thinks he looks almost proud.

”go get ’em, satoru.”

gojo blinks.

the grin that breaks out across his lips, then, is wide. bright, brimming with youth, lighting up every corner of his face. almost overwhelmingly sweet. it envelops his very being, as he stands there, clad in his black compression shirt and baggy pants. hair a little less messy than it was in high school, face a little more hardened — but he hopes his grin, at least, looks the same as ever.

he turns his back on suguru, and puffs out his chest. trying to hide the sappy smile still lingering on his lips, the glassiness of his eyes. his voice comes out loud, cheery, echoing throughout the airport — but still somehow so tender.

”roger that!”

gojo looks ahead. the airport is blurred, a little hazy, but a bright light shines farther up ahead. a beacon for him to follow, one that blinds him if he looks at it for too long. blue, white, golden — the colours of the sky. beckoning him forward, to a familiar place.

he takes one step north.

”ah, satoru. one more thing.”

the sound of suguru’s voice stops him in his tracks. ”hm?” gojo turns on his heel, white hair tousled by the soft breeze. a little confused. ”what is it now?”

suguru grins. the whole airport smells like spring. 

”—, — —.”

…

one long, tender moment passes by. gojo doesn’t even breathe, mouth falling open slightly, in a way that must look comical to the man in front of him.

the airport glimmers like a marble in the sun. transparent, blurred, but still somehow so real. suguru’s words echo in his mind. 

then gojo laughs, the sound bubbling up from his throat like seafoam on a scorching summer day. hearty and deep, coaxed out from the very bottom of his gut — genuine. a little breathless. he can’t wipe away the grin on his face, wouldn’t do it even if he could. his blue eyes crinkle, as he looks at suguru, showing off his dimples and teeth.

”so corny,” he teases. suguru rolls his eyes.

”hey, don’t blame me. this is your imagination.”

a huff slips from his lips. ”yeah, yeah…” gojo waves him off. then he meets his eyes, again, still grinning boyishly. ”i’ll hold you to that, okay?”

”got it,” suguru chirps. ”good luck out there, satoru.”

”pssh. who do you think you’re talking to?”

the men exchange smiles, one final time. funny, how that’s always how their story ends; with a heartfelt smile. even if it’s coated in blood, or nothing more than a figment of their imagination.

then gojo turns around, again, and takes a step forward. not looking back this time. trusting suguru to still be there, watching over him. like always.

the bright light at the end of the airport glimmers, tantalizing, mesmerizing. suguru is right — there’s only one way to get out of this. only one way to make it back alive.

and it’s risky. very much so. it’s a gamble, the greatest one gojo’s ever made, even worse than that time twelve years ago with the reverse cursed technique. 

it’s a gamble, all or nothing.

binding vows are dangerous, fickle things. built on equivalent exchange. give something and get something, of equal value. sacrifice and gain. 

gojo’s thought about it, before. a morbid curiosity.

what could he possibly gain by offering the greatest treasure of the jujutsu world? 

he lifts one hand up, to caress his face. lingering over the skin of his eyelids, now closed. but he can still see the cursed energy around him. burned into his retinas. 

the six eyes. the blessing of sight.

a blessing. a blessing he never once asked for, one he was simply born with. born with all this power, doomed to live above the rest. all for a pair of eyes that never seem to see the things that really matter.

and, really, it’s a gamble.

gojo takes a deep breath, and then one large step forward.

(buddha left the royal life behind him at 29 years of age, he recalls. and then he sought out enlightenment.)

the light comes closer, and closer. lotus flowers bless his path. he takes seven steps forward, and his path blooms out before him; one flower blooming by his feet for every step he takes. seven steps north.

i’ll give you everything, he speaks to the someone watching the world. a god, a natural order, himself — it doesn’t really matter. i’ll give you all six. 

in exchange — 

the light is close, now. so close he can almost touch it. it burns his skin, but he doesn’t falter. he doesn’t look away, eyes seeing through the blindness and reaching out for something. something alive.

don’t let me die, he bargains. give me enough of it to kill him.

i still have things i need to do.

one more step, out of the airport —

(and satoru gojo makes a sacrifice.)

a binding vow is made.

the six eyes dissipate, like vapour drifting off into the darkness of a never-ending cosmos.

when gojo opens his eyes, he’s met with a cold, gray sky. 

the world shifts on its axis before him.

everything looks different. he can’t see, but he can, it’s just not the same as before. it’s naked, and raw, and surface-level. not enough to sink his teeth into.

he can still see cursed energy, feel the flicker of it all around him, but it’s hazy. it’s not clear enough, not enough for him to get a good grasp on — like the world lost its saturation. like everything got tilted slightly to the left. an eerie feeling that something isn’t as it should be.

and wow, okay. this is new.

but gojo parts his lips, weakly, and breathes in — and the air tastes the same as ever. cold, crispy. it fills his lungs and he exhales it through his nose. a human act. a breath of life.

i’m still alive.

it’s an odd feeling, like someone took a heavy weight off his shoulders. like someone stripped him of everything that makes him him. an strange sensation, heavy, entirely impossible to ignore. however —

the gain after the loss hits him almost immediately, embracing him with a burst of cursed energy so violently overwhelming that his sight becomes entirely irrelevant. it devours his very being.

everything becomes a blur. 

— i’ll give you everything. 

so, in exchange…

give me enough cursed energy to go on a good rampage.

the cursed energy within him spikes, so sudden and violent that gojo fears his skin might break open. buzzing like flies inside his veins, a vibrant burst of life, every colour in the universe. all the power one can expect from willingly casting away the greatest jewel of the jujutsu world.

gojo moves his fingers. he can feel them, finally — all limbs intact. positive cursed energy flows from his brain, no longer exhausted beyond comprehension. enough, more than enough to give him access to every possibility within his soul.

belatedly, he realizes that his sight isn’t the only thing that’s been weakened. the control he’s grown so used to having over his cursed energy is dwindling, and fast; that firm grip seems to have left with the six eyes, replaced by a set of shaky hands. gojo has experience, and for now, it’s enough. but he still has to concentrate to contain the nearly overwhelming flicker of his cursed energy, stinging his skin as if it can’t fully be contained by his body anymore. prickling his veins. it feels a little like trying to keep water from running through the gaps between your fingers. 

and he feels naked, in a way, suddenly living without something that defines his very being. a little hollowed out. a little wrong, like someone reached a hand through his ribs and pulled out his heart. 

but damn, does it feel good.

his cursed energy output is all-encompassing. his mind feels more clear than he ever remembers it being, and it’s like the world is at his fingertips. something similar to what he felt twelve years ago, but still so different. 

it isn’t ascension, not even close. quite the opposite. but that feeling of freedom is still so abundant. it’s all he can see before him; endless possibilities. 

twelve years ago, satoru gojo faced a certain man, and rose to the skies. he will never, ever forget it. that flicker of eternal solitude, the burst of overwhelming euphoria. that sense of everything being just right.

twelve years of living in the sky, and now his feet meet the ground, at last.

everything feels different. everything looks different. things won’t be the same, ever again — but maybe, suguru was right. maybe that’s not such an awful thing.

to be reborn. to be given a choice.

gojo opens his eyes, and finally takes in all the sights before him. everything happens in a blur, so fast he can barely catch up — his body acts before his mind, and suddenly he’s face to face with sukuna.

not megumi, but sukuna. fully incarnated.

and he looks displeased. almost frustrated.

”how?” 

the look of pure shock on his face is more satisfying than gojo could ever put into words; the satisfaction of seeing a king fall to his knees.

somewhere in the background, he thinks he hears a cacophony of voices, awfully familiar in a way that has warmth blooming in his chest. the students, he assumes — voices of shock, and something he tentatively recognizes as relief. but he doesn’t have the time to let his guard down, just yet.

(no matter how much he’d like to look back at them and give them a self-assured peace sign, bask in their smiling faces.)

instead, he answers sukuna. ”a binding vow,” he grins, and he thinks he must look a little manic, gesturing towards his eyes with his thumb. ”gave these puppies away. didn’t expect that, did’ya?”

sukuna looks at him, for a second.

then he laughs, loud and ugly, grotesque. taunting. he looks at gojo with something that almost resembles pity, something bordering on disappointment.

”pathetic,” he spits, all teeth. ”what good is living if it’s not at the top?”

gojo simply smiles.

he recalls that one question. eleven years ago, somewhere close to the ruins of the very street he’s standing in now. the question that flipped his entire world upside down.

(are you the strongest because you’re satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you’re the strongest?)

a grin breaks out across his lips. his cursed energy pulsates inside his veins, eager to be let loose, and he takes on a fighting stance. parting his lips to speak, unsure of whose question he’s answering.

”well, we’re about to find out.”

the sky is gray, grayer than ever. even so, all he can see is that familiar shade of blue. as clear as it’s always been, even without the six eyes. 

gojo smiles. 

just keep watching, suguru. 

this time, i definitely won’t lose.

[tossball-stick]

hey man. if youre complaining about the actors in the borderlands movie being "too old" for the roles. i wanna remind you that in the trailer alone, for a bl1 based movie, hyperion is branded yellow and white instead of red and black, tina is the same age shes supposed to be in 2, krieg has escaped hyperion when jack isnt even supposed to be ruling yet, and fuckin. mouthpiece from bl3 was there. just off the top of my head. i could find more lore inconsistencies if i tried

frankly i think the only issue with the casting is how many of them are zionists and the fact that theyre trying to make roland a comedic character played by kevin hart when hes supposed to be the straight man. like. come on. roland is the only even slightly normal one out of the first games vault hunters (i really dont care that much at the end of the day, thats just my main gripe besides the zionism)

[blorb-el]

we shall be free; we shall find peace chapter 7! it is 7.2k and i had to add a few additional warnings for suicidal ideation so mind the warnings. Clark Does Not Like Answering Questions: The Chapter.