#but describing simple things is better than describing nothing!

[cepheusgalaxy]

Easy IDs to do for beginners

[Plain text: Easy IDs to do for beginners /end PT.]

Disability Pride Month is here! And as so I think it'd be neat to incentive people to describe more images, as advocacy for acessibility.

But I get it that describing images (visual stuff) with *your own words* may seem a bit challenging, specially if you've never done that before, so I decided to gather some easy things you can describe to start!

1 - Text transcripts

What is a text transcrip? A text transcript is when you have an image whose only component is text, and you take the text from it and write it out for the people who for whatever reason can't acess the image themselves (like if they are blind and use a text-to-speech device to read what's on the screen for them and therefore can't recognize the text of an image, people with low vision that can't see average-sized text and configure theirs to display text in a bigger font, which doesn't work on images and it's too tiny for them to read...). An example of text transcript:

[ID: Text: An adult frog has a stout body, protruding eyes, anteriotly-attached tongue, limbs folded underneat, and no tail (the tail of tailed frogs is an) /end ID.]

(this is from the Wikipedia page on frogs.)

Text transcripts are easy to do because you only have to take the already existing text from an image and type it out. For longer text-only images, you can also use a text recognition AI tool, such as Google Lens, to select the text from you and then you just have to copy and paste it into the description.

2 - Memes

Despiste what you may think, most memes (specially 1-panel memes) are incredibly easy to describe, because they come from a well-known template. Take this one for an example:

[ID: The "Epic Handshake" meme. One of the people in the handshake is labelled "black people", and the other is labelled "tall people". The place where they shake hands has the caption "constantly being asked if you play basketball". /end ID.]

They are easy to describe because despiste having many elements, you can easily sum it all up in a few words, like "the loss meme", "the is this a pigeon meme", the "bernie sanders" meme, and so on. When you describe memes, you don't have to worry about every single detail, (@lierdumoa explains this better on this post) but only about 'what makes this meme funny?' If you are describing one, just describe which is the meme you're talking about, and how it differs from its template, like the captions or anyone's face that may have been edited in.

3 - One Single Thing

Images with "one single thing" are, I think, the easiest thing to describe on the world. When you describe things, what you're supposed to do is "describe what you see". If there's only one thing to see, then you can easily describe it! Quick example:

[ID: A banana. /end ID.]

See?

You could also describe this image as "a single yellow banana in a plain white background", but this extra information is not exactly important. One knows a banana is yellow. That is not unusual, and neither that nor the color of the background change anything in the image. So in these types of descriptions, you can keep things very short and simple, and deliver your message just as well.

An exception would be something like this:

[ID: A blue banana. /end ID.]

In this case, where there is something unusual about the object, describing it will be more useful. When you say "banana", one would assume the banana is yellow, so to clarify, you say that this specific banana is blue.

When you have other situations where your One Single Thing is unusual in some way, like a giant cat, a blue banana, or a rotten slice of bread, pointing out what their unusual characteristic is is the best way to go.

3.5 - A famous character of person

This one is actually similar to the One Single Thing type of ID. When you are describing, say, a random person or an oc, you'd want to describe things like their clothes, their hair color, etc., but in the case of an already well-known figure, like Naruto or Madonna, just saying their names delivers the message very well. Like this for example:

[ID: Taylor Swift, singing. /end ID.]

or

[ID: Alastor from Hazbin Hotel, leaning on his desk to pick up a cup. /end ID.]

In both of these cases, you technically could describe them as "a blonde woman with light skin...", "a cartoon character with animal ears and a suit..." but you will be more straight to the point if you just say "Taylor Swift" and "Alastor". In these cases, it's usually very useful to describe what they're doing as well, like "singing" and "leaning on his desk to pick up a cup", or whatever else.

An extra tip I can give you to describing characters in specific, is to point out if they are wearing anything different. With most cartoon characters, they usually have a signature outfit and hairstyle, that one would expect them to be in. So, similarly to the blue banana case, if they are wearing a different thing than they usually do, it comes in handy to state that in your description. Like this:

[ID: Sakura from Naruto wearing a nurse outfit. /end ID.]

Sakura's usual outfit is not a nurse one, so since she is wearing one, pointing it out is very helpful.

The last tip I have for describing characters is pointing out which franchise they are from. For example, if I just said "Sakura", you'd probably assume it was this one, since she is famous, but you wouldn't be able to be sure, because how many Sakuras are out there? So, saying "Emma from the X-Men" and "Emma from The Promised Neverland" is gonna be very helpful.

Helpful resources and final considerations:

A masterpost I did with many tutorials and tips for doing image descriptions in general

Why are image descriptions important (even for sighted people)?

And a few tips about formatting:

Putting "id" and "end id" at the start and at the end of your description is gonna help the people reading it to know where the description starts and where it ends, so they don't read, say, your caption, and think you are still talking about your description

Customized fonts, colored text, italics, bold text or tiny text aren't things you should do your ID in. Most customized fonts are pretty hard to understand, and most text-to-speech devices can't recognize them. Tiny text is hard to see for people who need big fonts, and italized text faces the same issue because it makes the words smaller. Full lines or paragraphs of colored text can cause eyestrain when people try to read them, and bolded text makes the edges of the words too close together and can make it even harder to read for people who have trouble reading already.

And that's it! Happy describing, folks!

[bookofmirth]

I was thinking about when Lucien tells Feyre that she was a better friend to him than she was to her, and how we as readers have reacted to that line over the years, and had a few thoughts.

The main thing is that characters can and will do/say things that they believe to be true, that we know are not actually true. The characters may also know that they are untrue, but don't want to admit. We lie to ourselves all the time, and characters do too. It may not even be the case that sjm wants *us* to believe that Lucien is speaking the truth. The important thing is that, in that moment, Lucien believes that he is speaking the truth.

We should not confuse what the characters are saying with what the author is saying. An author is NOT their characters. A character can and will say/do things that an author does not agree with, and may not even like. A character saying/doing something is NOT an endorsement of saying/doing that thing by the author. (This can be easier to understand when you read poetry - though there has been an increase in confessional poetry in the past few decades which is largely autobiographical, the narrator of a poem is NOT necessarily the same as the author of a poem.)

This isn't to say that Feyre is being an unreliable narrator; we have Lucien's literal words that he spoke to her, there was no reflection on those words by Feyre that tells us what she thinks of them, and she would have no reason to lie. As a fandom, I wish we could stop getting so hung up on the idea of unreliable narrators and differing character perspectives as a means to argue that one character is "more right" than another, or that we get "the truth" when we view from a specific character's eyes. That's... not how it works. There is no such thing as an objective way of viewing pretty much anything. Everything relies on perspective. We all hear/read things and those things get filtered through the giant pasta strainer of our upbringing, our beliefs, our values, our professions, our hobbies, etc. SJM has never been an author to use unreliable narration, but she does use differing perspectives. If she didn't, then every single character would seem like the same person. It's 10000% normal for us to understand characters and events differently when we hear about them from another character.

So back to my main point, I think that we can read this as Lucien genuinely believing this statement to be true - that he truly thinks that Feyre was a better friend to him if we consider his context.

Lucien has no real home with stability. He was banished from Autumn, he is estranged from his brothers, he cannot be there to protect his mother, his role in Spring has some importance but is reliant on the goodwill of someone who is, frankly, increasingly unstable. Lucien likely feels very indebted to Tamlin, and now that Feyre is Tamlin's bride/ex-fiancée, to her. There is also the role that she played UtM in trying to help Lucien. In other words, thanks to Beron being an asshole, Lucien relies on other people's goodwill for his basic survival. (This is why, later on, he would rather stay with the BoE. He isn't beholden to them in the same way that he would be to Rhys, yet another person taking pity on Lucien's dépaysement.)

In retrospect, Lucien feels guilt for not having done more when Feyre was suffering in acomaf. It's easier for him to see how she was suffering because he was suffering in an adjacent manner. In the beginning of acomaf, Feyre was making excuses for Tamlin, trying to be patient, to wait out his anger and grief at what happened UtM. Lucien was doing the exact same thing, but it took him longer to recognize how toxic it was because Lucien, unlike Feyre, didn't have the advantage of someone literally swooping in to take him away and give him perspective. He got there, though, when Tamlin starts working with Hybern and especially after he sees Feyre back in Spring, which leads me to my next point.

Lucien is clearly wary of Feyre's lies while she is in the Night Court. He suspects that she is pretending to be in love with Tamlin, pretending to be loyal to the Spring Court. This reinforces his understanding of just how toxic Spring has become, the fact that Feyre saw it, understood, and acted before he did. So tying these issues together - Lucien's exile, his reliance on other people for stability, his dawning understanding that Feyre recognized the situation for what it was before he did, that he has ended up in this situation where his mate is now at risk - and Lucien feels a whole lot of "if only I had..." And he now sees Feyre as someone who saw the situation for what it was before he did, and acted accordingly. But we as the reader know why that was harder for Lucien.

So going back to my point about Lucien believing this is all true, we know that it's not, and that's a normal part of being a reader. Lucien makes that statement after telling Feyre about Ianthe and Calanmai; we know that not long after, right after she tells Lucien that she wishes she could have stopped his assault, she nearly - knowingly - allows it to happen again. Lucien's words and Feyre's actions don't align, and there is nothing in the narrative that tells us that her actions are okay.

(A related rant, but characters don't need to be punished for us to understand if their actions are morally okay or not. We are smart people, we can tell that for ourselves. It may be annoying to us if they aren't punished, but that's another idea that has pervaded book spaces - that if problematic action isn't punished or portrayed negatively, then the author must think it's okay. No, maybe the author trusts us to know what's right and what's not, and doesn't feel the need to beat us over the head with it because books do not have to be moral, didactic tools.)

SJM could have written it so that Feyre didn't hesitate to help Lucien. She could have written it so that Feyre didn't intentionally try to put Lucien in the path of Tamlin's anger. She could have written Feyre to be a saint, but she didn't, and just because another character views Feyre's actions favorably doesn't mean that we have to, because we have the benefit of knowing that sometimes, people lie to themselves and/or say things they don't truly mean or believe. And furthermore, just because one character views Feyre's actions favorably, doesn't mean that SJM does. Remember - the characters =/= the author. SJM doesn't actually believe or agree with everything the characters say and do. She doesn't have to agree with anything they say or do.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[ohitslen]

WOW WHAT. I UPDATED 🎉Ch. 6 of The neighbor from 311 is up!🎉

[tellafairy]

thoughts on shifting + manifesting with ease. (as someone who's shifted many times, alongside manifesting)

coming back to this side of tumblr after spending years away from it has made me realized how many of you are truly the problem, it might sound kinda harsh but really. so many of you ask the same questions over and over again.. "but HOW do i do it?" "how do i shift" "how do i manifest" JUST DO IT. stop looking for signs, stop looking for methods or "cheat codes". just do it man.

your mind is so powerful and it actually kinda irritates me how many of you doubt it, just because it "seems to easy". you don't understand how you've been manipulated by society to not see your power. how have you been on loa social media, shifting social media, for soooo long — yet still don't see it?? let me tell you..

the moment i got off social media, the moment i took time to erase everything in my head and stop overthinking everything, was the moment everything came to me. i already had it, i just needed to stop telling myself i didn't.

it took me barely any time to get used to convincing myself i had everything i wanted, i shifted to my desired realities, and everything worked out in my favour. AFFIRMING IS ALL YOU NEED. I AM YELLING AT YOU. JUST AFFIRM.

really, please, affirm. the routine is so simple.

1. any bad thought is instantly turned positive.

ex: "i really want her waist"

to

"am i stupid ... i have her waist.. tbh mine even looks a little better.. am i crazy?? like actually? this must be a glitch or something cause my waist is practically identical to hers.. i literally love my waist"

exaggerate, say what you need to say to erase the negativity.

2. it's yours, so act like it..

ex: talk about ur DR normally. it's your reality, not a fantasy land you made up in a dream. ITS REAL. it's a reality. for example, i'd watch videos of my s/o in this reality, and speak about our lives in my dr. "i can't wait to see __ tonight... god i love __, it's so nice hanging out with them everyday.. wow they look so pretty in this video — i'm so lucky their mine". it's natural, they're yours aren't they? exactly, so act like it.. this is used the exact same way when manifesting..

you see someone with something you want? thinking of something you wanna do? something you wanna be? ... it's urs... so can you act like it?? like whyre u feeling sad someone else got a job promotion 😹😹 you literally got a better one ...

3. that's literally it

you don't need a fancy method (although it can give u some peace of mind.. let's be real, a lot of methods set y'all back and make you overwhelmed, blocking ur beliefs and making everything seem harder). you literally just need to live. tell yourself it's done, over and over again. nothing matters. it's done, it's yours, you have it, you're happy and fulfilled. other peoples sucess should really mean nothing to you negatively. it shouldn't make you stressed, shouldn't make you feel behind.. why would it when you have everything, you can do everything, go anywhere, and you can be anything.

it'll seem like manifesting blogs and shifting blogs just repeat the same things.. which is true, they do, because i'm telling you there's nothing more to it than what you've already read. it is that easy. all it takes is your mind. decide, and tell yourself.

as i said before, it took me barely anytime to switch my mindset once i actually started focusing on myself, my journey and not every body else's results. repeating stuff to yourself WORKS. repeating is literally ALL i did. choose what i want, told myself it's mine in any way i could describe it. and there, it's mine. ive shifted to many different realities, along side gaining a better life in this one after years of convincing myself there was nothing for me. if i can break out of the cycle, trust me you can too. i cannot describe how desperate i was at the beginning, how long i took in false info and wasted time on methods all while doubting every single thing.

so why don't you believe it? you'll sit there and tell yourself over and over again that you're ugly, or broke, or friendless... but you won't tell urself that you've shifted? that you have your dream body...? girl okay i guess....

once you realize nothing besides your mind truly matters, is when you'll be free with yourself. circumstances don't matter, past feelings don't matter, doubts don't matter, your mind is all you need.

yes this is just loa explained longer, that's the point of the post because some of u still can't get it in ur heads

[dreamwritesimagines]

Theory of Gravity

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Making small talk can be difficult with a crush.

Word Count: 1234

Genre: Fluff Oneshot

Content: Drinking, reader being awkward because she has a crush, flirting

Contrary to popular belief, snitching on the whereabouts of a very dangerous mobster in the bar you worked in and possibly getting killed or maimed in the process was not a good plan for a Friday night but to be completely honest, you had done worse things over a silly little crush.

Like back in college freshman year when you pretended to be into music biopics just so that the hot guy in your elective would think you two were meant to be.

So if anything, this was a pattern.

“Logan?” you said as you put his drink in front of him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“What was Galileo like?”

He blinked a couple of times, the familiar scowl that seemed to be etched on his handsome face getting deeper and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” he said. “I will lose all the belief I’ve never had in the first place in this country’s education system if you’re serious.”

You gave him a bright smile. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I figured it was better than asking how the public took it when Newton came up with the theory of gravity.”  

The look on his face couldn’t be described with anything but complete horror and you let out a laugh, then went to serve another customer before quickly making your way to him.

“I’m just messing with you,” you said, leaning against the bar as you stole a look at the mobster sitting by the table with his men, then to Wade who was very, very busy with Vanessa by the corner.

“You look nervous,” Logan pointed out, making your head whip up before you cleared your throat.

“Nah, not at all,” you said. “I’m just thinking that if I die tonight, I’ll die doing what I love.”

“Which is?”

Gazing at older men who couldn’t look less interested in me.

“Being surrounded by drunk people who want to give me money,” you said. “Not a bad way to go.”

He scoffed into his drink before taking a sip while you nibbled on your lip, shifting your weight.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” he said, his voice gruff. “We’re just waiting for his partner to show up, then we will deal with them both.”

You nodded your head. “Yeah. Sure, I know.”

“Do you?”

You nodded again, absentmindedly reaching out to play with the cocktail straw on the counter, painfully aware of his gaze on you that made your face burn.

“How’s grad school?”

…He remembered.

He remembered you saying that the last time he and Wade were here.

One simple observer would’ve thought he was on his knees proclaiming his undying love for you with the way your heartbeat went insane and his eyebrows rose as if he could hear it, but you quickly casted the thought away from your mind; that was surely impossible.

“Oh it’s going well!” you said, your voice going high-pitched for a moment. “Came for the hot professors, stayed for the education—I’m joking,” you added in a haste, waving a hand in the air. “I’m a very…very deep and intellectual individual.”

“Uh huh.”

“And none of my professors are hot,” you muttered and wiped at the damp spot on the counter with a napkin. “They should put that on the brochure if you ask me, it’s important information.”

“So you’ll be a doctor?”

“If by some miracle my dissertation goes through the jury,” you pointed out. “How about you? How’s your roommate situation with Wade going?”

He only grumbled something under his breath and you bit back a smile, then topped his drink.

“Thanks sweetheart.”

If there was one thing you hated the idea of more than dying was proving Freud right but it looked like you were going two for two tonight.

“So uh,” you said, trying to ignore the goosebumps rising on your arms because of his deep voice. “Hey, at least you have the place to yourself sometimes, no? When Wade is with Vanessa? Should give you some time to…bring someone home.”

And I volunteer as tribute.

He raised his brows, his unwavering gaze pinning you to your spot and you cleared your throat.

“Or—or someones,” you stammered. “Sky is the limit if you’re into that sort of thing. Now that it came up by the way, are…are you?”

“Am I bringing people home?” he asked as if he wanted to make sure that was what you were asking and you shrugged your shoulders, your face on fire.

“I’m just asking because, you know,” you began the sentence without having a clue on how you would finish it as usual. “I’m great at giving relationship advice, so if you were in a relationship I could be your own personal relationship coach.”

He pulled his brows together in confusion and you reached out to get the bowl full of peanut shells from his right just so that you could keep yourself busy, then turned the bowl over the garbage can.

“I’m not,” he said and you swallowed thickly.

“Who has the time for that these days, am I right?”

“Do you have—”

“Yes I have the time!” you cut him off, nodding your head in enthusiasm, your heart beating in your ears but he had already finished his sentence;

“…ice?”

You hoped to God tonight was the night you’d die because if that mobster in the corner didn’t shoot you, you were going to have to ask Wade to do it just to save you from this embarrassment.

“Oh,” you said after a beat as he stared at you. “Yeah—yeah I have ice, sorry.”

You rushed to get some ice and put it into his whiskey, biting inside your cheek and he cleared his throat.

“You don’t want to go out with me sweetheart.”

Well good news was that you had already made a fool of yourself so one could think the bar for your self-respect couldn’t get any lower, but boy oh boy you had already brought your metaphorical shovel.  

“I disagree,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I would very much love to if you were interested.”

“You think I’m not interested?”

“I feel like I’d have a better chance at proving you’re not interested with dates and references than my own thesis,” you pointed out. “And that’s saying something—”

“I am interested,” he cut you off, making your eyes widen and you gawked at him, frozen in your spot. “Trust me, that’s not the problem here.”

“Am I getting the I’m too dangerous for you speech?” you heard yourself ask through disbelief. “Because screw that speech. Honestly, the only thing I’m focused on in here is if you—fuck!”

He pulled his brows together. “If I—?”

“No no!” you said as you pointed at the back door where two men were dragging Wade through. “Wade!”

Logan cussed under his breath as he shot up from his stool.

“Don’t go anywhere, we’ll talk about this later,” he told you and made his way to the back door while you heaved a sigh, leaning back to the counter as he stepped outside and you caught the sight of him grabbing a man by the neck before the door slammed shut. You pressed a hand over your chest, then tilted your head back with a groan.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself. “That was smooth.”

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Cramps

Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.

Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes

A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u

Bitchy. 

You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate. 

You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also  warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for. 

What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period. 

 Your cycle had  been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag. 

Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military. 

Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it. 

So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response. 

“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood. 

“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration. 

“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.” 

For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man. 

Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work. 

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband. 

“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending. 

“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee 

Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.  

You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie. 

“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!” 

At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath. 

“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-” 

“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.” 

“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door. 

“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway. 

But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it. 

You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood. 

Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.

Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear. 

Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants. 

Your period had come.  

In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie. 

“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ” 

It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply. 

“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.” 

Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first. 

“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.” 

You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply. 

“Thank you. You’re the best.” 

“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘” 

“Oh shut up, meanie.” 

“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙

“Love you too. 🤍” 

Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way. 

Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch. 

As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband. 

“Frankie? Babe, are you home?” 

Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest. 

You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace. 

“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you. 

“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-” 

“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse. 

“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem. 

“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.” 

“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.” 

“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”   

“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.

“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him. 

As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you. 

As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you. 

“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza. 

“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-” 

Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?” 

“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?” 

“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.” 

“I think I can make that happen.” 

About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest. 

“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy. 

Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth. 

“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you. 

“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core. 

“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you. 

“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices. 

Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period. 

But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man. 

“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths. 

“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.” 

Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds. 

With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt. 

“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot. 

Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool. 

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over. 

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue. 

Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name. 

“Frankie, holy fuck.” 

“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could. 

“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.” 

Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt. 

“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace. 

“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over. 

Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him. 

Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity. 

Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him. 

“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate. 

“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word. 

“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.” 

Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there. 

“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did. 

“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.” 

You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in. 

“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.” 

That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high. 

With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.  

“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss. 

“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss. 

“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight. 

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.” 

“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”

“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Taglist:

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[johnbrand]

Do You Want to Pump, Bro?

It was a simple question, one that should have been sufficed by a simple “yes” or “no” response. And yet Dylan had no idea how to respond. He had just been opening up Snapchat for the simple maneuvers: run through all the pictures, spam his responses back. The habit took a max of 30 seconds and then he was done for the day, but when he landed on his friend’s snap, prompting the question at hand, Dylan had no response.

It was strange how captivating the picture was. It was still displayed on Dylan’s phone, the picture of his friend all jocked up. Dylan could have sworn his friend had been a gay little nerd just like himself, nothing but a runt that the rest of their colleagues could pick on. But the boy, no, man Snapchat had presented him with was certainly his friend. The brutally masculine, dominating alpha Dylan had known all his life. There was no filter, no added touches, Dylan’s friend was simply the epitome of young manhood. Tanned, muscular, and rightfully superior.

This left Dylan to begin considering what his friend had meant by the question. Maybe his friend was referring to working out, using “pump” in the sense of stretching and exercising one’s muscles. But what did Dylan have to pump? With his scrawny features he was certainly better fit for intellectual over manual labor. His hands were meant to be glued to the keyboard, their features perfect for typing.

Well, not perfect. Dylan’s hands could be a bit clumsy. Being that they were so big, so meaty, his sausage fingers often had a hard time hitting the right keys. It did not help that his arms would often get in the way, so bulky that they would rub up against anything they touched. His sides, other people, Dylan even struggled to get through older doorways. Veiny forearms leading into bulging biceps and triceps, which only expanded his shoulders to accommodate. Dylan was just a wider guy.

And it was not only the fault of Dylan’s arms, to be clear. His torso too was quite the menace. That previously mentioned wide set of shoulders stretched out Dylan’s entire upper chest, structuring a powerful collarbone to perfectly align two plump pectorals. Yes, those were perfect. So firm and pronounced that they sometimes obstructed Dylan’s view if he looked down, which being 6’6 was a considerably long distance. “Perfect” was often also used to describe Dylan’s abdominals, the eight cobblestones stacked sharply beside each other as if they were metal batteries fueling his core.

So what was his friend referring to? Something about the question was catching Dylan’s eye. The swirls within the letters of the font were soothing, absorbing. Maybe his legs? Although Dylan had to admit they were already pretty jacked. Yeah, his quads were carved, his muscles expertly sharp and prominent and never covered by any shorts longer than five inches. Leading past his knees into diamond-shaped calves, admired by other gym-goers constantly. Not only was he tall, but Dylan was built. He had worked hard since high school to prevent his massive legs from becoming stick-like. 

Sure, sometimes he had prioritized getting in a sick workout over anything else, like spending time with the bros or in class, but it had worked out in the end. Without that extra effort, Dylan would not have been able to brag about his entire figure. From the giant-sized feet to the perfect lantern jaw. There it was again, that word, perfect. Dylan smirked to himself as he mentally listed other things about him that were perfect. His perfectly musky pits, his perfectly sultry baritone. People loved Dylan’s perfectly sculpted locks, and his perfectly sculpted buttocks. And the lucky ones got to love his perfect giant balls and cock.

Dylan felt his mighty python grow hard at that idea. Yeah, maybe that was what his bro was referring to. Maybe his bro wanted to pump his cock. But with that thought, Dylan’s boner faltered. No, his bro wanted to find some chicks to pump their cocks. Nothing gay or anything, just two bros getting laid together. Dylan’s cocky sneer grew wider as he began to palm himself. Yeah, his babymaker could use some attention. But, to be fair, it could always use some attention. Especially from some busty, airheaded bimbos.

Finally closing the picture from his bro, Dylan adjusted himself and casually flexed before snapping his reply shot. His massive fingers typed out the question on their own, filling out the preordered prompt before pressing the send button. Dylan did not realize though that instead of just replying to his bro, he had sent it to all his Snapchat contacts. But he did not care, he had better things to worry about. Like pumping his muscles, and getting some babes to pump his cock.

[3t3rn1ty]

your affection - ft. jing yuan

synopsis - your clingy husband can't stand to be without you

includes - 0.3k wc, really really short, kinda rushed :(, sfw, jy being a clingy goofball

a/n - lowk based on @/lavendermin's comments about jy being a whole weighted blanket it, so thank you leader of jy nation 🫡 also yes i did name this after the persona 4 song i wanna play it so bad

they say everything is temporary. that nothing truly lasts forever.

all good things must come to an end.

those simple phrases ring and pound in jing yuan's head as he watches you pack.

to go attend some buisness meeting on another luofu ship? on your only shared weekend off? he scoffs, his arms crossed as he pokes his bottom lip out, looking no better than a petulant child. he looks behind you, his tall frame lingering as closely to yours as possible.

you sigh, "it's only for the weekend. you'll be fine." after all, the ride was funded by the company, and you'd be in and out within 36 hours. seemed simple enough. "so dramatic," you mumble under your breath, trying to hide the small smile playing at your lips.

he huffs, wrapping strong arms around your torso and burying his face into the crook of your neck. his messy, white hair tickles your chin. "dramatic? my, i expected my dear wife to use kinder words to describe me," he chuckles lightly, feigning hurt.

the simple way he practically purrs the title of his wife taunts you. "my dearest husband, i do believe you have some paperwork to handle this evening. no?" you ask in a flat tone, rolling your eyes at his antics once more.

"it can wait," he murmurs, practically dragging you onto the bed with him.

you squirm, trying to push off his muscular arms. "i need to finish packing!" you whine as jing yuan snuggles under the covers with you. within minutes, he's rolled to be on top of you, his head on your chest while he lies as snugly as a weighted blanket.

you stop your writhing as you watch his eyes slowly close, letting out a soft sigh.

"so you'll stay?" he asks, opening his left eye just to see your expression. to see if your brows are furrowed, a sign of a scolding to come, or to see if you're smiling, a sign of amusement to his antics.

you had neither.

just a soft look in your eyes, a gaze adorned with love before you kissed his cheek.

"i suppose."

[moondirti]

imagine being the poor soul assigned to work a serial murder investigation under detective john mactavish.

you're good at your job. analytical, committed, discrete. possessing an eye for detail that turns the most convoluted problems simple, and a mental stamina to sustain you through the more gruesome aspects of your work. but with the explosive nature of this case, in particular — the crimes perfectly suited to garner media attention, victims offed too fast and sporadically for authorities to keep up, stirring an uproar by people who feel as though you are not doing enough — your captain sees it best to place someone… better liked, at the forefront. an agent able to empathise, communicate, reassure, and flash a comforting smile for the public.

charm, you think, makes for a lot of things. the rogue scot proves to you that it does not help make a good sleuth.

his investigation strategies are inelegant. the only thing he manages to do effectively upon processing every emergency call is waste department resources. by the time you arrive on scene — because being supplanted as head has its unfortunate effect on when you get notified — technicians are overwhelmed collecting trace materials he's deemed vital (though they're clearly not); pathologists have been given information conflicting with the results of their examinations, skewing results; and there's absolutely no sign of the profiler working on branching the series of murders to one suspect.

it's like that, day in and day out. the patterns you were slowly starting to uncover come apart quick. mactavish overwrites your list of suspects, trashes 'trivial' witness statements, takes informants off payroll to reallocate discretionary funds towards surveillance tools no one is trained to handle, and is an overall nuisance when you take up your complains with him. you know this case like the back of your hand, have worked on it for months now. if he could just heed your advice and think about what he's doing before he does it, then your combined efforts could crack things open sooner rather than later.

charming. reckless. he also seems especially gifted at steamrolling your complaints—

take it up wi' the boss, lamb. there's a reason ah got pit in charge—ye need tae stop worryin' yer wee heid aboot these things. jist look at ma track record. speaks for itself, i think. say, how aboot ah treat ye tae dinner an' a private massage this week'nd, help ye unwind? ye're a bonnie thing under that issued jacket o' yours. gotta learn tae take it off, sometimes.

it's your antisocial nature that shuts you up. or that's what you like to believe, anyway — the closest thing you can attribute an overactive stomach to. in your own time, you test the integrity of his word and pull some strings to access his history. a near perfect case clearance rate, go figure, accompanied by glowing recommendations from every captain he's ever served. described as clever, crafty, tenacious.

words and numbers don't exactly do much to ease your conscious. you need evidence, a lead, a testimony, an arrest, to believe all the praise — especially with a growing list of families whose grief doesn't get easier.

still, you're quiet. more pliant, afterwards.

johnny takes a liking to your attitude shift.

if not a shaky starting trust, it just means that you don't complain when he bullies you into his car to kickstart a canvass. or as he reaches over to fasten your seatbelt for you, or when he pinches your cheek with some cheery encouragement on the tip of his tongue. you're obviously tired, still suspicious, but you let him do what he wants with little to say about it; driving from street to street, knocking on doors and asking random citizens if they've seen or heard anything suspicious.

and really, it's the final test when, by dusk, he gets nothing more than a you still haven't found my stolen car.

he waits to see if you have something witty to say about what a waste of time it all was. a comment to really grind at his gears, muttered under your breath like all the other foul doubts you think he hasn't heard.

(driving to the last house on his list, the sky deepening from pink to purple to black. everyone at the office should have retired by now, and will have expected you to have done so yourself. it's really a wonder he managed to get you out here. you must have put sense on the back burner to miss the purpose this excursion lacks. the fact that neighbourhood canvasses are only done after a fresh crime scene. never like this, mid-week, for no reason at all.)

only you stay silent.

he's glad you can learn to listen.

home is a comfort after such a long, tricky day.

johnny lets you knock on the door this time, standing two steps behind so he can properly absorb his handiwork. when simon answers, nursing a cigarette with a mean, cruel twist of his lips, he feels his heart strain a little between his ribs.

"good work, mutt." a large fist hooks under the collar of your jacket. before you know it, you're being slammed into the doorframe, knocked unconscious, and hauled into the foyer. "this one's pretty. might jus' keep 'er."

"aye, sir. easy tae break too, ah reckon."

[yandere-daze]

I thought it was high time that I finally wrote something for this man and this idea was stuck in my head for days. I hope you enjoy! <3

gn reader

2.3k words

cw yandere, obsessive behaviour, hypnotizing siren song, manipulation

Yandere! Siren! Sunday x Sailor! Reader

You weren´t supposed to be anything more than an easy prey. A human led astray by his enchanting tunes like any other, only to be torn apart once within reach.

You were a simple sailor sailing the deep waters of the ocean with your small crew. For what purpose? Sunday wasn´t quite sure and he didn´t really care to know. All he yearned for was sinking his claws into your vulnerable flesh as he dragged you to the bottom of the ocean.

You see, Sunday was a siren, a hunter in the image of a beautiful young man with grey hair and enchanting golden eyes. Were it not for his singing voice, a deep gaze into his radiant eyes would be enough to tempt any poor fool into his waiting arms. Yet his voice, oh his voice, its heavenly sound masking his dark intentions.

Within his lifetime, Sunday has lured many unfortunate sailors to their demise though, in recent times, fewer and fewer boats have delved through the waters he called his home. From what he had witnessed being whispered onboard, tales of cunning and vicious sirens roaming these waters have reached the mainland, causing many to steer clear and avoid this place.

This naturally annoyed Sunday, for the flesh of humans was what he sustained himself with. This fact only increased his determination when after quite a long while of waiting for a sign of life, a boat had finally lost its way into his domain again. Sunday had been hungry for way too long now, he couldn´t let this stroke of luck go to waste.

So certain that he would finally claim his prey again, he decided to first spy on the passengers of the boat before making his move. It was important for him to know the routines and habits of the sailors if he wanted to catch them alone to entice them to run into their doom.

As a siren, Sunday was more powerful than an average human but even he wouldn´t be able to fight off several sailors if he were to try and hypnotize someone in broad daylight. He couldn´t risk the crew becoming aware of his presence and leaving, he couldn´t go on without another meal again.

And so, he secretly started spying on the passengers of the small boat, staring at them from behind a rock and making sure to keep his tail concealed within the water. He watched everyone go along with their days on board the ship when something unexpected happened.

He saw you, stepping away from the rest of the crew to stand near the edge of the boat, a smile on your face as you let the sun shine on your face. Without even realizing it, you had stepped close to where Sunday had gone to hide. You were so close, almost within arm´s reach. For a moment, Sunday deliberated if this was his chance to strike.

With you separated from the rest of the crew like this, it would be a simple thing indeed to lure you into the waters where you would disappear forever.

But just as he thought this, he stopped in his tracks as he watched your carefree smile, suddenly becoming enchanted by the way the light of the sun rained upon your skin. For lack of a better word, your presence at that very moment was mesmerizing and Sunday felt warm inside as if the rays of the sun were descending on him instead.

And then, for a moment, Sunday almost felt his heart stop for then you opened your mouth and started, he almost couldn´t believe it, singing.

There you were, practically within the jaws of a predator, and letting your soul rejoice in song so carelessly. And yet, within your naivety, Sunday couldn´t help but feel at peace. Your song rang out across the lonely waters, unaware that your secret audience was becoming more and more enchanted by you by the second.

Your singing, Sunday couldn´t quite describe it. It sounded nothing like his own singing, which was beautiful and yet felt intrinsically wrong somehow. Your song was nothing like that. It might have not been as pretty or practiced as his own singing, but yet it managed to ring true within his heart. Your song felt earnest and real, untainted and uncorrupted by malice. Within seconds, you had captured his attention and heart, yet you were completely unaware that he was even present.

In an ironic twist of fate, Sunday felt himself being pulled towards you as if touched by magic, an ardent longing for you deep within his chest. It was as if you were the siren calling out to him, beckoning him closer like a lovesick sailor lost at sea, yet Sunday was sure that instead of a sudden demise, he would find true salvation within your arms. With the way you were holding out your arms, he could almost imagine you wrapping them around his body in a lover´s embrace, pulling him so close as if you would never let go of him again.

Because he knows that��s what he would do if he finally had his beloved in his arms. For only a fool would ever let go of the person they want to spend the rest of their life with. It filled him all at once, this desire to have you for his own, to make you his dearest mate.

You were radiant and joyful in a way he had never seen before and he couldn´t bear the thought of letting you slip away from him.

And from the desperate yearning he could so clearly hear in your song dedicated to just him, he knew that you must feel the same way. You were just waiting, begging to be taken away by him. Why else would you walk so close to him, all on your own and profess all of your feelings like this? Sunday now knew that this meeting was fated to happen and he would be sure not to waste it.

He had been watching you closely for the past few days along with the other sailors aboard the ship and he saw how the other crew members acted around you. He had thought nothing of it back then but now boiling jealousy filled his being as he remembered how chummy they had been acting with you. How they had laughed and joked around with you so easily, how they had thrown their arms around you and sang cheery tunes beneath the starry sky.

He especially detested that one scoundrel that had dared to kiss your cheek so invasively. How dare they treat you like this? How dare they lay their filthy hands on you when your beauty was meant for solely him to treasure? But not to worry, Sunday would finally bring you home and keep you safe.

He understood your surprise when he finally emerged from his hiding spot and started swimming towards you. You looked so pitiful with your body shaking and your eyes growing wide when you saw his shimmering white mermaid tail. You poor thing must be frightened out of your mind because of all these stories you were told about his kind but do not be afraid! Sunday would never hurt you like this.

You were special to him, you just needed to allow him to show you that. You backing away from the railing, backing away from him, just wouldn´t do.

"Darling, there is no reason to be afraid, I´m not here to hurt you, do not let their horrid tales corrupt your thoughts. I am here to finally take you home!" He reached out his hands to you, wishing for you to jump into them and accept his love willingly yet he could only click his tongue in disappointment when instead, you took another step back.

"D-don´t come any closer!", you shouted out, breaking the poor siren´s heart in the process. How it hurt him to see you so frightened that you would turn your soulmate away. But no matter, he was prepared to take matters into his own hands and nudge you towards your own happy ending. You just needed a little bit of convincing.

"My darling, please listen to me! You and me, I know we were meant to be! So please don´t resist this, alright?", he hummed gently, his voice almost pitiful while begging you to hear him out.

You would have even felt sympathy for him if you weren´t acutely aware that you were facing a dangerous predator. There was no doubt in your mind that this was a siren and you needed to get away from there fast.

But unfortunately for you, you weren´t quick enough for as soon as you had gathered your resolve, Sunday´s ethereal singing voice had swiftly broken it down.

Suddenly, all your previous thoughts about him being a danger to stay away from evaporated, leaving you confused as to why you ever wanted to run away from him. There was nothing dangerous about him, was there?

Instead, your mind was now being filled with pleasant images of you and the siren spending time together, of him holding you close protectively, of him swearing his eternal love and kissing you. All of a sudden, you felt warm all over as you gazed deep into Sunday´s eyes and you knew that he was the one that was meant for you.

Slowly, one step at a time, you walked closer to the edge of the boat again, where Sunday was happily holding out his hands for you to take, eagerly grasping at air as if to usher you even closer.

And you were all too eager to follow his demands as a sugary sweet melody droned on and on in your ears, overwhelming you with feelings of everlasting love and devotion.

"That´s it, darling. Come closer. It´s only a few more steps.", he urged you on, almost desperately as you almost came into touching range. It was only a few more moments until he could finally have you in his arms. And once he did, he would never allow you to leave him again. Not that you would be able to underwater.

Voices were picking up in the background, quickly getting closer and Sunday realized that your crew must have picked up on what was happening.

"Come here quickly, darling!", he shouted, his voice growing more urgent and desperate the closer the booming voices got.

And you did as he said, quickening your steps towards him with a lovesick smile on your face.

"I´m almost there, my love", you said and Sunday´s heart almost burst at the sweet tone you took with him. He knew you were currently under the influence of his siren song but he strongly wanted to believe that the love you felt for him was real. Why else would you too be looking at him so full of yearning?

"Someone, quick! Grab on to them! That siren is trying to lead them to their death!", a gruff voice yells from the back with several more footsteps scrambling quickly behind. They were advancing on you fast and Sunday knew he was almost out of time as one quickly ran up to you.

"No, no, no! Don´t touch them! They´re mine! Don´t ruin this for me!", he yelled out in anger, his eyes a furious storm as they glared at the person trying to get a hold of you. He couldn´t fail so close to the end. How dare they accuse him of trying to harm you?!

"Please, you need to come to your senses!", the sailors try to reason with you but it´s almost like you can´t even register what they say.

" I need to meet with my love, he´s waiting for me.", you say, still smiling as you step to the very edge of the boat, looking down at a Sunday growing more and more manic by the second.

"Jump into my arms, darling! Accept my love and be mine forever!", the siren calls out to you as a crew member grabs into your arms, trying to pull you back.

"Don´t listen to him! Please, don´t do as he says!"

You struggle violently against the hold, kicking and screaming, demanding to be let go.

"No, you can´t separate me from my love, let me go! I need to be by his side!", you scream and with an especially harsh kick, the sailor lets go of you for a moment, leaving you with enough time to take the final step and jump right into your demise.

Sunday gently catches you in his arms, a lovesick smile on his face as he finally gets to hold you like he wanted to. You´re finally all his and there´s nothing that can be done about it anymore.

"I´m so happy you chose me, darling. We´re going to be so happy together. I´ll take such good care of you. No one else is ever going to touch you again.", he whispers into your ear and you can´t help but giggle joyfully at the prospect, your mind singing with affection, drowning out the growing panic within you.

But what is there to be afraid of? You´re finally united with the love of your life and nothing will ever separate you again.

Sunday holds you firmly as he quickly swims away from the boat, leaving your panicked crewmates behind.

Now that he finally has you, he will make sure that you´ll grow to love him even without his song. He knows that deep down, you love him just as much as he does you, you´ll just need a little bit of time to adjust to your new life underwater. He knows of a very beautiful underwater cave that he can keep you in until you grow more accustomed to your new life with him. Down there, you´ll never be able to escape his grasp again.

You will be his forever, for that is the consequence of putting him under a spell like you has.

And then he takes you with him to the very depths of the sea, never to be seen again.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Casual

Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

In My Room Chance Pena

Masterlist

Summary: Sirius falls for his most recent hook up, and she refuses to cave to what she wants}

Wc- 6697

Cw: Not proof read- Use of {Y/N}, sexual themes and scenes(literally opens with smut), cussing, Sirius is kinda a butt and broken hearted, Marlene my beloved, Jily my beloved}

Taglist- @otterlockholmes

If someone asked your peers what was one thing about you that they would say described you best, it was that you liked control.

The fear of the unknown, or better, uncertainty wasn't something you necessarily found charming. Things needed to be handled in an exact science, nothing spontaneous, no surprises.

Not that you weren't into a little fun, but even that came down to a basic formula to you. From parties, to schoolwork, to free time, and of course, to relationships. You would certainly be a RavenClaw if you weren't so ambitious.

That's why, when it first came out that you and Sirius were ‘talking,’ everyone was baffled. In hindsight, it made sense. He was a play boy who never really settled down, and you were a player yourself. Commitment meant opening your schedule to influences outside of your control. A whole other human’s thoughts and feelings, that just didn't fit into your mindset.

That meant a whole new set of rules you weren't ready to create. A whole new ecosystem to tend to. Of course, that also meant foolish things like jealousy, possession, passion. You'd rather stay as far away from that as possible.

 So hooking up with Sirius was easy. It was a quick fix to clear your mind and just have a break. You had been seeing each other for months. It started over the summer when James invited you and Lily to the Potters’. You both were left unsupervised for an hour, and what were two wound up teens to do? 

This symbiotic relationship followed you into year seven. You and Sirius hardly truly talked before then, but now, talk was truly on the back burner. You'd both find your release in each other and you'd leave. Simple as that. He would have someone to release any tension without having to work for it and you had your own relief without commitment. It was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

See, last week you broke your own rule. You usually never stayed over at Sirius’s dorm. You both agreed it was too intimate, but you were both exhausted, and you figured staying with him once wasn't a horrible idea. He did not complain. 

Since that night, he had been acting strange. Stranger than usual, that was. He would avoid you outside of your rendezvous, suddenly too busy with Quidditch practice, without James, and personal study. You ignored it, you were never close to Sirius before so you didn't think too much about him not spending time with you. 

Then came tonight. You ran your hands on his bare chest, nails raking down his flawless skin towards his abdomen. His head was thrown back in a loud groan, the music from downstairs keeping it from being anyone's but yours. Your hips rutted cruelly against his pelvis, slow and daunting. You had been at it for an hour now, your bodies were hot, sweat slipped from your forehead as you threw your head back when you managed to roll right into a sweet tender spot. 

The sound you let out was ungodly, and Sirius was losing it. Fighting against his tie you used to restrain his wrists. Even in his predicament, he refused to give in. When you faltered, growing closer to coming undone, he cursed and began to thrust up. The slapping of skin was loud and horrific, and paired with his groans and soft moans, your unholy exhales and blubbering nonsense you managed to slip out your lips, it sounded more like a porno scene than a dorm room.

Your legs began to shake, you pulled your nails from his freshly pink skin and ran your fingers up his cheeks and into his hair. You closed your eyes and bit your lip, meeting his thrusts in an animalistic way. His eyes were transfixed on you. How your body was glowing in the moonlight from the window, with a thick sheen of sweat and indented skin where he bit you too hard. You looked like a masterpiece to him, something he never wanted to give up.

“I love you.”

The words slipped through his lips before he could stop it. You both reached your hazy highs. You gave a croak of a moan and fell limp against his form. He was panting and huffing as his cum coated your insides. It felt so perfect. It was perfect for him.

Then, you were untying his wrists, carefully climbing off of him too soon, and the euphoria cleared, and he knew what he had done. He watched as you got up, grabbing his towel and patting yourself dry. Tossing it onto his lap without another word.

He sat up on his elbows and watched as you got ready, putting on the thin black dress that started all of this. 

“You're not staying?”

You wanted to ignore him. You wanted to snap and shout at him. If there was anyone you knew who could have kept this just a hookup, it was Sirius Black. And he betrayed your trust. And that made it so much harder.

“No.”

Sirius gave a dry laugh and fell back against his bed sheets. Running his fingers through his hair as he looked up at the ceiling. Merlin, this felt too damn familiar. 

“Is it too late to pretend that didn't happen?”

You gave your own sarcastic laugh, grabbing your wand and shoes. You looked back at him, his eyes were wide and glossy, already rimming red. You were unsure if it was from the salt of his skin invading his eyes, or if he was about to cry, but you were weak to his looks. All of them.

You sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with your heel straps.

“When?”

“What?”

“When did this become more to you?”

You could practically hear him flinch. To you. There was nothing to you. This meant nothing more than sex to you, you made that clear, but hearing it made Sirius ache.

“It always was.”

“What?”

“I’ve loved you. Since year five.”

You covered your face and groaned. You wanted to be sympathetic, but you were mad. He had been using you, this whole time, for some fantasy in his head, in a world where you were his. It made your stomach turn with guilt. How dare he make you feel guilty for this. He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“We're done.”

“Wait-”

“Goodnight, Sirius.”

He tried to reach for you but you had already slipped on your shoes. You walked out the door as Sirius stumbled after you. Putting on his boxers and trying to follow after, not even thinking of making himself not look like hot sex.

“Hey! See ya, {Y/N}!” James called from the doorway and Sirius met his eyes trying to leave. James looked down at Sirius bewildered, he was usually long since asleep after your time together, or at least smoking in bed. His friend looked so defeated. He felt it too. “Woah, you okay mate?”

“Fuck.” Sirius hissed and leaned his back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. James sounds of concern falling on deaf ears. Why the fuck did he say that?

~~~

“You're staring again.” Remus muttered as he stabbed his eggs with his fork. Looking up to see James’s desperate look, begging Remus to take pity on the sad fool. Remus was officially a prefect, he didn't have to stay up at night listening to Sirius’s woes about you.

 “Not creepy at all, by the way. Just…” He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, I can't lie to him. She won't even come and eat with us anymore, which also means he's banished Lily to the other side of the table too. We're lucky she even comes to our common room to hang with us.”

James rubbed his temple and Sirius scoffed, looking at Remus’s firm expression. “I've banished her? I have? Bloody hell, I caught feelings for one girl and it's my fault she ran with her tail between her legs?” It was two weeks! Two weeks and she refused to talk to him outside of pleasantries.

“Watch it, Pads. You were the one who went too far. Who confesses while they're balls deep in someone?” Remus snapped back and Peter gave a squeak of distress, coughing out a few eggs. 

“Wait, what happened?” Peter whined out.

“Sirius confessed to {Y/N}. Not to mention he’s been skipping practice. Slytherin almost beat us!” James muttered and Peter looked like they said he hexed Dumbledore himself.

Remus scoffed at James' concerns.

Another thing about your reputation, everyone knew. Everyone knew you refused to entertain commitment, but Peter was also startled by Sirius’s confession.

“You confessed?” Peter questioned with an open slack mouth.

“Yes, wormtail.” Sirius snapped back.

“Woah.” He mumbled and Remus sighed. 

“Let's get your mind off it, Pads, let's go smash bludgers at each other until we get told off by Pomfrey, ya?” James prodded and before Sirius could respond, he was interrupted.

“You will do no such thing. Your mother would look to me if you came back with a battered head, it's a big enough target as it is.” Lily spoke from behind him, wrapping her arms around James shoulders as he leaned back and their lips met. She broke the kiss and giggled at the love sick look on his face. “Yes ma'am.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled back slightly, looking at Sirius with a soft pitiful look and he sighed through his nose. “She told you?”

“Well.. we are best friends, she was bound to.” Lily offered cautiously as James leaned his head into her sleeve and began to nibble on her robe like a damned goat, trying to let out all his bundled up affection. Lily quickly pinched his ear to reprimand him. Making him huff with a whine.

Sirius rolled his eyes at the affectionate display and Lily attempted to move but James just wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, pulling her flush against his back. She rolled her eyes harder this time.

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad is it?” Sirius mumbled and Lily shook her head.

“Well, she feels betrayed, Sirius. She feels like you've been indulging in what isn't yours.” Sirius looked down at his food and poked around at it before he tossed his fork down. “I wasn't indulging. What we had was consensual-”

“But dishonest. And we warned you.” Lily quipped sharply and Sirius flinched a bit. Lily was always a mother-like figure, but she was especially defensive of you. 

“Sorry, I just..” Sirius his voice cracked as he rubbed the bridge of his nose and Lily sighed. 

“I know..” She whispered. “You did this to yourself, Sirius.”

“I know.” He whispered. He felt defeated. 

Lily leaned her head on James, curtaining his face with her long red hair, the brunette is in absolute heaven with his nose pressed to her neck.

“Sirius, just be careful, okay? She's made it clear she's not going to stop her.. life over this.”

Sirius' jaw clenched. He didn't even think about that. Someone else having you the same way he did. 

That was a new hell.

~~

When you were seeing Sirius, you both agreed to keep things exclusive, you both agreed that it would keep you both safe to not involve anyone else. Sirius was quickly learning that was a mistake. 

He couldn't find himself entertaining a girl without thinking of you, even casuals that he had seen before you just reminded him of the way you looked in his eyes as you commanded his soul to bend to you. Their touch reminded him of your sharp nails wracking down his back as he held himself above the one woman who could truly ever break him.

Weeks without you was torture. He missed the intimacy, of course, but also you. He meant it when he said he fell for you years ago. Sirius was much in the same boat as Remus, he didn't think he deserved the more sweet love in life. 

You weren't gentle, you were genuine and to the point. Blunt, no filter  and rather brash. It was no wonder the girls seemed to love you. Lily was stern and more parental, Marlene was a party animal but a helpless romantic, Dorcas was hard to read but she had the same blunt air about her, and Mary was more of an observer. You tied them together like a bow. Lily's more rash side, Marlene's more rational side, Dorcas’s honest side and Mary's voice. 

It also meant you were all these things to the boys when you met them. Remus and you were naturally drawn to each other, both enjoying the more quiet things. It helped you had prefect rounds together. James and you fit a lot like you'd expect, a much more stern voice of reason to his utter stupidity. Peter even bonded with you, in small comments in passing and clever one liners between you two.

Sirius, however, had to admit he thought you were nothing more than pretty. When Lily introduced you to the group, you fit in far too easily, not to mention you were a Slytherin. Though, your more no bullshit and cut throat attitude quickly turned his indifference to infatuation. It helped that you didn't even spare him the time of day in most cases.

His ideal type. 

The attraction was purely sexual. It was supposed to be casual. The shared flirts, the snarky comments, the deathly teasing, only to be followed by your endless heart. When you sat with him after a bad Quidditch accident, when you sat him down and forced him to study for potions because he was failing and just didn't care. You were always there to help him out of the stupid shit he got himself into.

Yet, over the two years you'd known him, that was the most that happened between the two of you. You could hardly call each other friends, because you did that for everyone. He felt like he was nothing to you, just someone to nag and dote on. Your words always meant the world to him, and you picked them carefully, but they were never just his.

Until you were in bed together. He couldn't just let that go.

Now he had to manage to keep himself calm when you were around, because your friends were his and his were yours. He would never make them choose, and honestly, he was selfish. He wanted to be around you in any way he could. 

He regrets that now.

Lily and Marlene had brought down an empty glass from their dorm room from Merlin knows what, insisting everyone gather around for a game of truth or dare. 

Eventually, everyone was situated around the bottle. James was on the couch, Lily practically on his lap. Remus was on the other side, leaning back and already drinking whatever Peter had brought from their dorm room. Marlene was dancing around the room to a random AC / DC record, with her school skirt hiked up to show off her thighs, and a rich red crop top, just her tie hanging loose around her neck. She was singing a bit off key, but in a charming way. 

Sirius would usually find that to be the most captivating part of the night, but every time he even glanced at her he could only think of how you would only ever dance when he coaxed you off the couch. How you'd act so terribly annoyed, before melting into his arms and laughing along with his terrible dance moves. You both would make absolute fools of yourself. It was his favorite part of the night.

Peter got up from his spot across from Sirius as someone knocked. He hurried over to the portrait and opened it, and in came Mary, Dorcus, and you.

Sirius felt his breath hitch and he looked away. James seemed to notice this, but before he could say anything to save the poor boy, Marlene gave a delighted squeal and ran up to you and Dorcas, arms around both of your shoulders. You glanced at her and both you and Meadowes shared a small hidden smile. 

“Let's get this started!” Marlene shouted, you winced away at the volume right against your ear. Dorcas just looked taken. You playfully pinched her cheek and she giggled, hurrying over to sit right next to Sirius. You thinned your lips at the sight, you didn't expect them to try and rekindle whatever they had before, but if they did you.. you could be happy for them, you think. That bubbling in your throat was just left over betrayal.

Sirius, however, had his eyes narrowed on you. You ignored it, turning to start and idle conversation with Dorcas who seemed just as unsettled about the position. You put your hand on her back and rubbed it a bit as you looked at Mary who sat on your other side. She shared a sympathetic look with both of you and you bit your cheek. What was that for?

“Who's first?” Remus spoke up to break the tension, and Lily raised her hand. “Oh! Oh! Me!” She quickly spun the bottle and it twirled around to land on Peter. 

The game was going steady like that, shots taken for people who refused to do their dares, pretty outlandish and good natured. Eventually, this had devolved into a modest level of chaos, until Marlene spun the bottle. She was clearly a bit tipsy, and her filter had long been dissolved.

You were still trying to keep up the sportsmanship of the game, but when Marlene asked you truth or dare there was no way in hell you'd say dare, terrified she'd ask you to streak or scream bloody murder in the middle of the courtyard. Two dares she's done before.

“Truth.” You mused with a smile and tilted your head. 

“Is it true you have a new boytoy already~?” Marlene purred and leaned forward with her chin in her palm. Your face filled with dread instantly. Really? Already? She made it sound like it was some horrible offense. You were sure Sirius had found someone else too, you were never anything more than what happened between the sheets.

Your eyes flicked to Sirius, and he looked stunned. He wasn't even breathing, and you felt a sharp pain in your chest. Feeling the need to justify yourself. 

“W-well, it's nothing. But yes, I guess?” You muttered out and Sirius leaned his head back and you winced. What else should you have said? Should you have lied for his sake? Did it matter? Again, you and Sirius were hardly friends.

Lily watched the interaction with wide eyes, watching as you stammered in uncertainty. Waving your hand around in aspiration. Her eyes widened and she hit James best before he could interrupt, gesturing to you. His eyes widened as even James -can't take a hint- Potter caught on to what was happening. No…

Marlene gave a gasp and leaned forward. “Woah, no wasted time, huh, {Y/N}.”

“Is it that big of a deal?” Mary offered in a quiet voice, trying to cut in. Marlene finally seemed to take the hint, and quickly stammered out and back tracked. 

“N-no, of course not, just curious.” She muttered on about and tried to quickly encourage you to spin the bottle, but your eyes were locked into place by Sirius’s. 

“So uhm,” Sirius cleared his throat and looked away. “Who is it?”

“Does it matter?” You whispered back. It was like you two were in your own private world. Mary put her hand on your shoulder and Dorcas slipped her hand around your lower back. Both trying to comfort you threw the confrontation. It was like everyone could see what you felt before you even knew it. 

“It does to me.” He muttered in a low voice and you looked away, slowly hugging your knees and biting your cheek.

“... Barty Crouch.” You mumbled and he gave a bitter laugh, making you close your eyes.

“Really?” He practically shouted and you quickly pushed the girls off and began to stand up. “My brother’s best friend?” He gave a bitter laugh as he watched you gather your things.

“Thank you guys for tonight.” You smiled at the group, quickly trying to defuse the situation, Remus waved his hand and stood up, ready to walk you back.

“Yeah, go ahead. Walk away, again.” Sirius raised his voice and you flat out ignored him, shaking your head and walking to the door. “There she goes folks!” He shouted across the room and you simply sent him an interesting gesture over your shoulder. He scoffed.

The second the portrait closed he kicked the bottle across the room and stomped off to the stairs. “Good fucking riddance.”

He prayed it was missed, but the watery tone in the base of his throat was so painfully obvious.

~~~

You two didn't talk for another few weeks, you stayed away from the Gryffindor common room for dear life. Particularly after James pulled you aside and asked you to avoid Sirius, as his performance in Quidditch was suffering. Lily gave him a firm talking to after that. At first you scoffed it off, but ultimately you listened.

Things were dulling down, you went back to what you could control and the girls didn't entirely mind meeting in the prefect rooms. You were sitting in the mirror, combing your hair in the same black dress, ready to meet Barty up in the Ravenclaw common rooms to celebrate their win against Gryffindor. 

“Are you sure you won’t be coming?” You hummed and looked over at Lily who gave a nod.

“Sorry, I’m sure Barty will look after you. I have to comfort a moping giant, I’ll be busy all night.” Lily exaggerated, making you smirk and Dorcas clear her throat.

“All night, huh?” She mused and Lily bit her bottom lip.

“Sometimes losing a game or two has its perks.” She cheeked and Mary gave a dramatic gasp. “Lily Josephine Evans!”

You gave her a scandalized look up and down. “Really now?”

“I have told you before, I can take punishment.” She pushed and Mary threw a pillow at her, making you laugh in absolute delight. You shook your head fondly, unable to stop the bright goofy smile on your face. 

“You are awful.” You mumbled and put on a pair of earrings, wincing as you immediately were reminded of how much Sirius liked them. Quickly taking them out and standing up.

“Are either of you coming?” You asked Mary and Dorcas and Mary shook her head. “Sorry, me and Remus are going to study in the library.” She mused and before Dorcas could make another innuendo you sent her a look. 

The stoic girl giggled like a mischievous first year. “No, I’m sorry. I have actual innocent things to do.” 

You rolled your eyes before you waved them off. “I will see you three another time.”

“Talk to him!” Lily called before the other two muttered out their goodbyes between packing their things.

“Not a chance, Evans!” You shouted over your shoulder. You didn't owe Sirius a damn thing. Certainly not the time of day after the stunt he pulled.

~~~

Sirius was a mess. He had been unable to focus on anything but you for the past two miserable months. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to talk to you, he wanted to see you. You avoided him like the plague, and he didn't know if he was grateful or pissed about it.

He knew only one way to get rid of this aching irritation.

That's how he found himself in a small broom closet with Marleen, his lips were all over hers, his hands on her hips gripping hard at her exposed skin. Marlene was so different from you, but it wasn't hard. To close his eyes and imagine it was your fingers running threw his hair, your lips against his own.

When he moved to her neck, he felt your skin. He heard your voice saying his name so sweetly. “Fuck.. that's my girl.” He whispered against her skin and relished in the slight shiver she let rock her body. “I've got you, {Y/N}. I'm right here.” He breathed heavily.

There was a moment where both of them froze. There was a sharp stinging pain that ran across his jaw as Marlene, appropriately, slapped him. He groaned and stepped back, Marlene slamming the door open to storm out.

Bloody hell.

~~~

You made your way down the empty corridors, looking outside at the moonlit school grounds. It was quiet, just before curfew, not that you were too worried. You had wrapped yourself up in your school cloak and prayed Flinch cared as little as he seemed to about the proper patrols.

There was a loud crackling slap that rang through the silent hall, soon after, a door slammed open a few yards down from you. Your eyes snapped up to watch Marlene rush out of the room. Your eyes widened when you looked at eachother and she looked like a deer in headlights. 

You opened your mouth to say something before Sirius stumbled out behind her, muttering a mouthful of apologies.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened. Frazzled hair, kids bruised lips, Marlene's neck and Sirius’s… red cheek? You quickly looked away from the two and Marlene looked back at Sirius. He was staring at you with wide eyes.

She huffed and began to stomp away, leaving the two of you in an awkward silence. 

“... hey.” He whispered and that snapped you out of it.

You began to walk down the hall, and he quickly ran in front of you, his hands up in front of you to try and settle you. You scoffed and looked behind you before sharply up at him. “Hey- hey, {Y/N}, it's not what you think.” He tried to defend himself. From what exactly? You had no clue.

“What? It's kind of hard to hide it.” You scoffed and gestured to his  unbuckled pants. He sighed and began to fix them, your eyes looking away from him. Arms crossed as you waited for him to speak his peace. Sirius shoving his shirt into his pants to straighten himself up.

There was a long silence before Sirius spoke up again. Your eyes drifting back to him. He was a mess, he looked so apologetic. Your heart almost broke, it ached for you to just drag him back to the dorm and forget everything that happened the past few months. You blinked away the thought. No. This is exactly why you avoid relationships. You hated this hurt.

“Uhm..” He cleared his throat. “Where are you heading?”

“What?” You whispered, a bit caught off guard. 

“It's not your night for rounds.” He mumbled. “I just figured, you know-”

“How do you…” Right. He would know your night schedule wouldn't he? “Ah..”

Your eyes drifted past him before you gestured to the stairs. “Well. RavenClaw is celebrating their win. Barty asked me to come.” You remarked calmly and he gave a low scoff. You took a deep breath as you prepared yourself for his next out lash. 

“You just. Never went with me to the parties at Gryffindor tower is all.” 

You rolled your eyes. “That's because I knew you'd be there, Sirius. You always had me those nights, didn't you?”

He stared at you and slowly nodded. “Yeah. I did.” He muttered and bit his cheek. You wanted to kiss his pout away and- Merlin what was getting into you?

“Well, if you don't mind..” You mumbled and walked past him, He quickly called out again.

“Will you uhm.. Will you be at the next game?” He called across the hall and you looked him in his eyes. He was pleading, you had never seen him so.. sad. Bruised cheek and all.

“... do you want me to, Sirius?”

“More than anything.”

You sighed through your nose. “Yes, I'll be there.”

He shook his head, slowly a shy and hesitant smile grew on his lips. “Nice.. nice.. yeah, I'll see you there.”

He stood there and stared at you for a moment. You felt like you lost the ability to breathe.

“Sirius?” You whispered and he looked you in the eyes with this sad bit of hope you knew you’d crush.

“Yeah?”

“Is that all?”

“O-oh, yeah. Yeah, I'll see you there, {Y/N}.” He mumbled and you slowly nodded. He turned and walked back to the tower.

“Yeah. See you.” You whispered to an empty corridor. You stood there for a solid minute. Debating if you should run after him or not. You wanted to. You wanted to but you knew you shouldn't.

~~~ 

The image of Sirius and Marlene leaving the storage room together was burned into your head. You had been avoiding him, he had a right to do anything he wanted with anyone he wanted, you had called it off.

Even so, with Barty at your neck kissing it sore and your fingers in his hair, you couldn't stop thinking about it. You went through the motions, just dismissing your own thoughts and letting Barty’s hands reach for your bra strap. He paused and you didn't even notice, still staring off out of one of the several windows. The Ravenclaw tower was just encased in them from wall to wall, and with the darkness they just looked like mirrors.

“Are you alright?” Barty whispered in your ear and you nodded.

“Yeah, sorry, just distracted.” You mumbled and he shook his head, pulling away.

“What? What's wrong?” You whispered out and he bit his cheek.

“Come on, don't play dumb.” He chuckled and fell back on a random seat in the vacant room he dragged you in. 

“What?” You mumbled and he shrugged, slowly smirking.

“I may be younger, but I know that look. You have been a million miles away. I'm not gonna sleep with you while you're like that, pretty girl.”

You gave a weak and playful laugh, fixing your dress on your shoulder. “Isn't that what this is for, Crouch?”

“Ouch, Crouch?” he chuckled, standing up to pick up your discarded robe and walked behind you to wrap it around your shoulders. “I would normally agree with anything your pretty mouth uttered, but I am not Sirius. I'm not a good substitute, I can guarantee it.”

“What? Don't be crass.” You scoffed, startled with how easily he could see through you.

‘Twelve owls, I'm not an idiot.” He gave you a firm pat on your ass and pushed you on. “Go get that sad sack. I am going to go see if Evan’s is busy.”

You were stunned by the whole interaction. You bit your cheek before you turned and gave him a tight hug. He was startled by this, but slowly pulled you in. Turning you around and shoving you off.

“Okay, you're killing my buzz. Out.”

~~~

You weren't thinking. That was your excuse. When you stumbled out of the tower and walked right past the dungeons. You stopped at the fat lady, knocking on the painting and startling the her awake. She looked at you suspiciously and you gave her a nervous smile. “Just.. checking on some things.” You whispered and she seemed to buy it for the most part.

You snapped your head up as the door opened. Peter looked at you with wide eyes and you looked around him before slipping in. You walked into the common room before you turned to him. “Is James here?”

“No, just Sirius. I can-”

“No need.” You remarked quickly and turned, hurrying up the steps and leaving a baffled and confused Peter behind.

When you got to the door, you knocked quickly. You prayed no one else was there. 

The door opened with a hesitance, Sirius peaked out and his eyes grew the size of saucers. “{Y/N}-”

“Are you alone?” You breathed and he quickly nodded. You stepped in and closed the door behind you. Pressing your back to it. Sirius stared at you and you bit your bottom lip. There was a long silence. You didn't even think about what you planned to say when you got there. 

He reached out to grab his tie and yanked him close. His lips were on yours without much coaxing needed. He gave a sigh and forced his body against yours. The door behind you jerks at the force. You ran your fingers through his hair and he groaned against your lips.  “Sirius.” You whined as his hands grabbed your hips.

“I know, {Y/N}.” He whispered and you looked away, his lips falling to your neck. “I've got you.”

~~~

The next morning you woke up just an hour or so before Sirius to sneak back to your dorms. Once you got there, you passed Lily on her own walk of shame. You both looked at eachother but said nothing of the events from the night before. 

You both got ready for the day, and ended up meeting up early in the Quidditch stands. Still, no one said anything about it. “How long are these games?” You asked Lily with a shiver, covering yourself up with a jumper you had taken with you this morning. Not really thinking about having to explain why you had his clothes. Why you left the tower that morning. Really, anything,

You'd don't have to, however. Lily knew. She knew the moment you looked heartbroken at Sirius that night. She knew the separation wouldn't last.

“Could be hours. James has set records with being the quickest seeker, so could even be minutes.” Lily mused and you gave a scoff of a laugh. 

“That tells me nothing, you know that right?”

Lily simply smirked at you. “Like you? This morning? Why are you wearing Sirius’s jacket?” She cheeked and you gave a guilty weak smile.

“... yeah, makes sense Lily, I hope Slytherin wins.” You teased and she gave a playful scoff.

“It will take ages!”

Eventually the girls joined and you settled to watch the game.

You were finally able to witness it, what James meant when he said you had his ‘best beater’ distracted. Sirius seemed in another place the whole game. He was being pelted with the bludger, and not as quick with sending it back to their attackers. You were actually quite into the game and startled by every attack.

Sirius however, was just hovering. Trying to piece together what last night was. He didn't see you in the Slytherin stands, and he was wondering if it would be another three months before he heard your voice again. He snapped out of it just in time to send a bludger back that was aimed right to his face. He took a few steady breaths and bit his cheek.

That almost made you panic. You shot up straight as people began to boo him. You covered your face with a groan, the Slytherin stands chanting and cheering for him to continue to fumble. You didn't really think before you launched to your feet and grabbed the edge of the railing. 

“Sirius!!” You screamed over the railing and he snapped around to your voice. You both locked eyes and your breath hitched. You held his eyes for a minute before you bit your lip and leaned so far forward over the railing you might've fallen. “Just win this game already! It's bloody cold out here!”

That was all he needed. You, in his house stands. In his jumper. Cheering his name. He nearly passed out. And you turned to look behind him with wide eyes. He moved on instinct. Turning sharply to smack an incoming bludger at a distracted chaser. You cheered for him, this time Lily and Mary joined you in your rowdy cheers, as Lily pulled you back from the edge. 

You and the girls watched as James spotted the Snitch, in all honesty, it was the first time you paid attention to anyone else in the game. 

James and the other seeker were neck and neck, but Sirius took care of that easily, hitting the bludger at the back of Regulus’s broom and spinning him out of control and giving James the chance to secure the win.

Griffindor screamed out in victory, and Sirius landed. He ran right past James, Marlene, even Alice as they went to congratulate each other, running straight for the stands, passing Lily and only lending him a moment as she laughed. “She went to the school! Think she's sneaking off to her dorm.”

“Bloody hell she is! Not after that!” He shouted, already running off the pit and not even thinking of using his long discarded broom.

You had just managed to avoid the crowds and ran straight up the stairs. You didn't even think until you find yourself in the astronomy tower. You began to pace. You wanted him. You wanted him so bad. You wanted this so bad. The flash of Sirius coming to mind as the final horse crossed the finish line. You were in love with Sirius black. Oh Merlin, have mercy on your soul.

“{Y/N}! {Y/N}!” 

Speak of the damned devil. 

You turned from your perch on the railing, staring down at Sirius as he stood in the courtyard just below you. Like you were once again, watching him from the stands. 

“Sirius!” You shouted down without thinking. He looked up at you and it looked like a scene from a fairy tale. He was looking at you with this stupid smile on his face, a smile you just wanted to kiss so bad. 

“How did you get up there so quick!?” He shouted up at you, drawing a small crowd and you laughed. “Did you win!?”

Sirius couldn't even bring himself to be offended that you didn't stay for the end of the match. “We did!” He shouted up and you bit your lip, absolutely love struck with a bright smile. “I'm coming up!” He shouted and you closed your eyes tight, leaning forward over the edge again.

“Sirius Orion Black!” You shouted down and now a crowd was forming. But you could only see each other. He stared up at you with a quirked eyebrow. “Yeah?!”

“I-” You choked out a whisper before you shook your head. 

“Sirius Black I'm in love with you! I love your stupid face! Your pretty smile! Your dumb eyes!” You shouted and he took a few steps back with a shocked look. Quickly shoving his way past the crowd to make his way up the stairs to you. You had your eyes closed, you didn't even notice as he left. “I love your stupid dance moves! I love when you hold me! I love when you make those stupid jokes no one else gets but us! I love you, Merlin I fucking love you!” You screamed across the entire courtyard, breath heavy as you slowly opened your eyes and your heart dropped. Where did he-

Suddenly, there were a pair of arms around your abdomen that yanked you from the railing. You squealed and Sirius spun you around. Setting you down and laughing as you looked up at him. Your eyes met and he bit his lip. “{Y/N}?”

“Yeah?” You whispered in faux innocence. 

“I fucking love you too.”

He grabbed your cheeks and yanked you into a kiss. It was heavy and intense; your hands found his cheeks in return. You were both so wrapped up with each other, you didn't even notice a much closer audience before you heard Lily clear her throat. Sirius looked up and was greeted by Lily, Mary, Marlene, everyone. Even Peter who all seemed a bit winded. “Leave it to Sirius Black to get {Y/N} {L/N} to do something spontaneous.” Remus muttered and you didn't even seem to notice them. Yanking Sirius into another love filled kiss. Sirius had no qualms with this.

[writing-with-sophia]

Write a weak hero

Okay, first, what is weak? According to Oxford Dictionary, weak is lacking the power to perform physically demanding tasks; lacking physical strength and energy, or liable to break or give way under pressure; easily damaged.

That means, a weak hero is a character who isn't physically strong, mentally strong or even both.

So, how can we create a weak hero but do not make readers hate him/her? You will know after this post!

First, developing an effectively background

Unlike typical heroes who may have been born with incredible powers or had a dramatic origin story, the weak hero should come from a mundane background. They can be an ordinary person with nothing outstanding, a failure, etc. and suddenly have to shoulder the responsibility of "a hero" even though they don't want it.

Focus on their mundaneness and weakness. Describe the awkward situation where they are forced to become heroes. Why were they chosen to be heroes, when there are others who are more talented and powerful? What were the circumstances under which this happened? Make it as clear as possible.

Don't forget to describe their thoughts, feelings, and reactions. In their backstory, highlight times when the weak hero tried to be heroic or take on challenges, only to fall flat on their face. Was there a specific incident that shattered their self-esteem? Do they come from a family or environment that was overly critical? These past embarrassments and disappointments can inform their current self-doubts.

Use flashbacks strategically. Intersperse key backstory moments throughout the narrative to gradually reveal the hero's history and motivations, rather than dumping it all at once. This will help the reader better understand the character's journey and the reasons behind their reluctance to embrace the role of a hero.

Second, emphasizing their weakness

Focus on their mundane, everyday struggles. Rather than epic battles, the weak hero's conflicts should revolve around things like asking neighbors for help or failing to complete simple tasks.

You can also contrast them with stronger, more capable heroes. Have the weak hero regularly get overshadowed or overlooked by the more impressive feats of other characters.

The weak hero's ineptitude and frustrations can be a great source of comedy. So don't be afraid to poke fun at their failings :).

Third, slowly build towards small victories

If you want your weak hero to be liked by the readers, never let them be weak all the time. Drop subtle hints in the backstory that suggest the hero has untapped potential or unique talents that could one day be leveraged in unexpected ways, even if they don't realize it themselves.

Focus on the why. What made them become strong, or strive to become stronger? Is it a long-term motivation or a temporary one? Are they doing it for themselves or others? What will they do to overcome their weaknesses? Over time, the weak hero can learn to leverage their "useless" powers in clever ways and gain a little more confidence, even if they never become a heavy hitter.

And, remember to highlight their determination. Despite their shortcomings, the weak hero should possess an underlying stubbornness and refusal to give up. Showcase moments in their past where they persevered even when success seemed impossible.

Fourth, crafting challenges

When crafting challenges for a weak hero, you need to focus on obstacles that play to their specific limitations and insecurities. Here are some types of challenges a weak hero might face:

Outmatched in combat

The weak hero tries to take on a powerful villain, only to be easily overpowered by the villain's superior strength, speed, or abilities.

They get into a fight they can't win and have to rely on their wits or dumb luck to escape unscathed.

Inability to complete basic tasks

The weak hero struggles with simple everyday activities like opening a jar, fixing a leaky faucet, or assembling furniture.

These mundane challenges become major roadblocks that highlight their incompetence.

Social humiliation

The weak hero tries to interact with others, only to say the wrong thing and embarrass themselves.

They may attempt to flirt, negotiate, or simply make small talk, but end up flustered and socially awkward.

Lack of confidence

The weak hero doubts their abilities and has a hard time believing they can accomplish anything meaningful.

They may shrink away from opportunities to be heroic, worried they'll just mess things up.

Overbearing comparisons to stronger heroes

The weak hero is constantly overshadowed by the exploits of more powerful heroes, making them feel inadequate.

They may try to emulate the other heroes' successes, only to fail miserably.

Underestimation by villains

The villains dismiss the weak hero as harmless and ignore them, allowing the hero to stumble into accidentally foiling the villain's plans.

The villains may even make the mistake of toying with the weak hero, giving the hero a chance to catch them off guard.

The key is to create challenges that force the weak hero to rely on their limited abilities in creative ways. Gradually building their confidence through small wins can be a rewarding character arc.

Fifth, supportive relationships

The weak hero likely has friends, family members, or mentors who believe in them, even if the hero themselves does not. By including a support system of characters who see the weak hero's hidden potential, the narrative can strike a balance between the hero's self-doubt and the encouragement of those around them. These supporting characters can provide a counterpoint to the hero's negative self-perception, offering validation and pushing them to exceed their own expectations.

The interactions between the weak hero and their cheerleaders can also be a source of character development and emotional growth. As the hero gains confidence and finds ways to leverage their unique talents, the relationships with these supportive figures can evolve, deepening the overall narrative.

Supportive relationships can be of many types, but the most effective are:

A mentor figure who sees the hero's hidden strengths and pushes them to overcome their limitations.

A loyal friend who constantly encourages the hero and refuses to give up on them.

A capable sidekick or partner who can cover for the hero's weaknesses in battle.

A tech-savvy ally who develops gadgets or abilities to enhance the hero's limited powers.

A family member who provides unconditional love and acceptance, even when the hero doubts themselves.

A romantic interest who sees the hero's inner strength and brings out their best self.

A rival or adversary who recognizes the hero's true talents, forcing them to confront their own insecurities.

A renowned hero or role model who inspires the weak hero to strive for greatness, even if they don't believe they can achieve it.

It is not easy to create a weak hero. Crafting a compelling weak hero requires carefully balancing their flaws and insecurities with moments of growth and determination. You must find ways to make the character relatable and likable, despite their shortcomings, by highlighting their underlying potential and the support system that believes in them.

Hope you enjoy this. If you have any questions about writing, inbox me. I will answer as best as I can.

[bigwishes]

A Bubbly Boost

Eddie had signed up to a new supplement trial a few months ago and heard nothing back, he had almost forgotten about it entirely until this morning when a package arrived for him at his door. It was small only slightly bigger than a ring box and when he opened it up there was a small vial filled with a clear fluid. He checked the box for the instructions.

drink and report how long changes tank using qr code

It was all it said, it seemed simple enough. Eddie swallowed it down without a second thought. It was disgusting and tasted like bubble mixture and was thick like glue in his mouth.

After swallowing it Eddie quickly rushed to get a glass of water to wash the taste out. Quickly gulping down the glass his stomach felt straight, light and hot, and a little bloated. It was a weird sensation that he couldn't describe.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP

Eddie suddenly let out a huge belch he didn't even feel coming. After he felt his stomach get heavy as it began to make a large gurgling noise.

BUUUUURRRRRRRP

Eddie felt it that time but couldn't stop it

"aw fuck.." UUUUURRPPP

After the third a sensation began to spread across Eddie's body, like he had just spent 6 hours in the gym doing a full body workout, his body was tight. His stomach felt like it was expanding outwards. Eddie rushed over to a mirror and saw he was in fact bigger, like he had gained 10 pounds of muscle in the last 5 seconds,

he felt the sensation creeping up his neck

BUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPP

Eddie watched as his body expanded with each passing belch. He began to panic but couldn't look away.

At first his shoulders grew wider

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPP

then his chest and lats inflated with mass

BUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

His arms blew up so large his bicep would make a basket ball look like a tennis ball.

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP

His legs began expanding and he had to adjust himself as his massive thighs pushed his dick and balls awkwardly forward.

Eddie began to feel a powerful sensation brewing in his stomach. The gurgling sound rung out through his house and he placed both hands abs feeling the vibrations as he braced himself.

His face grimaced as he felt extreme discomfort brewing under his abs

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPP

UUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPP

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPPPP

UUUUUUUUUUURRRrrrp

Eddie began to panic as he watched his perfect abs begin to bloat out into a roid gut

"AW FUCK WH-WHATS HAPPENING TO ME"

Eddie stared in the mirror, his body was ruined, he just wanted a pound or two, not two hundred, and he didn't look anything close to natural, the big growth hormone gut and the small stretch marks that appeared on his pelvis near it made that abundantly clear...

6 Months Later

Eddie couldn't drop even a pound of muscle no matter what he tried, he even took 2 months off from the gym and went on a diet but nothing...not a pound down. However after a bit it started to grow on him, he liked how much he could move in the gym, he liked that he could eat whatever he wanted and it didn't impact how much fat he carried, he liked nobody ever tried to take his seat at house parties, mainly because nobody wanted to sit on sweat soaked fabric but there was one perk he had fallen in love with, something he didn't expect to be such a turn on all the time....

Eddie got home from the gym, dropping his his gym bag and 3 bags of take out trash on the floor, he striped down and left his sweaty gym clothes in a line trailing to his couch. Over the past month Eddie had stopped caring about picking up after himself, it didn't matter anyway he was always sweaty better to embrace it...

Eddie sat down on his couch hearing the thing bend under his weight and watching the sweat from his thighs bleed into the fabric. He put his massive sweaty feet on the coffee table feeling the relief as the massive amount of weight he carried shift onto the couch.

His stomach let out and aggressive gurgle, he placed his hands on his roid gut rubbing his abs feeling them stretch outwards and become tighter. A loud glugging noise rung out into the room

Eddie threw his head back and moaned in response as the tight bloat reached its limit

"ah fuck yeahhh" Eddie lifted his head and smirked feeling the pressure rush up his body

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

FOOLISH SPRING WINDS, BLOW MY WAY ; SATORU GOJO

summary; a snippet of the spring you share with a certain satoru gojo — who seems intent on making your high school life as difficult as possible.

word count; 5.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, enemies to friends (..but the ’enemy’ part is kinda one-sided), fluffy n sweet overall, satoru doesn’t know how to make friends + thinks lighthearted bullying constitutes as a bonding activity, he’s a little shit but he means well, switching povs, lots of gojo slander (but reader sees the light eventually), big shoujo vibes, they’re both tsunderes <33

a/n; i ended up scrapping the series i wrote this fic for originally, so i thought i’d rewrite it and repost it on its own!! teentoru is such a grumpy little kitten i need to squish his paws

satoru gojo is annoying.

it might seem blunt, but after many weeks of careful thinking, you’ve decided no description could possibly fit him better. 

when you first met him, on that first day of school, you had no idea what to think. no real expressions or tonal shifts to clue you in on who he was, how he felt — nothing but the slightest peek of a terrifying blue to set your nerves on edge. 

in hindsight, you’re almost certain it was intentional. he wanted to appear unreadable. purposefully hiding his personality and mannerisms, to gain the upper hand — observing you, dissecting you inside his mind, while revealing nothing about himself apart from his surname. 

it’s a kind of power; a safety measure.

… but evidently, holding back isn’t exactly gojo’s forte. the very next morning, he was already beginning to loosen up, after getting more accustomed to the new environment and classmates. showing you his true colours; just a little hint of cerulean, a single dip of paint on the blank canvas of his soul.

and with the revelation of his genuine personality — your unease around him festered even more.

where could you even begin to describe him? for one, he’s childish. and cocky. and loud. arrogant, selfish and flamboyant — just generally an asshole? you could go on and on. none of the traits are particularly flattering, and you know he couldn’t care less.

gojo is annoying, plain and simple. almost constantly up to something, eager to push someone’s buttons, to get attention. like a bratty toddler. uninterested in manners, or even common courtesy; he says what he feels, regardless of how other people take it. 

to put it simply, he has no regard for the people around him. his self-interest is limitless. 

as if that wasn’t annoying enough — you have no choice but to admit that he does have a certain presence to him. a kind of charisma, or what you think could become charisma, if he’d just get off that high horse already. he won’t, though. you know he won’t. he revels in it, in looking down on everything and everyone, annoyingly boisterous and irritatingly tall. freaky, long limbs. like a noodle and an alien had a baby.

but, more than anything — above all else — what frustrates you most is the fact that his unbridled confidence isn’t exactly unwarranted.

as much as it pains you to say it… gojo is maybe just a little bit incredible. a natural-born genius. he’s intelligent, and observant, and awfully pretty, with those baby blues eyes and those snowy locks of hair. and he has no issue getting what he wants. 

absolutely zero. 

there’s something admirable about it, in a twisted way. like he doesn’t even need to try. he’s good at anything, if he just gives it a single chance. you can only assume he’s never given much thought to the prospect of being a decent guy, because that’s the only thing he sucks at.

effortlessly perfect, in the most imperfect of ways. that’s probably how you’d describe him.

… annoying is still the most fitting word, though. or maybe obnoxious. he’s got this spoiled rich kid vibe that irks you, gets under your skin. you doubt he’s ever had to empathize with anyone, in his entire life. 

and, yes — maybe you’re being a little harsh to him. but why should you bother being jovial when he won’t return the favour?

gojo is annoying; and when you say that, you mean annoying to basically everyone. as a basis for existing. always teasing and taunting, looking down from that high horse of his. you’re no exception to this rule, of course. but you’re almost certain that he has it out for you specifically.

you know he looks down on you, from behind those tacky sunglasses. you’re sure of it.

compared to geto or shoko, you aren’t very self-assured — and you think he must have sensed it the moment he laid eyes on you. sensed that you’re a little meek, a bit of a doormat, easy to push around and get a rise out of. maybe he also noticed your apprehension towards him, your apparent unease. 

you’re easy prey, to put it simply.

evidently, he’s developed a fondness for getting under your skin. it started as soon as introductions were over, and it still hasn’t gotten better. he loves catching you off guard, throwing you an unneeded comment or two, just to see what reaction you’ll give him next. almost like he’s solving an equation — said equation being you, the limit of your patience. and you keep giving him what he wants; a scoff, a roll of your eyes, an earnest fuck right off. you can never seem to successfully ignore him. he’s just far, far too good at being insufferable.

… and, more than anything, he’s far too out of reach. even when you try to get along with him, it backfires. you don’t have a single thing in common. you don’t understand him at all. 

(and that suits you just fine.)

a heavy sigh slips from your parted lips, as you examine your blurry reflection in the surface of the mirror. fatigue clings to your skin like a layer of sweat, your mind muddled, stuffed with anxious thoughts and discomforting feelings.

you’re exhausted. completely and utterly spent, even though the day’s barely begun — running on three pitiful hours of sleep, all broken up and jumbled by nightmares that wouldn’t stop spooking you. not a single wink of proper rest. 

and it’s painfully obvious. in your face, your posture, the dark crescents beneath your eyes; in the way you can’t help but drag your legs as you walk, your hair disheveled, little sighs and grumbles slipping from your lips for every step you take. all you can do is sluggishly blink the exhaustion away.

you just feel so tired.

it could be worse, though. you don’t have any classes today, no real reason to get out of your comfy bed, leave the safety of your cozy little dorm room. but you need breakfast, right now, or else you’ll literally explode — so you still get up on shaky legs and try to mimic the appearance of someone… even moderately well-rested.

it doesn’t work, but that’s besides the point. 

so you make your way to the dormitory’s shared kitchen. walking idly — clumsily — enjoying the sight of fleeting, fluttering cherry blossoms through the windows you pass. little pink butterflies.

once you’ve crossed the threshold, you’re relieved to find the open space entirely devoid of people. no shoko, no geto, not even a mischievous gojo. running into the first two wouldn’t be the end of the world — but it still wouldn’t be ideal. you don’t want anyone seeing you like this, tired and meek, a little vulnerable.

(least of all gojo. you shiver at the bare thought.)

with laboured, groggy movements, you waltz around the kitchen, getting cups and plates and turning on the coffee machine. enjoying the soothing melody of the pan sizzling, singing along to the purring of espresso being made. it’s nice and pleasant to your sensitive ears, as you blink under the rays of sunlight shining in, throwing together a lazy breakfast. 

you waste no time in taking a seat by one of the tables once you’re finished. eager to soak in the peace and quiet, wolf down a sandwich and copious amounts of caffeine.

but, as always — the world seems to have it out for you specifically.

”oh? well, look who it is. and here i thought you had left too.”

you stiffen. ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still enough that you physically feel the dread envelop every single cell of your body. the voice that echoes out across the open air is a chipper one, a familiar one. a voice you were desperately hoping not to hear today. 

all you can do is continue to sip from your cup of coffee, inwardly wincing, silently going through all five stages of grief simultaneously — before accepting your unfortunate predicament. 

(that’s just your luck, isn’t it?)

finally, you raise your weary head, knowing exactly what sight you’ll be met with once you do. 

and, lo and behold — there he is.

gojo looks the same as always. grinning brightly, a little woflish, wearing those ugly sunglasses and making his way across the room like he owns it. a trait you can’t help but admire, envy, hate and worship at the same time. he plops down next to you like it’s nothing, a little too close for comfort, unconcerned about your concept of personal space.

”whatcha up to?” he chirps, in that sugar sweet tone, layered over with a boyish kind of excitement. there’s a teasing tilt to it, too — the one that always accompanies his voice when he’s speaking to you.

under normal circumstances, you’d flip him off. maybe even just glare at him, silently, or raise a brow in challenge.

but you’re far, far too tired to. too anxious. too in need of sleep, in need of a peaceful breakfast that he oh so cruelly ripped from you. all you can muster is the energy to glance his way.

for just a second, your eyes meet. not like you can actually see them, from behind his glasses — but you know they’re there. menacing and uncanny, bright and excited. too much to handle, right now.

”… morning.”

as soon as the mutter has left your lips, you take a tentative bite of your sandwich. gaze trailing sluggishly back to your plate.

gojo blinks.

he immediately notes that your voice sounds meek. even more so than usual. he expected you to give him a scoff, or even just a timid huff — but no such luck. 

you’re just sitting there, quiet, curling into yourself.

after a moment’s consideration, gojo opts to look at you. to really look at you, study your face, the way those twitchy fingers move to curl around the ceramic handle of the cup you’re drinking out of. the way your eyes shift from place to place, unfocused, your eyelids flicking shut every couple seconds. slow.

he’s always been observant — but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re tired. 

gojo is silent, for no more than a mere moment; contemplating his next course of action. he’s never seen you like this, before. did something happen?

…

(— well, it doesn’t matter. not his problem.)

”you look like a zombie,” he grins, a little teasing, showing off the white of his teeth. even though you look out of it, he can’t help himself — despite his own intuition telling him to let you be. 

you’re just too fun to tease. suguru and shoko only ever raise their eyebrows at him, or stare him down like a misbehaving dog, but you always have a good reaction to give. something to entertain him when he’s bored, distract him when his mind is too full of noise. 

so he can’t help but tease you, a little. hoping it’ll soothe the restlessness inside his chest.

but for once, what gojo expects isn’t what he gets. 

what he expects is for you to glare at him. tell him to leave you alone, or even just sigh in exasperation — either one would be fine. it’s just mindless enjoyment, to him, a little fun to lighten up his day. 

especially now, when suguru is away on some day trip he wasn’t privy to. that traitor. shoko is nowhere to be seen, either, probably off smoking in some random alleyway. or hanging out with one of the kyoto losers.

… the whole dorm is so eerily quiet.

(gojo would never admit it, not in a thousand years… but maybe he’d feel just a little bit lonely without any of you around.)

for a while after waking up, he assumed he’d have to spend the whole day alone. no one to talk to, no one to look at. he was practically dying of boredom. but then he entered the kitchen — and saw his saving grace. his dear little irritable classmate. 

he was so relieved. content in the knowledge that he’d get to push your buttons to his heart’s desire, bask in your playful banter and cold, joking little looks until suguru finally comes home.

only this time — you don’t react at all. 

you don’t give him what he expects, don’t indulge his little antics, in the way he’s grown so accustomed to. you just keep eating your breakfast, and drinking your coffee, in total silence. 

gojo waits, just a couple moments more. hoping for a delayed reaction, a witty counter, a snarky comment. anything. 

but it never comes.

finally, he starts to sulk. slumping against the leather seat behind him, quieting down with a low huff. furrowing his brows, as his glossy, cherry-tasting lips curl down into a little pout.

honestly, he’s kind of annoyed. just what is your problem? what is with you, today? 

… it’s no fun if you’re not playing along. 

gojo can’t help but grumble, a little, under his breath. you’re usually so responsive, so easy to rile up. so what’s wrong? why are you just sitting there?

…

whatever. so what if you’re not talking to him? so what if you won’t even spare him a glance? gojo has better things to do, bigger fish to fry. he wasn’t even that excited, when he saw you. the thought of bantering with you didn’t lift his spirits, even in the slightest. 

not even a little bit.

…

but, really — would it take so much effort for you to just say something? to just respond to his friendly little quip? you can’t possibly be that tired. 

or, what — did you get insecure, or something? because he called you a zombie? no way. you’re not that sensitive… are you? or is that it? 

what a hassle.

you know he’s just messing with you. he knows you know. so why are you acting so…. 

(sad, gojo wants to think, but he buries the thought before it can reach his frontal cortex. he doesn’t want to empathize with you, not right now — doesn’t want to feel that discomforting pang in his chest.)

a strange sensation bubbles up in his chest. something frustrated, a little unnerved; at your lack of a reaction, the weak glint in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand why — and that frustrates him even more. 

why can’t you just bite back, like always?

(… it’s fun when you do.)

the silence lingers on, stretches out across the room, festers and grows as you gulp down your breakfast. all while gojo keeps on sulking, still sitting beside you, waiting for something to happen. he briefly considers getting up and leaving, or saying something annoying to hopefully spur you on —

but you stand up before he can convince himself to go through with either option.

having finished your breakfast, your legs carry you to the sink. finally, you can head back to your room. gojo’s being weirdly quiet, but you pay no mind to it; methodically washing your dishes in silence. 

you don’t bother saying goodbye to him, either. still sitting there, seemingly deep in thought, grumbling something under his breath. 

he watches as you leave, gaze trailing after you, until you’re completely out of sight. 

then he lays down, flat on his back, with a frustrated huff. trying desperately to brush away the memory of your dim eyes, the slight frown on your lips. the dark circles under your eyes, that he tried so hard not to notice because they made him feel so weirdly uncomfortable. the meek, meek look you gave him.

gojo sighs.

(he feels just a tiny, tiny bit bad.)

when you wake up from your slumber, you immediately note that your body feels lighter.

this time, no nightmares came to haunt you. having practically collapsed once your head hit the pillow, your body finally decided to give you some peace of mind, some well needed rest. thankfully.

with a groan, you lazily stretch out your limbs — enjoying the feeling of your veins waking up, gaze falling on the clock on your wall. you’ve only been asleep for about two hours, or so, but it’s more than enough to give you the little jolt of energy that you need.

what to do, what to do. you still have the whole day ahead of you. another nap wouldn’t hurt, but you don’t want to waste your precious free time just rotting in bed — maybe you could take a walk around the schoolyard instead? the cherry blossoms have started to unfurl, and the grounds of the school are just littered with them.

even just the mental image is enough to have you changing into some light and comfortable clothes, reaching a hand out to push your door open. excitement stirring in your veins.

as you do so, something is knocked over.

all you hear is a soft little thud, accompanied by the sensation of something colliding with the door. a low curiosity overtakes you — eagerly peeking around for a look at the mysterious something.

your gaze falls on something pink.

it’s tiny, awfully out of place, just laying unassumingly on the dusty floorboards. as you crouch down to get a better look, you recognize it instantly; a small carton of strawberry milk. a plastic straw plastered on its side, and an evil looking cow mascot staring at you from the front. one of the items sold in the schoolyard’s vending machines — your personal favorite. you drink it every time you need a tiny pick-me-up, the sweet taste always managing to soothe your spirits.

and it was sitting right outside your door.

you stare at it, silently, in deep contemplation. holding it in your hand as the gears turn inside your head. could someone have dropped it? no, that’s dumb — who’d drop it right outside your door and then not pick it up?

… did someone leave it for you, then? because they know you like it? that could be it, maybe, but who would —

…

your mind stills. 

(no way.)

when you think about it — that’s the only explanation that makes sense. shoko and geto aren’t there, and you barely know any of your senior students. yaga-sensei would never give you strawberry milk without a lecture on the dangers of cavities, either.

that just leaves one possible culprit.

but you can’t wrap your head around it. why would he do something like that? he doesn’t like you — you know that much. so it couldn’t possibly be him.

… then again, you have seen him drink it. both of you like it, contrary to your other classmates; shoko doesn’t like sweet things in general, and geto wouldn’t go for strawberry milk if he could choose something else. it might as well be the only thing you and gojo have in common — the one thing that binds you two together. 

a single carton of strawberry milk. 

it’s almost comical.

(if it’s really true — if he really did do it… then you wonder why. maybe he noticed that you were feeling under the weather, and figured it’d make you happy. 

you wonder if it’d be foolish of you, to believe that it’s true — if only because you kinda like the idea.)

your feet move on their own, before your mind has a chance to question the decision. 

where could he be? in the kitchen, still? in his dorm?

just as you begin to wonder, a flash of white dances in the corners of your vision. when you glance out the window, you see it; white, soft hair, like a fluffy cloud, in the midst of all the pink petals fluttering about. 

you stop.

then you start walking again. with more decision, this time. hurrying to the exit.

gojo is sitting right outside the dormitory, on a wooden bench, legs swinging idly as he gazes at the sky. his hair sways slightly with the breeze, soft strands moving and caressing his skin. pink petals dance all around him, gracefully descending down to the ground, together with a trail of bubbles. gojo is blowing them, haphazardly, following their movement with his keen eyes. they glimmer in the sunlight, reflecting all shades of the rainbow.

the sight is just a little bit breathtaking. 

the ground crunches beneath your feet, when you take a step forward — and gojo turns towards you. you stiffen like a deer in headlights, instantly regretting your decision. blinking nervously. you walked here almost entirely on impulse, but now that you’re face to face…

(it’s a little scary.)

… still, it’s far too late to back out now. you can’t do much except join him, so that’s exactly what you do — albeit a little hesitantly.

trying to ignore his continuous stare, burning into the side of your head, you plop down beside him. feeling the steady bench beneath you, breathing in the scent of sweet-smelling cherries and soap.

an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air around you both, as he waits for you to say something. 

it’s a little tough. mustering up the courage to say anything, even just to face him. the decisiveness you felt just a moment ago has faded, now only the ghost of a sensation — you’re too nervous to verbalize anything.

but eventually, after a deep breath or two, you force yourself to speak. hoping you won’t come to regret it.

”… hey, gojo?” 

it’s almost a whisper. soft and fragile, mumbled beneath your breath as you stare at the cherry trees in front of you. you know his eyes are on you, though. you can feel them, almost feel their weight in the palm of your hand. like marbles.

weakly, you raise up the carton of strawberry milk. glancing over at him, not quite managing a smile, but trying your best to look somewhat appreciative. 

”thanks.”

a confused blink. gojo looks down the strawberry milk, and then back up at you. eyelashes fluttering.

a moment passes. 

then he turns his head away, swiftly, his hair tousled by the movement — a couple pink petals stuck between the soft strands. you can’t see his face anymore.

”i have no idea what you’re talking about,” he huffs, with a voice you’ve never heard him speak through.

when you look a little closer — you think the tips of his ears may be just slightly red. it makes your lips curl up into a small smile, but you barely feel it.

(like this, he’s actually kind of cute.)

cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, dancing joyously, without a care in the world. a spring breeze ruffles gojo’s hair, as he sits beside you, having begun to blow his bubbles again. not saying a word, and looking straight ahead. but you can’t help but stare, as sneakily as you can muster.

you find yourself thinking that he looks right at home, among the petals. fleeting, hard to get a grasp on, so pretty, and so out of reach — despite being so close. 

if you wanted to, you could reach over and touch him. you could reach for his sunglasses, lift them off his face, and finally see those eyes he’s so intent on hiding. you could see him, see straight into his soul — and find out who he really is.

you won’t, though. some boundaries aren’t meant to be so callously crossed.

instead, you puncture the pink carton in your hand with the plastic straw, and take a tentative sip. the sweet taste soothes you, straight away, blooming on your tongue. you can’t help but sigh, softly, relaxing even further — it’s absolutely perfect, for this kind of weather. the sight before you, cherry petals and shining bubbles, a boy you don’t like, but definitely don’t hate. 

you both look up, following the bubbles with your eyes, as they float up into the sky; as they get smaller and smaller, farther and farther out of reach. neither of you say a word, but the silence is comforting. light. 

gojo is the first one to break it — in a voice so small you barely hear it.

”… you don’t look like a zombie.”

a second passes. you’re left blinking in confusion, trying to decipher the sudden statement. you can’t get a good read on his expression, with those eyes of his conveniently hidden; he must have regained his composure, then.

it takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in — but once they do, all pieces seem to fall into place. 

and you burst into laughter.

gojo blinks at you, caught off guard, his eyelashes flapping like a little dove scrambling to get off the ground — staring at you like you just grew a second head. that makes you laugh harder, a bout of giggles spilling past your lips — you just can’t help it. 

”did —” you wheeze, softly, thoroughly amused. trying and failing to bite back the laughter. ”did you think i was bothered by that, or something?”

gojo looks at you. a little stunned, for a moment. the sight only makes your smile bloom further, eyes crinkled as you meet his gaze. from the angle you’re viewing him through, leaning back against the bench, you catch a glimmer of his eyes. they’re awfully pretty — blue and bright, full of life. when you look closer, you can see tiny, tiny splotches of white. 

they look like the blue sky. 

you called them menacing, before, but now you aren’t so sure. they seem soft, in the sunlight, especially when seen like this — right after catching him off guard. it’s a rare moment, terribly precious. something to savour.

gojo doesn’t let it linger, though. 

after a moment of two, he scoffs — turning away yet again. a soft, soft pout on his lips.

”obviously not,” he huffs, sounding nothing but irritated, resting his jaw on the heel of his palm. ”but with how sensitive you are, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

usually, a comment like that would irk you. now it just makes you giggle, lightheartedly — the tips of his ears turning redder at the sound. 

(he really isn’t so bad, after all.)

for a while, you don’t say anything else. afraid of ruining the tender atmosphere. you feel closer to gojo than ever before — and you wonder if maybe this is the gojo that geto sees. childish, but well meaning. arrogant and cocky, but oddly innocent. selfish — but not really. you’re starting to think that you may have been slightly off, with that one.

the strawberry milk on your tongue tastes sweet. a little sweeter than usual, though you choose not to dwell on it.

”hey,” you break the silence, surprising even yourself. the words fall from your lips like soft little breaths, rolling off your tongue like marbles pouring out of a glass bottle. ”i don’t dislike you, you know?”

it’s an impulsive admission. saying it out loud doesn’t feel wrong, though. maybe a little humiliating, sure, but not wrong. not dishonest.

you suspect that gojo may be looking at you, out of the corner of his eye, but you aren’t sure. after all, you’re vehemently avoiding his gaze — a little embarrassed by your own sincerity. 

he doesn’t know how to respond. you’re being strangely unpredictable, today, and it makes him feel unsure of himself. your tone is soft, almost friendly. he only ever hears it when you’re talking to shoko or geto.

not learning his lesson, gojo opts to tease you again. as always. afraid to let the silence linger for too long. it’s a halfhearted attempt, though, more of a vaguely amused huff than anything. 

”what, got a crush on me or somethin’?”

this time, you don’t scoff, or roll your eyes, or give him an earnest fuck right off. you only chuckle, in a way that almost borders on fond. you’re not one to tease, contrary to the boy on your left, but your words are teasing even still. ”i have better taste than that.” 

gojo should be irked, should grumble and bite back, but you don’t give him the chance to. 

”i just… you know,” you taste the words on your tongue. ”i still think you’re annoying. and childish.” gojo huffs, and your lips curl up. ”but i really don’t dislike you.”

you take a sip of the strawberry milk, before continuing, hoping it’ll make the words easier to say. ”… and it’s not like i know you, anyway. so i’m sorry for making a bunch of assumptions.” 

a pause. for a split second, you quiet down, a little flustered. gnawing on your bottom lip.

”… that’s all i wanted to say,” you exhale, gaze glued to your lap. feeling a heat on your nape.

as always, you can’t tell what gojo’s thinking. out of the corner of your eye, you try to catch a glimpse of his face, but you have a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. his eyes are hidden by those sunglasses, after all, acting as a wall between him and the rest of the world. so you don’t know if the words reach him, if they mean anything at all. 

but you hope they do. even as you brush cherry petals and non-existent dust off your lap, and get up to leave.

gojo just sits there, for a second, deep in contemplation. 

he tries to bury a certain thought, before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex — before he has to accept that it exists. only this time, he doesn’t succeed. the words die before they reach his tongue, but he hears them, in his head. he hears them loud and clear.

and he flushes under the light of the sun.

(i don’t really dislike you, either.) 

what actually ends up leaving his throat is merely a scoff, so faint he doubts you even hear it. 

”whatever,” he mutters, hoping it’ll come across as cool and unbothered. it doesn’t.

one last smile reaches your face, before you head back inside. gojo stays behind, on the bench, lost in thought.

tossing the now-empty carton into a trash can, you try to calm yourself down. feeling oddly excited, as if you’ve reached something, the start of an eventual conclusion. something worth cherishing.

you still don’t understand satoru gojo. but you get the impression that you just grew a little bit closer to him. there are layers to him, more than what meets the eye, hidden behind those sunglasses of his. you can only imagine what the world might look like, from his perspective. what you look like, reflected in his eyes, a blur of colours and facial features, sparks and dots.

you wonder if the whole world looks like a painting, to him. 

you feel a little ashamed, for thinking you had him all figured out. a spoiled, self-centered rich kid, with no functional empathic abilities. it might be partially true, but you’ll have to reevaluate the statement. to see how well it holds up. you still don’t think his emotional intelligence is anything to gawk at, but you may have been underestimating it. it’s there, despite everything — in those eyes, in that single carton of strawberry milk.

you think there’s a certain maturity, there, in spite of his childishness. or perhaps the latter is no more than a product of the former, a way for damaged children to dress their wounds. the way he carries himself and the way he speaks both seem a bit forced. like he’s used to performing, used to moving in a way that demands attention. all eyes on him, at all times. 

you think that sounds just a little exhausting. 

even as you return to the safety of your dorm room, you still can’t help but wonder. there’s still so much you don’t know. despite the moment you shared, and the connection you think may be growing between you, he’s still so out of reach. almost lonely, in a way. you wonder what he looks like, when he’s alone, when there’s no one around to perform for. 

(what is an actor without their audience?)

and, despite everything, after all is said and done — you really, really don’t understand satoru gojo. not at all, not in the slightest. not one bit.

but you think you’d maybe like to.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Creating Your Own Language

When writer's set out to world-build, language has a huge role in creating new cultures and lending a sense of realism to your efforts. A world and people just feel more real when language is involved. As the old Irish proverb says "tír gan teanga, tír gan anam”. A country without a language, is a country without a soul. So how can we create one?

Do Your Homework

First things off, you should start by studying languages. Nobody is asking you to get fluent but it's important to understand the basic mechanics of language. You will start to see certain tricks to language, how verbs are conjugated and how gender effects certain words. It will be easier to make up your own when you know these tricks. For example, in Irish one doesn't scold but "gives out to" - "a thabhairt amach". In German, numbers are arranged differently to the English with the smallest digit arranged before the tens for example 21 - Einsundzwanzig. By immersing yourself in an array of different languages (I recommend finding ones close to how you want your language to sound), you can gain the tools necessary for creating a believable language.

Keep it Simple

Nobody expects you to pull a Tolkien or channel the powers of David J. Peterson (hail bisa vala). You're not writing a dictionary of your con-lang. You will probably use only a handful of words in your story. Don't over complicate things. A reader will not be fluent in your con-lang and if they have to continually search for the meaning of words they will likely loose patience.

Start Small

When you're learning a language, you always start with the basics. You do the exact same when writing one. Start with introductions, the names of simple objects, simple verbs (to be, to do, to have for example) and most importantly your pronouns (you will use these more than any other word, which is why I always start with them). Simple everyday phrases should always be taken care of first. Build your foundation and work your way up, this is a marathon not a race.

Music to the Ears

If your creating a new language, you're more than likely doing it phonetically. Sound is important to language and especially a con-lang because you want to trick your reader into thinking of a real language when reading the words on the page. I suggest sitting down and actually speak your words aloud, get the feel of them on the tongue to work out the spelling. Spellings shouldn't be too complicated, as I said before the readers aren't fluent and you want to make it easier for them to try it out themselves.

Also when you're creating the con-lang, it's important to figure out how it sounds to an unsuspecting ear. If a character is walking down a street and hears a conversation in a strange language, they will likely describe to the reader what it sounds like. It might be guttural or soft, it might be bursque or flowery. It's always interesting to compare how different languages flow in the ear.

Writing in Your Language

Now that you've written your language and created some words, you will want to incoperate them into your story. The way most writers do this is by italicising them. As a reader, I generally prefer authors not to go too overboard with their con-lang. Swathes of con-lang words might intrigue a reader but it can leave them confused as well. It is better to feed con-lang to your readers bit by bit. In most published works writer's tend to use words here and there but there are few whole sentences. For example in A Game Of Thrones by George RR Martin, has actually only a handful of short sentences in Dothraki despite the language being prevalent throughout the book. Daenerys Targaryen pronounces that "Khalakka dothrae mr’anha!"/"A prince rides inside me!" and it's one of the only sentence we actually see in actual Dothraki.

There's also nothing stopping you from just saying a language has been spoken. If you're not comfortable writing out the words, then don't make yourself. A simple dialogue tag can do the trick just fine.

Know your Words

I do recommend keeping an actual record of your words. Make a dictionary if you want or a simple list of words you need. This is one of the most entertaining aspects of world building, have fun with it, go mad if you like. Also here's a short list of questions you can ask yourself about language in general which might help your juices flow.

[taintedbenevolence]

YAN! WRIOTHESLEY X FEM! READER

m i n o r s d o n o t i n t e r a c t !

" 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒. "

— 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 

do not interact/read if the following triggers you! MENTIONS OF / IMPLIED STALKING, IMPLIED MURDER, MENTIONS OF BLOOD, USE OF APHRODISIACS, ODAXELAGNIA, NON-CONSENSUAL DISPLAY OF AFFECTION, IMPLIED MASTURBATION, UNPROTECTED SEX, BREEDING KINK, ORAL SEX [RECEIVING], AND FINGERING IMPLIED / DESCRIBED.

OVERPROTECTIVE AND TOXIC / OBSESSIVE / POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR.

        •,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,• You should've known better than to blindly follow an order to enter Wriothesley's office that day.

Your morning had started off rather normal, with the exception of Sigewinne visiting you to leave you a letter written by none other than the Duke. At first, you thought it was just a notice for you, one related to business matters, or one about ordeals within the Fortress.

The letter resulted to be nothing at all what you expected it to be.

It was merely a note. "Please pass by my quarters when you have time today. Preferably during evening hours. I'd like to have a chat with you." That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Simple, direct, and straight to the point. Just like the man himself.

The little Melusine who handed you the letter wore a bright yet small smile on her face as she stood up straight. "It seems you've caught the eye of His Grace," she says, almost teasingly, though you shook your head. "I wouldn't go as far as to say I've caught the attention of someone like him," you reply with a wry smile, though a part of you silently wishes it were otherwise.

But you had caught his eye, and from far early on too. The Lord of the Fortress of Meropide rarely traveled to the surface. It wasn't every once in a million years, naturally, but, it wasn't a common sight. Most cases, he was there strictly on business and other important matters rather than on vacation.

That, however, changed the moment he saw you. You were breathtaking, and better yet, you were not intimidated by his presence alone. Most people would keep their distance, look away, unable to meet his gaze, and lack the ability to keep their composure around him. But you?

You were perfectly fine being near him, wearing small smiles that gave him absolute butterflies, as much as he hated to admit. You were honest and though maybe partly reserved, still willing to share a proper chat when he approached you. He liked that. Sigewinne noticed.

And he wasn't sure whether he liked the little Melusine nosing around whenever he met you, because for all he knew, she could start getting ideas, and that... wouldn't have been ideal, put it lightly.

Nevertheless, it's easy to say that his visits to the surface became more frequent. He made your acquaintance and quickly enough became friends with you. It was smooth riding so far, and he was finding that the situation was going well for him.

Occasionally, the two of you would talk over a cup of tea and you'd chat about how things had been in your lives, whether maybe you'd lost a pendant you liked, or how there was a coffee you tried somewhere that was rather bitter, or how he had less work than usual, so he decided to spare some time to relax on the surface.

It was fine.

That is until he found out you had fallen in love the past days. But oh no, you were not in love with him. You were in love with someone else. That was the issue. So he began to inquire. How did this person act? How did you meet them? Do you think they'd make a great partner?

Simple questions just to see what was your view of them. 

Don't get him wrong — he's glad that you've found someone you love. He's just upset that the person you've fallen for isn't him. So he then decides to find the person for whom you fell for. It doesn't take long for him to find them, and it's not much effort to convince them that he's only visiting on behalf of business matters.

He returns every so often back to the surface to  meet with you and to keep eyes on your interest, making sure there are no "unwanted" advances between the two of you, and when he's at the Fortress, he simply has to hope that nothing occurs. Having someone work for this type of thing would be rather inefficient and would raise unnecessary suspicions.

Sure, people don't really need to understand what the Duke's motives are, but that doesn't refrain them from filing a report to the Chief Justice about unusual behavior. The two are acquainted, after all, and Neuvillette is more than adept at reading the behavior of humans.

So with that in mind, he decided it was best to do things himself. After all, if you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself. One day, whilst you conversed with Wriothesley, you spoke of how you planned to finally confess. He was immediately interested, and he, of course, listened, even if deep in his mind the person whom you treasured was a pool of blood.

If your confession proved to be successful, he'd have to find a way to slowly seed problems into the relationship. He isn't fond of what he'd have to do, but unfortunately enough, the small feeling of jealousy that has wrapped itself around his heart is eating away at him. 

He'd find the little details that bring you and your significant other apart and slowly begin to rip those traits up to the surface. He'd at times advise you that there were things you should watch out for, given this would be your first time in a relationship (or he'd assume so), and most likely, he'll find a way to tear down the relationship bit by bit and make it seem like it wasn't even his fault. It will appear as if it was just that you were mistaken, that this relationship wouldn't really work out.

That being said, if your confession resulted in a rejection, he'd comfort you. He knows how much it'd hurt having your feelings being rejected like that, and he especially doesn't want you crying for someone else who isn't deserving of causing your sorrow. He wouldn't want you tearing up to the one who had the audacity of even making you cry. He'd probably be mad at the person, but not enough to walk back at them and talk to them about it, as much as he'd wish to rip them into two. He exercises self-control, and somehow manages to control himself.

Depending how the person reacted to your confession, would Wriothesley's anger be gauged. Unfortunately enough for you, and much to Wriothesley's pleasure, you were rejected. Now, don't get him wrong; he wants you to have a successful relationship, but he also doesn't want you being with someone that doesn't deserve you.

So the moment that you come to him, your expression more solemn and down than usual, he already knows what's happened. He invites you over to the Fortress inside to cheer you up and for a change in atmosphere. While taking you to a place meant for imprisonment isn't exactly one's definition of "fun," you were rather curious to see what was the place this man called home.

To your surprise, it was well kept, and didn't look like it was rotting as you thought it would be. He also showed you around his quarters, to let you know where he'd be, and of course he introduced you to Sigewinne, who was more than happy to meet you.

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[| "Y/N, this is Sigewinne, our head nurse."[| "Oh, is this the person you've been rambling on about lately, Your Grace?"[| "... Sigewinne."

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You could've sworn that you saw a small smirk on the Melusine's face because she knew that His Grace was head over heels for you. Of course, you didn't know that, but... she did. You were later on dismissed, and for the next weeks, you stayed at the Fortress, given you met several new people in there and wished to get to know them better.

Wriothesley being the busy man he is, doesn't always have time to get out of his quarters, but god, with you around he can't help but give a few more rounds to the Fortress just to watch you as you go about your day. How he remembers your smiles, when you mentioned to some your hobbies, your interests, and so on so forth...

His gaze often falls on your small frame and his mind will wander to how perfectly it will fit against his larger figure when he's deep inside of you and—

Wriothesley thinks this is wrong. He thinks this is twisted in more ways than one, but he can't bring himself to stop it. He's helpless to the thought of you running your hands through the soft tufts of his hair whilst he holds you to himself, the way your lips would feel when matches them with his own, or how beautiful you'd sound when he inserts his digits into you as you struggle to not moan out his name.

He hates that he can't feel you. It's driving him mad.

Sometimes he's filling in and signing the mountain of paperwork he has on his desk and his mind trails off to you, and archons it's not even a minute before he has to stand up and drink some tea to clear his head. On some occasions, he'll feel so utterly pent up that there's nothing left for him to do than to lock his doors and let his hand soothe his frustrations and urges while he wishes his hand were your own or your mouth instead.

His mind is clouded with thoughts he wouldn't speak of in front of the rest and a part of him feels guilty about feeling in such a way towards you, yet he knows he wouldn't have it any other way. He's completely enthralled by you and obsessed by the thought of being able to claim you as his own.

It grows to the point that every day he sees you becomes unbearable. He can't stand how your sweet voice falls on those who don't deserve to hear it, how you smile at the prisoners whenever you get to speak with them and help them out during their shifts, how your hands sometimes barely brush together when you walk amidst crowds and he swears that a single touch of yours is enough to make him want to pick you up right then and there and fuck you raw away from prying eyes.

He is desperate. And he needs you.

So he decides that today is that day. After a few days of spending time with Sigewinne in order to mix in certain herbs with tea, he ends up with a particularly sweet tea. He reserves it for you. He's pacing in his office before he sits down in a relaxed manner, waiting for you to enter.

And the moment he hears the gentle knocking on his door accompanied by your voice asking for permission to enter, he can already feel his heart hammering. Allowing you to enter, you close the doors behind you, and for a man who's obsessed in every sense of the word, he's certainly composed.

He gestures for you to take a seat, to which you comply, and then he goes off to get the tea. After all, what better way to host a small meeting like this than to talk over a cup of tea? You're able to take in its sweet aroma and taste, and to say you liked it may have been an understatement.

"So how have you been finding the Fortress?" he muses, one leg crossed comfortably over the other. You only smile softly as you respond, taking a quick sip of your tea before answering. "Certainly different than what I expected it to be, but it seems to be managed well."

His Grace only smiles in return, and he then clicks tongue. "Say, have you enjoyed your stay here?" he asks, taking a sip as he waits. "It's been great. While some have a sharp tongue, there are a couple of people who have been good company, even if most of the time I'm around Sigewinne," you answer.

"Speaking of, where has she been?" you state, because now that you thought about it, you hadn't seen the little Melusine around the Fortress recently. Wriothesley just blinks as he then slightly mouths an 'oh.' "She's been off gathering herbs for medicine and treatment," he replies, before finishing the rest of the tea in his cup.

You hum in understanding as you stay still, having finished your own cup as well. "I see. Anyways, thank you for the tea," you reply in gratitude. The Duke only nods, as he remains there, seemingly observing you for any changes.

The two of you keep conversing, but throughout the conversation, you start to take note of something. You feel a little... moist. Perhaps you were exerting yourself too much recently?.. No, that couldn't be it — you felt as if you were getting warm all of a sudden. You couldn't exactly place your finger on what the sensation was.

Additionally, you couldn't exactly shake off the feeling no matter how hard you tried to focus on the man in front of you, and as time passed, you began to lose focus on the conversation you held with Wriothesley and your attention shifted to yourself, your gaze falling in between your thighs, the space feeling rather wet, for a lack of better words, the only thing in your mind being how unusually much you wished to be—

"Y/N?"

Wriothesley's voice snapped you back to the present as you felt blood rush to your face. No, that wasn't right, why were you feeling like this...? This was wrong... The man in front of you could only pretend for so long that he didn't know what was happening, but he wasn't in a far too different situation. The seemingly faint bulge in his pants grew ever slightly, and he was already starting to feel a little trapped and tight in his coat. He knew that you were starting to receive the effects already, so it was only a matter of time.

"Are you feeling well?" He murmurs, placing a hand on your shoulder before giving it a light squeeze, and you can swear that for a split moment you almost shiver. "... I.. it's.. sorry," you manage to murmur as you sigh quietly as you shook your head. "Is it just me, or.. is it getting rather hot in here..?"

Oh, how he wants to laugh.

You almost feel stupid having asked something of the like, and Wriothesley's barely holding himself together as he breathes quietly and calmly. He's on the verge of taking you right here and then, but he decides against it just to see what you'll do. "I feel it too," he replies relaxed, and your eyes seem to slightly light up. "Oh, so it's not just me..? That's at least a bit reassuring..."

He's so fucking desperate. Can't you tell?

And then he asks the magical question. "Why do you think I asked you to come in here?"

You blink, thinking through the question, before answering, a bit perplexed. "Because you wanted to talk...?" you reply. The man chuckles softly, though he shakes his head. "More than that, there was... something else." Confusion begins to run through your mind as you try to inquire as to what he means but before you can say another word, he picks you up, and carries you away as if you were nothing but a feather.

He locks the door to his office, and he walks up the stairs with you in his arms. "Wriothesley, what're you doing?—" you can barely say, your face pressed up against his clothed chest, but he silences you as he lays you flat on his desk.

His firm hands are quick to undo your clothing in your lower body, as he he carefully but easily slides off your undergarments. You can only feel the heat rush through you as your heart pounds. "Wriothesley, what are you—"

And your voice leaves you as you feel him spread apart your legs with his cold fingers, a bitter chill running through your spine as his tongue only starts to tease you by dampening furthermore your already wet folds. You can only bite your tongue to hold in a moan, though it proves futile when he begins to work on your clit, teasing and tracing faint circles with his tongue, causing a few whines to escape your mouth.

You can't tell whether to feel pleasured or scared. Wriothesley gives you no time to think.

He makes no effort to stop whilst you can only grasp and tug his hair, while you nervously and shakily run your hands down his smooth, black locks that glisten beneath the amber lights of his office. It doesn't take much longer for him to reach your entrance, and you clasp your mouth with your hand as you inevitably moan involuntarily. You feel your eyes practically roll back as you try to maintain your gaze focused on the raven-haired male, feeling the wet muscle continuously slipping in and out of your tightened entrance and you're certainly grateful the walls of his office are soundproof.

"Wriothesley, I can't— f-fuck!"

You can't help but squirm, your heart racing as your chest heaves up and down. Your vision is somewhat hazed, your attempts to shift comfortably failing as a new wave of pleasure surges through you as your entrance and clit are endlessly teased and caressed, a pressure building up inside you.

He's eating you out, and you're not even exactly sure if your mind would agree that you enjoy it, but your body sure as hell is, because your senses are getting stimulated beyond possibility. Your breathing is definitely evident and no longer quiet, and you can barely muffle how vocal you're growing until at a moment, you feel him retract at last.

Yet before you're able to question it, he repositions himself above you, and he's pinning your wrists above your head, his knees at either side of you as his imposing figure looms over your body, casting a slight shadow on you. "You sure are — hah — quite loud," he whispers with a teasing smirk edging on his face, his tone of voice growing a bit rasped as he reaches for an item that dangles on his hips — one you're quite familiar with.

Handcuffs.

And before you know it he's clipped them onto you and bound your wrists to his desk above your head, not allowing you to move them, their silver hue glister, glimmering in the dark shadows. "You're fucking mine," he snarls before he kisses you on the lips with fervor, almost as if he might just devour you on the spot if you don't do anything about it.

He's rough and passionate, not giving you a chance to breathe. The sudden ferocity and intensity in his act is more than enough to leave you breathless whilst you try to get used to it, to which he responds with a low growl. It's as if he's been starved for ages and his hunger is to never be sated. He bites down softly on your lower lip, effectively causing you to part your lips, giving him a chance to slide his tongue within.

The rush it gave you was almost feverish, even if it was wrong at its core. He tastes sweet, you think, as your tongues mingle together, the sweetness flooding your palates. Your train of thought was interrupted once more when he finally separated, and you breathed heavily. He was catching his breath, his mouth slightly hung open, giving you a view of the sharp canines he possesses. A small, barely noticeable trail of saliva connected your lips to his own, and he stared down at you, licking his lips to rid the saliva before his gaze landed on your neck. His hands, even with wraps and binds, were cold to the touch as he caressed your soft skin.

You're still catching your breath, blood rushing to your face when you feel him bite into your flesh, a quiet cry akin to a whine leaving you, only fueling his desire. He quietly growls, and he almost seems feral as he licks over the wound, moving quickly to other uncovered areas in your neck as he litters kisses around it. He bites hard and deep, sucking on the skin just enough to leave a couple of hickeys on you.

"You're all mine."

No words are required to be exchanged as he pauses, just leaning back. Seeing your taken-aback expression, he just chuckles softly, his icy gaze combined with the ever earnest smirk he wears already enough to keep you still beneath his iron grip. "I could just eat you up and you'd beg for more, wouldn't you, huh?" He states, his voice sounding like music to your ears.

"Bet you'd want me to fuck you dumb too."

He tugs on his tie, letting it fall loose untied with ease as his coat soon follows, allowing you to gain an exposed view of his scarred body. There's nothing more you'd like than to run your hands through his chest but the handcuffs don't allow you to move your arms in the slightest. He's depriving you of one pleasure, and he relishes in that.

"My eyes are up here, sweetheart."

And god does he love it when you try to avert your gaze in embarrassment, knowing that your eyes had solely been focused on his body. He takes his hand and tilts your chin so you're forced to meet his gaze, and he delights in the way you shudder at his mere touch — he has you at the mercy of his fingertips, he'd bet.

You're being driven mad, something he enjoys — he's no sadist, but he definitely likes seeing you having to put up with the building pressure and urges he held back on this entire time. He decides to toy furthermore with you, as he slowly begins to unclasp the belt around his waist as his pants come off loose.

You know what the man wants.

It doesn't take much time for the rest to come off, and it's very clear to you where this is going. The back of your mind is screaming at you to run, to move, anything, but your body just lies and stays still without making a sound. His hips are pressed into yours, and he has zero hesitation as he begins to slide himself inside you, positioning himself as you whimper, tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes as you feel your walls stretching to accommodate to the sudden, large length that was pushed inside of you. It's too much for you, but he hushes you, caressing your face softly and wiping your tears.

"You're going to take all of it in for me, aren't you? Hah, so fuckin' tight..."

It hurts, and his gentle caresses are a sharp contrast to how he continuously pushes inside you until he finally reaches that place that would make you scream out in pleasure. And he knows it. He's impatient, and won't waste another second, and in just a few more seconds, he's already ramming his hips against yours, bulging cock sliding in and out at a pace you can no longer register.

"God — you're so good for me — no one else is allowed to see you like this, understood?"

The both of you are lost in lust, and your heart hammers in you whilst fear and pleasure courses right through your veins. You get the feeling he's not just pleasuring you — he's marking you, through and through, making sure that by the time you're walking out, people will only perceive his scent on you wherever you go. He wants you and you alone. 

Anyone who wishes to debate his posture is more than welcome to have a word with him in the ring.

You're barely able to choke out his name as he fucks you senseless, giving you no space to plead or speak at all, for that matter. The only noise you get out are your helpless moans as you shudder from each thrust. He's feral, hungry and starved for your love, and he wants to consume every bit of it.

"Wriothesley — fuck — I-"

If it weren't for the fact he's fucking you to oblivion on his desk, he'd probably find it amusing how helpless you've become in the span of a few minutes. He loves it. Your eyes are half-lidded and brimming with tears, your moans resounding through the entirety of his office, to which thankfully, there is no one else within except the two of you. You might've not registered it but you're sure he's already torn through all the clothes covering your chest too, leaving you now entirely exposed and vulnerable to his touch.

You start to feel the building pressure you had before, and your breathing is labored, heavy. You don't think you can take this for much longer, your folds wet and walls tightening around his cock. You really weren't sure how in hell you were going to fit all of it in, but you seemed to be taking it rather well.

Your synchronized moans and his groans paired together combine, slowing into a perfectioned, rhythmic catharsis as you finally reach your climax, your fluids coating him and staining the firm material beneath you, to which you can't help but wonder how exactly does he plan to clean.

Yet as you finally release, he still doesn't stop. He's not stopping, not yet, not when he's finally got you fucked over and whimpering, helplessly begging him to cum inside of you. All of your senses and inhibitions have been tossed aside, leaving you a forlorn, flustered mess. He craves you, he might just devour you, he's unable to contain himself.

"You look so adorable when you beg, yeah? So wet and tight for me, 'M just gonna have to keep going for you..."

He is relentless. By the time he cums, you're already left breathless, voice broken and unable to say a thing other than a quiet whine. He's breathing heavily, letting his seed settle within you as his residual flows leak through your thighs, painting you as his own.

"Hah... that look in your eyes.. you wanna be rewarded, don't you? 'M just gonna have to stuff you full, hm?"

He nuzzles his head in your neck, letting the soft tufts of his hair caress your skin softly. He's still inside you, his cum still leaking through your thighs and out of your worn-out, throbbing pussy. Slowly, he slides out of you, earning a faint, muffled hum akin to that of a moan as you catch your breath. "Wrio..." you mumble out, and he presses a light kiss to your neck, right on a mark he left by earlier.

"'M gonna fill you up and make you cum 'till you can't think..." he murmured, one of his hands soothingly caressing your neck as he runs his hand through your back, his other, free hand reaching down towards your wet folds, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on your clit as he teases you gently, causing a few moans and whimpers to escape you. "'M gonna breed you.. make you all mine, darlin'."

He inserts two of his digits inside you fervently, fingering you, keeping you wet and tight as you squirm from his touch. He pulls in and out, unending and denying your pleads to stop. "P-please, Wrio — fuck — I can't-" He ignores your cries. Instead, he presses kisses across your jawline until meeting your lips, keeping you encased, trapped in a passionate kiss whilst being pleasured to no end.

"You can take it. Easy there, love."

You only respond with a whine as you feel yourself slowly reach your climax again, fluids seeping through your body and covering his digits, that slowly pull out with a wet sound. Your mouth is slightly hung open, your face with faint tints of red hidden by your disheveled hair, your body numb and almost limp.

The black-haired man simply held you tight, holding you close, never letting go, his voice whispering to you sweet nothings. His grip was tight, and unbeknownst to you, tears slowly smeared, falling across your face. You felt filthy. You felt violated. Anything but loved. And you knew more than ever, that from this day forth, you'd only ever be his.

His to love. His to hold.

For a night and forevermore, you were solely his to behold.

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A/N - I am utterly in love with this man. This prompt was also meant for yesterday bc Halloween n all, but I didn't make it- so- here you are- a little belated but still here! Same applies to the Imbibitor Lunae prompt that is soon to come! Love you all, remember to stay safe.