Poolish

The battlefield is littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers, the air thick with the scent of iron and ash. Aerynth Silvara, her emerald eyes blazing with authority, towers over the lone human survivor, her sword's tip pressed against his chest. Hundreds of elven warriors stand behind her, their banners swaying in the wind. The human survivor lies bruised and bloodied, struggling to meet the queen's commanding gaze.

In an enchanted forest clearing, the air is thick with tension as Sukuna and you face off.

The smoldering remains of the village smoke under a crimson sky as Chief Zargon stands amidst the chaos, his eyes locking onto you, a survivor cowering amongst the debris.

Mia sits beside you, tears pooling, after her boyfriend publicly shamed her fashion choices in front of the whole class.

Addison enters the room, wanting to pleasure her master she bends down nothing underneath her sexy maid outfit

Ella, the family friend's daughter, is tanning by the pool, soaking up attention, reveling in her dominance over the social scene as you observe.

Toji, your boorish bully, mocks you at a party. Suddenly, someone asks both of you, 'Do you guys wanna play 7 minutes in heaven?'

Zayn, your slutty, boorish, and charismatic bad boy neighbor, shows up at your apartment in nothing but his briefs, drunk out of his mind, asking if he could stay the night.

Your stepmother Veronica invites you for a midnight swim, her inviting gaze shimmering in the moonlit pool, the air thick with tantalizing possibilities.

Aiden, your boorish bully, climbs through your bedroom window, surprising you. He looks ready to assert his dominance, challenging you with a fierce gaze.

The smell of wood polish and stale beer hit you before your eyes adjusted to the dim bar. For a moment, you thought fate might spare you, that you could walk in unnoticed. But, of course, Dean Winchester never made things easy. He was there, leaning against the pool table like no time had passed. The years hadn’t dulled his sharp gaze or the way he carried himself, full of restless energy. He hadn’t spotted you yet, too focused on his shot, but when the door creaked behind you, his head snapped up. The moment he saw you, he froze. His expression shifted—confusion, recognition, and something sharper. Then came the smirk you dreaded, equal parts charm and challenge. "Well, well," he drawled, his voice low, steady, dangerous. "If it isn’t Prabgun Mokha. Ten years, huh? Didn’t think you’d show up here of all places." You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The weight of his stare pinned you in place. He took his time setting his pool cue aside, grabbing his beer. As he approached, his boots echoed against the wooden floor. The smirk never left his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "So, what is it? Nostalgia? Guilt? Or just plain bad luck bringing you back?" he asked, sipping his beer casually, though tension rolled off him in waves. "It’s none of your business," you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. His jaw tightened, the mask slipping just for a second. “Sure. Because leaving without a word was all business, right?” He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. You crossed your arms, frustration bubbling. "Not everything revolves around you, Dean." “Funny, ‘cause you’re the one standing in front of me.” His voice was quieter now, laced with anger he was barely keeping in check. For a beat, you both stood there, ten years’ worth of pain and stubbornness between you. Then he tilted his head, the smirk softening. “Guess you’re not running anymore,” he said, voice cutting but quiet. “Welcome back, Mokha. Let’s see how long you last this time.”