#it just proves to me that he is not much of a drinker

[ghvstrunncr]

Gortash your constitution is embarassing bro

[softonshanks]

Real man

Word count: 2100 Characters: Shanks x female reader Plot: Everybody always had the time of their life on the Red Force at night, but Y/N tonight seems sad, even if she usually dances all night. The crew is concerned about her behavior and Shanks tries to investigate: he finds out that she is heartbroken because her boyfriend left her. He tries to console her: one day the right man, a real man, will come and love her as she deserves. But what if he's that man?

Author’s note: Honestly? I’m in love with how this turned out, but I am mortified about the length. Words just kept flowing out of my fingers and I couldn’t stop. I hope you enjoy this as much I enjoyed writing it, even if it’s a bit sad. Also, there are references to a bit of age gap (imagine late twenties – early forties), I hope no one will be concerned or offended. Let me know if you like it and as always, english is not my first language, so I apologise if something is wrong. 

The deck of the Red Force was alive with music, laughter, and the clink of tankards filled to the brim with rum. The crew swayed and stumbled in time to the music, their voices raised in raucous cheer. It was a scene Shanks had orchestrated countless times before—a night of celebration, letting loose under the stars, sailing with nothing but freedom on the horizon. But tonight felt different. Y/N sat apart from the crowd, her back against one of the ship’s sturdy masts, knees pulled up to her chest. Her gaze drifted over the crew as they danced and shouted, lost in their revelry, but her heart wasn’t in it. She clenched her tankard in both hands, staring into the dark liquid inside it as if it might hold some answers, something to make her feel better and fill the hollow ache inside her.

But it didn’t.

“Oi, Y/N!” Yasopp called from the center of the party, swaying slightly with a grin on his face. “Where are you hiding? You’re the true queen of parties!”

Shanks was beside him, his arm slung lazily over the sniper’s shoulder, his laughter booming across the deck. “She’s probably nursing that drink,” Shanks called out, his voice teasing. “Last time she got lucky, but deep down she knows she can’t outdrink me!”

“Still can’t accept that you are not the best drinker on the ship, eh Shanks?,” Benn teased him, as he took a long drag out of his cigarette.

That had been the game—Y/N and Shanks facing off in drinking contests, him always so sure that he’d win, and her always proving him wrong. Despite her small frame, she had a resilience, a fire inside her that burned bright enough to match his. But tonight, that fire was dim. Y/N forced a weak smile and raised her tankard half-heartedly in their direction, but she didn’t get up. Yasopp caught the look in her eyes, his grin fading slightly, and nudged Shanks in the ribs.

“Something’s off,” Yasopp muttered, lowering his voice. Shanks watched her more closely now: the tension in her shoulders, the way her gaze kept drifting out to the horizon instead of to the party. He’d noticed it earlier, how she had been quieter, distant, her usual sharp retorts and bright laughter absent from the night, but he thought it was just a moment, a sudden tiredness that had momentarily slowed down her tireless spirit.

He crossed the deck, his noisy flipflops on the wood, stopping just in front of her. She looked up, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and tried to smile again, but it faltered. 

“Mind if I join you?” Shanks asked, his voice softer now.

Y/N shrugged, scooting over to make room. He sat beside her, his larger frame casting a long shadow over her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the noise of the party feeling oddly distant despite being just a few feet away. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You should be out there,” he said, nodding toward the party. “Dancing. Drinking. Outdrinking Yasopp and me of course, even though I’ll never admit it.”

Y/N managed a small smile but didn’t turn to face him. “Not tonight, Captain.”

Shanks frowned. He wasn’t used to this side of her. Y/N was always the one pulling others out of their funks, the one who lit up a room with a laugh that could make even the most serious men crack a smile. He hated seeing her like this—quiet, withdrawn, a far cry from the lively woman he had grown to care about far more than he should have. Shanks tipped his head back, looking at the stars, then glanced sideways at her. “So,” he began, keeping his tone light, “you planning on moping all night, or are you gonna tell me what’s got you looking like Benn stealing your last glass of rum that time?”

She let out a short, humorless laugh and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s making you sit out a party,” Shanks said, nudging her with his shoulder. “Come on, spit it out.”

Y/N bit her lip, her fingers tightening around the tankard. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure if she wanted to let the words spill out. But Shanks was patient, his presence warm and steady beside her, and finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Jim broke up with me,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible above the wind.

Shanks raised an eyebrow. “That idiot? I should’ve thrown him overboard the first time I saw him”. He tried to keep his usual calm tone, but his voice was hardening despite his attempt to stay calm.

Despite herself, Y/N let out a small laugh. “He was… charming. At first.”

“Charm doesn’t make up for being an asshole,” Shanks said bluntly. He paused, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

Y/N hesitated, then sighed again, looking down at her hands. “He said I wasn’t enough for him. Said I was too… childish. That I didn’t know what it meant to be in a real relationship, not serious enough for true commitment. Said I wasn’t worth the trouble.”

Shanks’ face darkened, a rare flash of anger crossing his features. “He doesn’t know a thing about you. You’re better off without him.”

“That's perfect, 'cause he dumped me,” she said, her voice cracking just slightly at the end.

Shanks knew Y/N had been seeing this guy, a merchant, if he remembered correctly – in one of the port towns of the Island they were staying. Tall, good-looking in that clean-cut, boring sort of way. He had never liked him, though he hadn’t said anything to Y/N about it. He watched her leave the ship when they had free time, saying she was going to see him. For two months straight, he always greeted her with a smile, but his feeling were a different story. She’s young, he used to tell himself. She’s just like you when you were younger, she should be having fun. You are just her old captain. Let her be.

Now, knowing what had happened, he felt a surge of anger. He wished he had told her sooner that he knew that guy was no good for her. But the inability to tell if his instinct were right as usual, or if this time jealousy had won him over, forced him to stay silent. Shanks felt a hot burst of fury in his chest. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep it from showing, but it was there—sharp and sudden. 

“That idiot doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” Shanks said, his voice rougher than he intended. “He’s blind if he can’t see how lucky he was to be near someone who is joufyll like you. If he can’t handle you living your life on your own terms, then he’s not worth the salt in his veins”.

Y/N’s lip trembled, and she looked away quickly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know, I just… it just feels like… like maybe there’s something wrong with me. My parents used to tell me too, you know” she said, making the alcohol in her glass dangerously move. “You’re too loud,” she tried to emulate the disappointed tone of her mother’s voice, after having chugged all she had in her glass. “You can’t take life seriously,” she repeated once again, feeling her mother’s stare on her. Y/N took the half empty bottle of rum Shanks had in his hands, pouring the dark liquor in her tankard once again.

Shanks felt a pang in his chest, seeing her like this. She was always the one laughing, teasing, strong in a way that made the world seem lighter just by being in it. Seeing her doubt herself—seeing her hurt like this—made him want to punch something, or better yet, find that merchant and make him regret ever crossing her path.

He wanted to maker her feel better again, so Shanks tried for levity, leaning back on his elbows with a sigh. “Sounds like you dodged a cannonball to me you know,” he said, his voice dipping into that easy, familiar drawl. “Can you imagine? Spending your life with a man like that? He’d probably make you wear fancy dresses and drink tea at noon. You'd be already asleep at this hour”.

Y/N let out a snort of laughter, despite herself, but it quickly turned into a quiet sob. She pressed her hands to her face, shoulders shaking, and Shanks’ heart twisted in his chest. He hated seeing her like this—so small, so vulnerable. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch light but firm. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle now, the teasing gone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about it. You know me, I can’t take life seriously either,” tried to joke once more.

She shook her head, lowering her hands from her face, smiling to him through tears. “No, it’s not that, I’m fine”, she explained, watching the look of concern growing on Shank’s face. “Seriously, I’m fine. I knew it wasn’t going to last, I just…” she stayed silent for a second, trying to gather the right words. She tried to catch breath, trying not to hate herself more than she was already doing. First, the thing with that idiot, now this: crying in front of her Captain, looking so weak and so…so ugly, with her eyes red, the snot coming out of her nose, the puffy face. She started slowing down her breath, but this was just too much so she let another deep sob escape her.  

Shanks’ hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment longer, then slid down her arm until their fingers brushed. He hesitated, torn between the urge to comfort her and the gnawing uncertainty that had been eating at him for weeks—his feelings for her, the tension between them that he had tried to ignore. Shanks felt a knot tighten in his chest. Of course, that dumbass wasn’t worth it. The man was a fool for leaving her, for not seeing what Shanks had seen in her all along. But how could he say that? How could he tell her what was really on his mind?

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so instead, he took her by the arm, leading her away from the noise and the crowd, past the cabins and down the stairs toward a quiet corner of the ship where they wouldn’t be disturbed. She followed without protest, though her mind was racing. She had never seen Shanks so serious, so intent on something.

Y/N sat down the last step, Shanks let go of her arm and ran a hand through his red hair, exhaling sharply. He leaned against the wall, staring at the ground, his brow furrowed as if he was struggling with something inside of him. She was young and despite her fierce independence, there was a fragility to her that he didn’t want to break. He knew the kind of life he lived wasn’t fair to someone like Y/N—someone who chose this life, but indeed deserved stability, safety, a love that didn’t come with a price. 

He took a deep breath, his gaze searching hers. “Y/N,” he began, his voice rougher than he intended, “you deserve better than some fool who can’t see how amazing you are. You’re strong, you’re smart, and you’ve got a fire in you that no man should ever try to snuff out. You will hurt tonight, but tomorrow you will be fine, and it’s okay. But trust me, please, you don’t have to change for anyone,” the words come quick, like a cascade out of his mouth. 

Then, he placed his arm around her shoulders, keeping her close to him. His chin resting upon her head, her face buried in his chest. Y/N breathing slowed down, finding comfort and warmth in Shanks’ arm. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and he felt something break inside him as she quietly whispered something that made him freeze. “I hope I will meet someone as kind as you”. She absent-mindedly let it slip, her brain incapable of being as sharp as it usually was. Between all the emotions she was feeling, all the sadness bottled up inside trying to come out, she wan’t as attentive as always. Shanks couldn’t keep this up—this careful distance he had been maintaining, this charade of just being her captain and friend. Not when she looked at him like that. But he had to. 

“Why does it hurt so much?,” she asked, loosening her grip.

“Because that’s what we do: we feel things,” he told her, feeling uncomfortable as she started slipping away.

“Tell me that it does get better,” she begged him, wiping a tear off her face, in the vain act of regaining some dignity. “Tell me that when you grow up you will feel like you know it, like you have it all figured it out”.

He feels a soft smile coming through his face. 

“No, it does’t”, he realveas passing his now-sadly-free-hand in his red hair. “It’s just a fucking mess, but trust me, it’s beautiful. It won’t be better, but it will be worth it”. 

Shanks starts to move slowly towards the door, about to go out, in desperate need of air or, even better, another drink. He needed to go away, before he’d say – or worst, he’d do – something stupid. Y/N stayed there, smiling and thinking about his answer. As soon as she notices his movements, watching him as he tries to leave, she feels a new wave of sadness hitting her.

“Come back?,” she asks with a wishper, hoping it will be loud enough for him to her her. He turns around, smiling at her softly once again. She signs him to come closer, but he reassures her. “I’ll be here in a few seconds, I am just going to grab something to drink for both of us, alright?,” he asks her, incapable of controlling the tenderness in his voice. She nods and sits on the ground, waiting for him. “Shanks,” she calls again as he takes a step back, once again. “Can you steal a cigarette from Benn for me?” asked, still her voice shaky. He let out a soft laugh, raising his thumbs at her.

Shanks stepped out of the cabin and closed the door softly behind him, taking a deep breath. The weight of the air felt lighter out here, away from Y/N’s sorrowful gaze, but the ache in his chest didn’t lessen. He ran a hand through his messy red hair, shaking off the vulnerability that had started creeping in while he comforted her. Who would have thought this was were this night was going: he thought that he could just get drunk and have with her and the crew what they usually do but no, that idiot had to break her heart and now there she is, crying and aching, while he tempts to console her, carefully trying to not let his feeling take the best of him.

"Alcohol. Need some alcohol," he muttered to himself as he came on the deck again, the clamor of voices suddenly filling the air.

“Oi, Captain!” Lucky Roux called out from where the crew had gathered. His cheerful face was now lined with concern, and the others around him were equally somber. “How’s Y/N doing? Is she alright?”

“Yeah, we saw you and her heading under the deck before,” Yasopp chimed in, leaning against the railing, arms crossed. “What’s going on with her? I told you something was off tonight”.

Shanks sighed, stopping in his tracks. He could feel the weight of his crew’s eyes on him. His men were like family, and they cared about Y/N just as much as he did. Keeping things from them wasn’t really an option. Still, this wasn’t something he wanted to dive into.

“She’s... well, it’s about that boy she’s been seeing,” Shanks said reluctantly, scratching the back of his neck. “Broke things off. Hurt her pretty bad.” The crew’s reactions were immediate. Yasopp let out a low whistle, “That bastard,” Roux cursed under his breath.

They were all pissed, Y/N wasn’t just someone on the ship, she was like their little sister, and her pain was their pain. It had been a year now since she joined their crew. Since that moment, they all felt like the fun and laughter, the alcohol and the joy, had doubled – she worked some trick on them, making them feel as if they were all back in their late twenties. 

Roux clenched his fists. “We should teach him a lesson. No one messes with our crew, especially not Y/N.” Shanks held up a hand, his tone even but firm. “No need for that. It’s over. And she needs time, not more trouble,” explained, as Y/N’s heartbreak had become the crew’s problem now, too.

As the others turned to leave, Benn Beckman approached, leaning casually against the doorway, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes were sharp, more knowing than most.

"Shanks," Benn called softly, making sure no one else could overhear. 

“Oh you were just the one I was looking for, I need a cig,” Benn raised his eyebrow confused, as Shankes added also his matches in his request. 

“It’s for her,” he explained. Benn gave him what he needed, shaking his head with a soft smile, thinking about the first time Y/N confessed him she didn’t smoke, she was just endlessly smoking her last cigarette.

Shanks and Benn had been friends for so long that words weren’t always necessary—but when they were spoken, they were always heavy. He stopped and met Benn's gaze. "What are you going to do about it?"

Shanks knew exactly what Benn was asking. He wasn’t talking about getting Y/N this cigarette or offering her some comfort. He was asking about the truth Shanks had kept buried for so long. The truth about how he felt about her. 

Shanks' smile faltered for a moment, a rare crack in his usually carefree demeanor. He shifted his weight, feeling the familiar flutter in his chest whenever he thought about Y/N as something more than just a crewmate. He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his glass, his tone softer now. “Nothing she needs right now,” he replied, looking off into the distance as if that might provide some clarity. “She’s hurt, Benn. She doesn’t need more complications”. Benn’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t press further. He understood Shanks better than anyone, even when the red-haired captain didn’t fully understand himself.

Shanks sighed, feeling the weight of Benn’s words but knowing there wasn’t an easy answer. “She’s hurting now,” he continued, “The only thing I care is to make her feel alright as soon as I can”.

“And what about you?” Benn asked, his voice a low murmur, almost swallowed by the sound of the waves against the ship. “When will you be alright?”

Shanks didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the closed cabin door where Y/N waited for him. “She’ll be alright,” he repeated, turing away to head back to Y/N with a bottle of rum in hand, the truth hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken but undeniable. Benn watched him go, the cigarette still burning between his fingers, his eyes knowing and weary. He knew Shanks could lie to the crew, and maybe even to Y/N. But lying to himself? That was another battle entirely.

She’ll be alright and it will be worth it, Shanks repeated himself, softly smiling. When he returned, Y/N looked up at him with those same tear-streaked eyes. And for a brief moment, as he sat down next to her and handed her the cig, he wished that for just once, he could tell her everything. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when she was already broken. So instead, he smiled, taking a long swig from the bottle, and mentally vowed to stay by her side. Even if it meant keeping his feelings locked away, just a little while longer.

She lit the cigarette taking a long drag, Shanks watching her with a bit of amusement.

“Remember that I’m letting you smoke under the deck just because this is an emergency,” he tried to lighten the mood once again, while taking another sip. She nodded, puffing out the smoke, “so, when are the rest of the guys going to kick Jim’s ass?,” she casually asked. Shanks turned to her, “I heard what they were saying on the deck, they’re not exactly quiet you know,” she explained, “Remind me to say thanks to Roux for wanting to step up for me and defend my honor,” she laughed, while grabbing the bottle and pouring her some.

“You’re smiling a bit,” Shanks noted relieved. “Are you feeling a bit better?” Y/N nodded. 

“Knew that drinking would have helped you,” he joked.

“Maybe it’s the drink,” she repeated. “Or the cigarette,” she took another drag while Shanks drank a bit more. “Or the fact that whenever I am around you, I can help but laugh,” she added smiling once again, Shanks’ heart skipping a bit for what she had just said. 

“Thank you, I will never thank you enough for this,” she turned to face him, moving towards him, resting – with no warning – her head on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I kinda ruined the party’s mood tonight,” she continued, finding comfort once again in the cigarette. 

“Well, you can’t always be the life of the party, can you?,” Shanks joked, incapable of stopping himself to enjoy the closeness they were sharing. Before she could speak once again he signed her to be quiet, “I want that to be very clear: you haven’t ruined anything. You felt hurt, it happens. I hope you know that it’s not your fault”, she nodded.

“I truly mean it, Y/N. He was not worth your time or your energy. I think you have shed more tears for him than he deserved. I don’t want to see you cry again,” he said, caressing her puffy cheek with his thumb, “unless if it’s about Benn stealing you last drink again”, he tried to make her smile again. The feeling of her soft skin under his calloused fingers reminded him once again the truth he was trying to avoid: she was a fragile thing, he need to be careful with her.

“You will find a true man who will take care of you,” he added while he stood up to set some distance between them. 

“Can you hug me again before you go?”. Shanks froze, her words hanging in the air. He hadn’t planned on leaving just yet, but her request for another hug—it was the way she said it, the vulnerability in her voice—it almost unraveled him. Turning back to her, he hesitated only for a moment before sitting back down, opening his arm. She nestled into his chest, her small frame fitting perfectly against him. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

“I ruined your shirt,” she said noticed the stain she caused with her cries.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, looking her in those big eyes, still a bit red for the emotional turmoil of the night. She nodded.

“Then it’s fine,” he answered nodding his head in disbelief, as if he could care about a damn shirt. 

“Was it worth it?”, she asked suddenly, her tone quiet yet meaningful. Shanks froze for a moment, taken aback. She had repeated his own words from earlier, the ones he had spoken to try and reassure her. Shanks felt his breath hitch slightly. He gently pulled away, giving her a bit of space, though he kept her hand close, his fingers barely brushing against hers, reluctant to lose contact. The look on her soft face was sending his mind into shambles, and suddenly, the air between them felt impossibly thick, each breath heavy with everything left unsaid. His lips parted as if to say something, but the words seemed to falter on the tip of her tongue. Shanks’ heart pounded in his chest, louder than anything else, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her—how her eyes still held that same vulnerability, but there was something else now. Something more. 

“You are always worth it,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. She blinked up at him, her expression softening as she leaned in just a little closer. “I’m glad,” she whispered, her gaze flickering to his lips for the briefest of moments. It was enough for him to notice, to feel that pull again—the one that told him he was dangerously close to crossing a line. But it didn’t feel dangerous anymore. It felt right. Tell her. Don’t tell her, let her rest, you will grow over it. Tell her, it will be worth it.

“I—” Shanks swallowed hard, standing up while feeling his throat tighten. “I’ve wanted to say this for a while now, but I wasn’t sure if I should. You’re younger than me, and I know… I know I’m not what people would call a “good man”. But I—”

Before he could finish, she stood up as well, almost facing him. “Shanks,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Don’t”. He froze, his breath catching in his throat, his heart pounding so loud he was sure she could hear it. He knew it: he shouldn’t have let his emotions get the best of him. He should have at least waited until all of this was months behind her. But then she leaned in, closing the distance between them, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft, but filled with a quiet kind of desperation. He didn’t move at first, too stunned by the feel of her against him, until something inside him snapped and he kissed her back, his hand sliding into her soft hair as he pulled her closer. It wasn’t a kiss of passion—it was something gentler, more intimate, the beginning of something that had been waiting for a long time to surface. When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Shanks rested his forehead against hers, his heart still racing in his chest.

“I’ll show you,” the words urged to come out of his body, he needed to get this out of his chest. “I’ll show you how you what a real man does when he’s lucky enough to be with a woman like you. Tell me you’ll let me and I will do it”. Please let me.

Y/N smiled, her eyes bright with something that looked like hope, and she kissed him again, a soft peck on the lips, while her hand rested on the side of his face. Their foreheads remained pressed together, breaths mingling as they stood in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Y/N’s fingers lightly traced the side of his face, her touch gentle and reverent, like she was afraid to break the delicate spell between them. Her smile wavered slightly, not from doubt but from the overwhelming emotion of it all—the love she had kept hidden for so long, now finally set free.

"Shanks," she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the small space between them. "I don't need you to show me anything I haven’t seen already". Shanks closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words settle in his chest. When he opened them again, he looked at her with all the certainty he had in the world. His thumb brushed across her cheek.

“I know this wasn’t the best timing” he whispered back, his voice low and rough with emotion. “But I had to take it off my chest, Y/N”.

Her hand lingered against his skin, her heart thudding in her chest as she searched his face for any sign of hesitation—but there was none. There was only love, plain and simple. It was so clear now, as if it had always been there, waiting for them to recognize it. She caressed his scar, making him shiver due to her gentle touch. He wasn’t used to this. 

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the air between them thick with everything unspoken. And then, in a quiet voice that seemed to crack with vulnerability, Y/N whispered, “I don’t want you to think that I am doing this out of sadness. I’ve always thought this. You. Us – something more than the strong bond we shared before, but I felt so dumb and inappropriate, how was I supposed to—”

Shanks tilted her chin up gently, his gaze unwavering as he leaned in closer, their lips just a breath apart. “It doesn’t matter now,” he murmured. He kissed her again, once again with a slow tenderness that made her melt into him, her body soft against his. His hand slid up to the back of her neck, his fingers gripping slightly as if he was holding on for dear life, afraid that if he let go, she would disappear. But she didn’t, she held him close, her hand still on his cheek, pulling him tighter against her. When they finally broke apart again, Shanks leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, his own filled with an intensity that made Y/N’s breath hitch in her throat. “I meant what I said,” he told her, his voice low but steady. “I want to take care of you. Not because you need it—but because I’ve waited so long before finding someone to love you like you should be loved,” he softly spoke, feeling finally lighter. The weight he was carrieng from six months until now was driving him mad but now, since they kissed, he felt as if he’d been on land for too long and he just saw the ocean again.

“I know we don’t have an easy life, but I told you, I will give you all the love I have in me. But I need you to know if you’re 100% sure about this,” he explained.

“I am,” she smiled. “I know I’ll never find someone who’ll beat my drinking skills,” she joked, her wide wide smile found again, “but I need someone who can keep up, or at least tries to,” concluded with a small laugh. Shanks laughed with her, the thing that made him happy the most is that he finally recognised her Y/N, the sadness seemed to have passed, just like a storm. 

“I will beat your ass tomorrow night, you know that”, he said, hugging her once more.

“I look forward to”.

[osamucide]

⊹ PUT ME IN A MOVIE

IF HE LIKES ME, TAKES ME HOME . . . ft. Nikolai Gogol

wc: ~5.8k

cw: NSFW—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT—PLEASE READ ALL TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING, snuff film maker!nikolai, alternate universe—no abilities, gn+afab!reader, 2nd person pov, siglai easter egg if you squint, stalking, implied/referenced dissociation, substance use/abuse, intoxication, drugging, abduction, choking, filming, restraints, graphic depictions of violence and gore, graphic noncon elements, mindbreak(?), spanking, object insertion (knife handle), knives/cutting, murder, reader.. dies(?)

reid: brilliant idea courtesy of my friend @berryzai thank u for planting this thought in my little freak brain. this was a fun little practice in suspense building and i would love feedback <3 .......if anyone would be tickled by a gross and gratuitous part 2 lmk lollll

It would happen to you.

At what’s felt like your goddamn lowest, too. There’s been a distant echo of a warning in your brain—perhaps from your mother or your father a long while ago; it rings now, still—that you hadn’t been heeding from the second the alluring silver-haired man placed himself with grace next to you at the bar. Be aware of your surroundings. Don’t go out by yourself. Don’t let your guard down. Sentiments you know to arm yourself to the teeth with—or, knew to, at some point, anyway.

You’re vigilant, always have been. Maybe aside from the going out by yourself part, but you could hardly help that living in a new city, sans friends and family, would prove more exhausting and isolating than you could’ve imagined in the technological age. No amount of text messages or FaceTimes or stupid Tiktoks sent to you from familiar, faraway fingers has translated into anything other than bitter little reminders that you’re really on your own this time.

Your social life has fallen completely by the wayside in light of your frantic work schedule. You’re never off the clock for more than twelve hours at a time, what with how criminally expensive your shiny, brand-new rent is—you could laugh to yourself right now if you were less delirious, thinking about paying so much for a room where you slept three feet from the shitter—and even if you did have friends, or nice coworkers, or a day off, would you even be able to muster up the dignity to bring anyone to your excuse of a place? You doubt it. You can barely stand being cooped up in there as it is, which is why, so often, you find yourself waggling your empty glass for the fourth time each evening at some bartender who by now recognizes you better than you recognize them.

And who could blame you? You have never felt so fucking alone.

You’ve been feeling caught in the spiraling downstream with all the other excreta Yokohama pushes from the pipes in the slums out into the ocean. It’s probably why you so eagerly welcomed the not-so-subtle curiosity of the man who introduced himself to you as Nikolai, proclaiming himself an avid drinker of your cocktail of choice—whiskey and whiskey—and commenting with enthusiasm on the glow of your skin even in the stale light of the bar. The apology for the awkwardness of such a compliment that followed it was just as bubbly; it was perhaps the first thing in weeks, if not months, that had made you crack a scoff of a laugh and raise your eyes to another human being outside the pretense of a monetary transaction.

He was stunning, really. You’d even felt lucky, momentarily, to have your attention stolen from your sorrows by this man whom you learned was visiting from Ukraine, was a filmmaker and photographer, was blind in one eye—it was true, it seemed, as his own skin was unblemished, perfect and not unlike porcelain, aside from a vertical scar plunging through his right eyebrow to below, just above his cheek, which did not detract from his beauty one bit, by the way. His teeth gleamed, wide and often, in low-contrast to his pale complexion when he tangented about his artistic endeavors which, according to him, explored the depth of the soul and the capabilities of the mind. He was fascinated with people, he told you. Fascinated, to a spiritual extent it seemed, with the billions of different possible human conceptions of the word freedom.

Freedom. It felt ironic now.

He could tell you had a certain depth, he’d said—one he liked to find and study in people. His testimony went like this: he’d have drinks and movies and a double bed for you to crash in, and it sounded a world more appealing than drowning your organs in liquor alone another night before slumping to your abominable makeshift-cell of a home before throwing up your hangover, sleeping a half-hour over the toilet, and heading in for your morning shift.

So, you agreed, on behalf of the fact that you’d felt fascinated by him, too. You noticed he’d gone on blabbering so long that you’d sobered up adequately enough to nod and accept, in what you assumed was your right mind, his invitation to go back to his place with him. In retrospect, he could’ve asked you to come over and do this—whatever was happening right now—and you’re not sure you wouldn’t have just laughed and resisted only playfully.

You’ve been so desperate for any interruption in the mind-numbing, feet-dragging routine that’s consumed your pathetic life that if you weren’t a dose of sedative short of completely panicking right now, you’d probably still be thinking this isn’t too bad.

But that’s silly, of course. You do, above all, feel like an idiot through your haze. You’d done everything right—everything except the going out by yourself thing, and that's how you've wound up in this man's dingy apartment, cuffed to the radiator with no less than three layers of tape wrapped around your head and ankles respectively. Alone. Alone is what you're used to these days, and it’s looking like it’s all going to come to a screeching halt the very same way.

You have no idea where he's gone. You just hope he’ll save the mutilation for after you’re dead.

Hey, you can forget about paying rent for that shithole of yours, at least.

His own's not a sight to behold, and you've gotten pretty familiar with it since you've woken up. He was showing you pictures before he left—before he knocked you unconscious, cleanly and with whatever he obviously slipped in the homemade whiskey and whiskey as far as your memory serves, but the throbbing, sore patch at the back of your skull that's obviously bruised when you lean it against the wall says otherwise. He must've hit you. But maybe he didn't. At your brightest and most alert, you can't say you'd be able to differentiate between blunt-force fog, roofie brain sludge, or the mixture of both.

The photographs started out elegant, really. Men and women alike posed solo, side by side, or in small groups, with knives and guns, mostly—pretty lines, sharp contours, silhouettes that prompted you to ask if he was a student. No, he'd replied, here for work; this is just a hobby. More men and women—a few recurring ones, including an androgynous-looking person with the most artful pastel split-dye you'd ever seen and a side profile to die for—in intricate shibari. A coworker? you'd asked; you could say that, he had replied with a wink. You'd drawn your legs up into yourself onto his bed where you leaned into him closer than could be considered friendly and you fawned. You weren't sure you'd met anyone like him. You hadn't met anyone in a very long time, it felt like.

The photos got strange rather quickly. Same photoshoots, same models, same weapons—but with blood. Bullet holes and brain matter and exposed bones. He has a passion for practical effects, he'd told you. See that little bit of brains there? he'd pointed out. Wet cauliflower rubbed with food coloring. Just like that. Easy! Blown-off skin was exceptionally simple to recreate using deli meat, you learned. You remember ogling a particularly convincing pile of innards with half-disgust, half-astonishment. He had photos of similar nature pinned up, collaged, ripped and repieced all over his water-damaged walls, all taken by him; there must've been hundreds. He’d love to do a shoot with you, if you’d be up for it, he said. He’d make sure you’re comfortable—show you just how simple it is to create such images with practical, do-it-yourself effects.

It hadn't started to sink in until too late just how practical the effects in those pictures might've been.

But by then, you were seeing two of him. When did he grow another trailing, milky braid? You'd reached out drunkenly to touch it, take it between your fingers, and there was two of your one hand, as well; there had to be, for when you looked down at your glass, now empty, there were two of those, too. You had four hands, and his two smiles were as charming as ever when he giggled and asked if you liked his hair. Yeah, you're pretty sure you'd slurred, maybe once, maybe twice, but after that, it's all dark. 

You should've scalped and strangled him with it.

Your guess is as good as anyone's how long you've been here, how long he—Nikolai—has been gone, if or when he's coming back.

But there's no room for guesses when you're hyperventilating manually through your nostrils just to keep yourself awake. You've been searching frenetically, yanking uselessly, screaming into plastic for at least a couple of hours now—long enough to be reduced to whimpering, rocking, and absent surveying of your surroundings. A fridge with the handle duct taped on. An unmade bed with black and white striped sheets stretched over it. Cutlery all over the countertop. Laminated floors curling up beneath the cupboards. A birdcage, tipped over and with no bird in it. Smoke stains on the ceilings. Boxes. Boxes. Cardboard boxes piled up next to the dresser and spilling out of the meager closet, among other trash. A video camera silent on a tripod in the far corner. A distinct and hollow smell that reminds you, for some reason, of your elementary school. A small analog television. All those photos, everywhere.

You've cried enough in your life to know the taste of tears. It's odd when they run, like raindrops down a window, across the tape and you find the salt inaccessible.

Please, succumb to dehydration, or starvation, or let the will just leave my body—who hasn't wanted to drop dead a time or two in their life? You just never expected these prayers of yours to be so immediate. So visceral.

You think back to the pile of innards in that photo. Gelatin, he'd told you. As if to prove himself, he bounced over to his kitchen cabinets and produced a tin mold that looked readily liver-like.

So much trouble, just to get you here. Inevitably.

The last words you remember him uttering to you—quiz time had preceded them—while he tucked your hair behind your ear and grinned toothily, don’t haunt you as much as they feel like drying cement in your stomach.

“At what point tonight did I start lying to you?”

Even now—especially now—you can’t say.

You’re rather annoyed with the squeaking, wheezing sound that pulses through the space until you remember it’s coming from yourself. Your lungs and throat. It’s getting easier to slip out of your body like that, the longer you sit here.

You hope the dissociative blessing will find you again at the right times.

It would be nicer—not to be so aware of everything right now. The metal digging into your wrists, your elbows and knees knocking against the humming radiator, the absurd way your cheeks puff up like a squirrel’s before your airways can remember you’re not allowed to draw breath in through your mouth anymore. You’re aware of the ache at the base of your neck and the nail marks you dig into your own palms and loads of other physical stimuli, in the form of nothing, barraging you from inside this apartment where nothing, dreadfully, happens. Nothing.

But again, your awareness does not reach your sense of passing time.

So, when he does come back, it might’ve been an hour since you’d woken up—or it might’ve been a few, or it might’ve been longer.

You don’t know.

“Oh, my friend! Terribly sorry to keep you waiting,” he chirps, as if you’re lounging on the couch with the next episode of your favorite show loaded up and ready to watch.

The tears come fresh when he walks over and squats down in front of you, at your eye level, muttering hey, hey like you’re a small dog, smiling the smile that was once charming—now it makes your jaw tighten, your breathing quicken, your back hit the wall.

“I promised movies, didn't I?”

You could mistake his tone for warm if you closed your eyes. You want to. You can't.

After regarding you and finding some satisfaction—you're not sure what in—Nikolai hops up, whistling. Your gaze follows him, dutifully, as if watching him will keep him at bay. That white braid swishes out of time with your breath as the little television crackles to life.

His rifling through one of the boxes produces a stack of DVDs in telltale white paper sleeves, each with its own permanent-marker-scribbled identifier like a love letter—you see these, make these out when he kneels back down in front of you, still whistling as he fans them like a deck of cards, like he wants you to pick one, any one.

But then he clicks his tongue.

“So impolite of me.” He seems to remember the predicament he’s placed you in. Setting the discs aside, he digs in his pocket. “Let's try something, okay?”

On its own, your head shakes side to side. No, is what the tape keeps in your mouth.

But it's a small key, and he's reaching for your cuffs—some sick part of you feels ready to forgive him if he just unlocks you and lets you go. Maybe he'll let you go. You would've stayed for movies had he not done this to you, you swear, unintelligible in your mewling—you’d been so lonely, he could’ve shown you anything and you would’ve stayed. Just let me go, you think now. Just let me go.

Before the tooth of the key slides in—so close—he tells you, "Nothing funny, now. This hand—" he taps the one closest to him, "—is for picking only, got it?"

He's frozen; you realize he's waiting for an answer. Your sight has never wavered from him, but you feel like you're zeroing back in on him and his expectancy from behind closed eyes as he tilts his head forward, toward you. Yes begins to form on his lips, like he's speaking it into you. You nod harshly. It hurts your neck.

But when the key clicks, a caged animal cannot be expected not to pounce.

Your free hand flies up to claw at his face, hard, unforgiving and without knowing what exactly you hope to accomplish. Nail tracks and fingertips find purchase as quickly and comfortably as they can into an eye socket. If your mouth was free, you'd be spitting. Shouting.

But he just peels you away and twists your arm in a way that forces your torso to follow and you screech into the tape; he twists, toward your chest and then down, and you're no match for him and his manic clenched teeth and the way he rises up to plant his foot upon your wrist, in the middle of your back.

Your chin hits the floor.

Something in your shoulder tears loose with a nauseating crack.

You scream. It's not loud enough.

“It's only gonna get worse if you don't just listen to me, sweetheart,” he growls, leaning down, grinding your carpal bones to dust beneath his heel.

Sweetheart. The first time he calls you anything other than friend is when it's really started. He's hurting you and the gutting certainty that he won't stop here is washing over you like a frigid wave.

Those pathetic, annoying sounds again—whining, whimpering. It's harder to remember it's coming from you when your eyes are screwed shut. If you close them tight enough maybe you can pretend this is all happening to somebody else.

“Obviously, that won’t work,” Nikolai says more to himself than you, yanking you back up, putting you back together off the radiator in a few motions you can’t keep up with before he lets you fall again.

You ragdoll.

You would like to think you might’ve had more fight in a situation like this one. But a steady ache is spreading from your shoulder down into your back and the angle at which he presses you into an arch reminds you your dignity is not something of his concern. You ragdoll.

“No, no, baby, we’re gonna get up now.” He drags you up by your wrists and hair and you groan and ache and try to ragdoll yourself into a bag of sand but he kicks your bound ankles and the negative spaces your knocking knees cut out until you’re sitting on your ass on the edge of his bed, in front of the buzzing TV, tears aglide in a new wave when he threatens you, with so little as a bruising grip on your face, to stay upright. “You’ll be okay,” he purrs emptily.

You’re past the liberty of choice, so the thin stack of DVDs hit the dresser with a papery thwack—all but one, which he jams into the slot before he crawls behind you on the bed. 

It wouldn’t have been so difficult to turn you into a lover, really. You wish you could tell him this while he sets either thigh on each side of your own, slides his arms around your middle, beneath your arms, the dishonesty of his fingertips beneath the hem of your shirt so welcoming. You still wish he wouldn’t have lied to you. You wish he wouldn’t have put drugs in your drink. You wish he’d take the tape off and let you wake up from the pain careening parallel to your spine and in your hand and you’d cover his arms with your own and tell him thank you, you’ve needed this, it’s been so long since you’ve felt physical affection from a human being that you think you could cry. His fingers wander between your legs and away again and you are crying. 

But Nikolai doesn’t want to turn you into a lover. The staticy screen hosts a shaky frame trained on where a cracked alleyway swallows up the foot of a brick building in shifty evening light and when it pans up to a window, there you are, impossibly, between a sliver of blinds. When you turn your head away—hearing those suffocated garbles from someone else’s throat—he creeps back up to your jaw, hard, like he wants to leave his fingerprints on the teeth they’ll use to identify you.

You watch yourself get undressed. You watch yourself wrap a towel around your waist and step halfway out of sight behind the frosted glass of your shower door. 

He gets up, periodically, to change the disc. Whistling, leaving you shivering in your bones, glaring sharply at you when you writhe until he guides your wet eyes to another film of yourself. And another. And another. And another. Ones where you’re on your way to work, on the bus. Ones where you carry groceries. Ones where your back faces him, on that barstool of yours. Ones where he gets close enough to touch you and then retreats. Ones where he’s picked up the convenience store receipt that slips out of your pocket. He uncrumbles it for the camera and scans the text and discerns your fate between your case of wine and bag of chips, laughing to himself. He’s a filmmaker. You’re his muse and we’re going to make the best movie ever, you think you hear him whispering to you or shouting at you with vigor when the television finally zaps dead beneath his touch. It’s going to be an exploration, he says, and he’s so lucky it’s you, who did everything right, sweetheart.

“How many days,” he begins, moving you like a mannequin to face him on the bed, your legs curling up uncomfortably as if they’re one, “did I follow you, do you think? Give me your best guess.” 

You desperately don’t want to vomit behind the tape, so you don’t make a sound.  

But he’s looking to you like he’s waiting for you to take your turn in the game, most likely unwilling to give you a leg up after your little outburst earlier. The tiny red crescents between his brows, barely visible beneath his snowy bangs, do not miss you. 

Chain link clicking, you lift up your one ten-fingered hand—no more four hands for a wider array of guesses—and present six shaky fingers. You think about going for his neck. 

Nikolai shakes his head as if he’s pleased to be winning. “Try again.” 

You spare a middle finger. Without looking at your seven, he shakes no once more. You don’t have to cast your eyes down to his arms, filling out the sleeves of his plain white shirt, to remember how strong they were around you without even trying to be. You’d have to be quick and you’d have to squeeze hard. 

Your thumb pokes out. 

No. 

The rest of your planning time rests like a marble between your last two fingers and when your ring finger flicks up you feel it slipping—slipping because what will you do after? You’ll have to choke him until he’s out cold. You’ll have to be certain he’s subdued before you’ll be able to waddle on your bound feet to his door to undo the latch and deadbolt—forbid you shouldn’t have enough time before you can make it out, pound on a neighbor’s door, get to a phone so someone, anyone can help you get out of here. 

Happily, Nikolai shakes his head once more. 

And you’re uncurling your pinky, making your way to a mockery of jazz hands. 

But before you get there, you lunge at him with everything left in your body and shattered hand—your ridiculously stringy reserve of willpower, funneled down through your dislocated shoulder and hours of frantic breath and trembling next to that radiator so that when your nails land this time in half-moons around his throat you groan; you get his jugular with two palms, one assured, one numb, insistent knuckles, and vengeant fingertips and his eyes widen so sweetly, his mouth twists down in the first and only displeased expression you’ll see on his angel-white face and you grit your hidden teeth and squeeze. You can taste the outside air and the blood from inside your cheek.

Frowning and flailing backwards, Nikolai gives you the privilege of a little performance. 

You think you could kill him before he kills you. You want to see the blue rise up his pretty skin. You grit your teeth. Your groan becomes a shriek. You squeeze. 

And when he’s on his back he pries you off. Does you one better. 

He’s grinning before he can get you off him—you’ve lost. You’ve lost a long time ago—when are you going to believe him? Does he have to spit it in your tear-streaked face? Surely you’ll understand, after his knuckles ripple into the space between your upper and lower jaws, now that he stamps his knee into the back of your neck in another choreography-perfect motion you never stood a chance against. Jazz hands against your chest, elbows jabbing your stomach. 

“It was thirteen, anyway,” he growls like he’s angry with you for guessing incorrectly. “Thirteen days. Feisty one.” You had no extra hands or mouth to make such a speculation, and now his heavy leg bears down on you. Hand on your back, grappling toward the curve of your ass, almost soothing. Almost. Your eyes are pressed into a blur of black and white stripes. 

Smack. 

It’s one of the kinder touches, still. 

“I don’t like having to discipline my subjects into submission, you know.” Nikolai almost sounds regretful. “If you’ll just—” Smack— “trust me to do my work, I can trust you to be good for me.”

Your spinal cord could snap like the head off a flower and he just smacks your ass, over, over. All your permission to make sound is trapped between his kneecap and his mattress, him and his rough hands, one of which knots in your hair and yanks, yanks until you can��t pretend this is nice anymore. You should’ve struck faster, gripped harder, shaken him with all your might but you should’ve done lots of things prior to now, and he’s the disappointed discipliner and you’re sorry, alright—you’re sorry you caused either of you all this trouble and you just want to go home. You just want to go back to your shithole apartment and let your chafed wrists heal and allow the long-term pain of a few dodged medical bills remind you that this wasn’t quite a dream, but at least you’ll be alive. 

At least you’d be alive. 

“Don’t fucking move,” he doesn’t bark at you. He’s not unkind. It’s a simple instruction. All the air rushes back in when he gets up, off you. Moves somewhere in the room to make a soft clatter. 

At least you’d be alive. But for what? To slog back to the machine? With all this added weight on you?

Would you want to be? You hadn’t begun with much when you crossed the threshold of the bar into the night he swept you up in. You had the stifling promise of work, home, work, home, feel alone, drink yourself to sleep, and you would be dumbly hopeful—no, pitiably lying to yourself to think anything more, anything different would be waiting for you on the other side of this. 

Another clatter, dull and short, sounds on the bed next to you and you dip with the weight of him following. From the clatter he chooses scissors—you know this because your shirt goes first, the cotton ripping, before your pants which too rip, rip, rip in places all over before he shucks it all, undergarments too, off you like the skin of a fruit.

At least you’d be alive. But what is it you’d aim to become after being Nikolai’s pretty little victim? A work of his art? Surely this isn’t something you want to carry with you, you think in the margin between rationality and ruin—between you and the door you’re not certain you’ll ever reach again. Certainly, not in one piece.

You roll over, exposed. He’s so pretty, biceps flexing, jaw clenching while he situates a body that is not yours into an adequate position where he can sever the duct tape binding the ankles with a few back-and-forth flourishes of his serrated knife like it’s a saw. This is a hobby, you remember. You wonder if he’s a butcher or a mortuary scientist or what he does to make his living and if he looks just as beautiful doing it. You’ve been granted the point-of-view of specimen. You can’t think of a perspective you’d rather watch him splay himself across your thighs from.

Your feet twitch to kick. Your brain doesn’t follow through.

“I told you you’d be comfortable, didn’t I?” He’s back to grinning that grin you’re holding onto. You can be a pretty model if you keep reminding yourself that if you weren’t weakened and restrained in his bed, that grin would look so inviting. His joy and passion are what drew you into him in the first place, after all. He talks to you, looks at you so softly while you feel broken. Isn’t that all you’ve been craving for someone to do? “Let’s get you comfortable, dovey.”

He kisses you—not rough, especially gentle in fact—over the tape as he’s tucking the same knife between your bodies. The kiss of an angel, the kiss of death. 

It’s not comfortable when the stainless steel handle finds its way inside you. You can’t even get wet, looking at him, seeming so patient now that he’s got you bending nice and far, and his teasing from earlier has done nothing; he’s so pretty and you would’ve wanted him before this. He didn’t have to do this to you. 

It’s uncomfortable, too, when he fucks you with it, slow at first—gradually faster. You don’t think you even moan, or whine. You just watch him, silky braid fallen in the crook of his neck, as he alternately studies your face, the knife, how you don’t react. When he fucks you faster, risking cuts upon his own hand, you let your eyes flutter shut, your fingers curling and uncurling subtly like they’re the only part of you that registers what’s happening. You don’t want to watch him anymore, going to the trouble. For you. 

He pushes it so deep for you, so deep you start to feel the serrated teeth. Your toes echo your fingers and finally, you give him sound in the form of a cry. 

“Oh, that’s good,” Nikolai tells you. A laugh bubbles through the words. 

Stop, you think you’re saying. Don’t. It’s anyone’s guess and his guess is more. 

So you leave. You remember this is all happening to someone who isn’t you—you have to feel it, but it’s not happening to you. You leave and you pretend it’s two of his fingers in you—they’re cold, that’s all—pretend the tape and the cuffs are some kink thing you were thrilled to indulge him in. Pretend you’re not concussed. Pretend your faculties can come back to you anytime you want in this little daze of yours—he’s just making you comfortable, he’s just making you feel good because your life isn’t so sad that you don’t deserve even that. 

He’s just making you feel good. 

Your tears have no end. They unravel out of you like string. 

“Don’t cry, baby,” his voice shakes with the speed. You jostle with his pace but you pretend you’re floating. “Don’t cry, pretty thing.” But he’s cutting you open from the worst place and when he grabs your chin again, his hands’ slick with his blood or maybe yours and you jolt back home into your body to find him again and the knife is still inside you. 

You hurt all over. He’s just making you feel good. 

Your sobs come loud and violent, withheld only by tape. He’s patient with you. He’ll be patient with you while you purge it, surely. You blur over, the string undoing faster and faster and he’s wiping your tears away, replacing them with something else, something red. It gets in your eyes. You miss his grin this time but if you were to see it, you would not think it the same one from before. 

When your body rejects the knife he scoops it up, licks the handle clean of all you’ve given him so far, with care. 

And he hushes you. 

“It feels good,” he reaffirms to you. “You’re doing so good.” 

You’re doing better than you ever have. You’re good—you must be. It’s the first time you’ve heard that in what feels like lifetimes. You’re good beneath his touch. He smears your blood or his blood down your cheek, down the tape, and you cry for him. Stop. Don’t. Be cruel to me again. It’s what I know. It’s easier to die when burning hatred is the one burying you. His affection makes your stomach turn. You loll into the palm cupping your face. You’re doing so good. 

And he’s grinning, sharp and wide, when your eyes roll back and forth. Back into your skull, forward onto him. Nikolai grants your wish when his fingers worm beneath, between the tape and your skin, while he’s telling you don’t scream or I won’t be so nice anymore and when he tears it away your face feels cold and you scream anyway—you scream for your crumpled arm and the violation and the knife life’s held above your throat come to materialize now in the third strike against him and there is a thick, flowing gash that leaves you feeling waterboarded as it seethes and gurgles its way through your teeth and around your shoulders all at once like a crimson harness to keep you flat on your back while Nikolai looks at you like you didn’t learn. 

“Ultimately—” His cloud-colored eyes burn as he towers over you like a god. Your god. The only one that can set you free, now. “—you made such easy little snuffbait,” he quips, running the blade once, twice along the cloth of his shirt before turning it on the thin, tender skin keeping him from your sternum. You and your first-floor housing and your melancholia. “Too caught up in your woes to notice the man following you around each corner for—god, weeks now. So little to live for anymore, sweetheart—it wouldn’t be so much of a shame to put you out of your misery now, would it?”

The look you give him must be delirious and begging; you swear a flicker of the most genuine sympathy you’ve ever seen crosses his face until he’s laughing, softly, rumbling to your ears like a fan’s whir.

“Oh, it would be such a waste of you,” he waves away. “Besides, I’ve already given you my artist statement.” 

His artist statement. From the bar.

Freedom.

His work—work, the word is bitter and foamy mixed with your blood—explores different conceptions of freedom.

Freedom. What could it possibly have to do with an innocent person, bound and drugged with their throat slit on film? What exploration is being made? What endeavor toward enlightenment are you when your mouth is too full of blood to ask him to stop?

Freedom. He’s been following you for weeks, if all he’s said is truthful, while you’ve been swirling in that downstream like a helpless fucking bug. And like a kid looking for an insectile test subject, Nikolai plucked you right up, splayed out your limbs, and stuck you beneath the microscope. Next he’d pin you, dry you, feed the story of your mortality to someone—his next victim, an empty roll of film, his own reflection, some god that wasn’t listening to you—and you would be another nameless face, a decomposing body, a snapshot demonstration of how well deli ham apparently mimics peeled-back human skin. A lesson in deliverance.

You haven’t been free in a long time. Perhaps, even, since before you moved to Yokohama and all your shit uprooted itself to the forefront of your mind and landed you on your back in the Devil’s bed.

“You should know well by now I’m interested in more than just seeing you bleed.”

Your hands reach out, trembling for his face like it’s salvation, while he leans to rest with his chin above yours. The Devil traces white heat, a bullseye for where he’ll stab into that tender skin on your chest, drag down, cut you open for him to begin the messy part of his project. 

You tilt ninety degrees and the red light of the camera winks at you. At least you’re not alone.

“I told you, I’m going to set you free.”

[glorixuspurpose]

can i request jayce talis x reader where they are kind of rivals but get roped into fake dating each other and fall inlove.

omll I love this request!!! this may not be my best work but hopefully you like it!!

Jayce Talis x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

 Your heels clicked against the floor as you subtly stormed out of the council room. It never failed to piss you off, how he got everything he wanted, just like that. You climbed your way out of the Undercity, working double time just to get where you were, yet Jayce got on the council at the snap of a finger. You were almost at the end of the hallway, about to turn, when a voice called your name against the silent air–Jayce. You sighed as you turned around, crossing your arms over your chest. 

 “What’s next? You want my seat too?” You deadpanned. You knew you were being a bit unfair, but life isn’t fair. You knew firsthand. 

“It’s not like that.” Jayce sighed, before continuing. “I’ve heard the council has galas.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes, and?” 

“You should be my date.”

“Absolutely not–”

“Just hear me out! It doesn’t have to be real or anything, just to make both of us look good.” 

 “And how does this make me look good?” You asked.

“How does it not? You and the golden boy, seemingly in love?”

“Don’t get too full of yourself.” You muttered, before turning to keep walking. 

Jayce grabbed your wrist, turning you back to him. “Wait. Just…hear me out. Not to be rude, but you’re not exactly the most…well loved council member.”

“So?” You yanked your wrist away. “I don’t need to be.”

 “Maybe not, but no one takes you seriously.”

“...People take me seriously.” You crossed your arms again, averting your gaze. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. 

“Okay, well…maybe they don’t, but the council does. And besides, I don’t need a man to prove how likable and serious I am. I can do that on my own.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Jayce quipped as you began to walk away again. 

But then, once again, you stopped in your tracks, turning around again to Jayce standing in the same spot. He knew you’d come around. You pushed the thought of your head.

 “You know what? Fine. Prove it to me that I’ll be so much more likable if I’m with you. But there’s one rule. No kissing, or anything of the sort, don’t try any of that sappy stuff you see in the movies, got it?”

Jayce nodded. “Ma’am yes ma’am.”(or sir you do you)

You narrowed your eyes at him, scrutinizing him. “The gala starts at nine. Don’t be late.”

                                                                            ***

 You leaned against one of the golden pillars as you took a sip of your third drink of the night. You weren’t usually a drinker, but you were too stressed–and annoyed–to not have at least one. Your supposed “date” hadn’t shown up yet, or so you thought. Not that you were disappointed or anything, let alone expecting to see him. You weren’t one of those little Piltover girls who fawned over any young man younger than 35 in politics. 

You just about downed the rest of the glass as you felt a hand on your shoulder, a bouquet entering your view. It was Jayce.

 “Flowers? Really? I thought I said–”

“For the ‘act’ of course.” He winked as he handed the bouquet over to you. 

You inspected it, before placing it in a random empty vase. “I’m not a flower type of person.” You told him as you walked away, preferably towards a table.

Jayce quickly followed after her, hands behind his back. 

He pulled out a chair for you, motioning for you to sit. As you did, he sat in the chair next to you. 

 “So; those flowers are why you’re late.”

“I wasn’t late. I was searching for you.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Hmph.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” You grabbed another glass off of a passing waiter’s platter. 

“Where you…I don’t know, analyze me. Honestly, I have a feeling that you hate me.” 

“Where could you possibly get that idea?” You asked sarcastically, before setting down the glass. “I don’t necessarily hate you, I just don’t like you. I don’t like you because you get your ass handed to you all the time. Meanwhile, I barely have one because I’ve worked it all off.” You explained. 

 “I beg to differ with that last statement…” He trailed off as his eyes wandered over your lower half. You smacked his arm. 

“It was metaphorical.” You seethed. “Besides, you know it’s true. First you’re some student who blows up his own lab and is locked up for a while, and now you’re some councilor. If my life was this fair, I wouldn’t ever complain.” 

“First of all, that lab incident was not me.” 

“So how come you were prosecuted?”

 He looked at you for a second, before sighing. “You know what? Now I get why people don’t like you.”

“Wow, I’m not surprised.” You took another sip out of your glass. 

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about!” Jayce almost yelled, causing a few glances to be cast their way. He sighed, lowering his voice. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else. You’re so…aloof. But you’re not aloof. You’re full of it.” 

 “Don’t act like you all of a sudden know everything about me now, Talis. You’re just as full of it as everyone else on this damn council!”

Jayce ran a hand over his face. “Look, maybe we don’t see eye to eye right now, but can we please just pretend that we can?” 

“I don’t appreciate you trying to act like such a peacekeeper, but I guess.” You agreed as you went to take another sip, before Jayce stopped you, taking the glass out of your hand. 

 “Maybe this is one of the problems.” He said, gesturing to the glass.

“Oh, shut up.” 

                                                                            ***

 After the excruciatingly long gala, Mel finally gave a closing speech, allowing everyone to leave and go home or wherever they stayed.

The walk back to each others’ quarters was mostly silent, until Jayce finally spoke up. 

“You know…I appreciate this; no matter how much you may resent me.”

“Appreciate what? Me pretending to love you?” 

“Touche, but not that. Just…being in my company. Sure you were…albeit a bit stiff, but…I still got to see more of you than what I would've just in the council room.” They took a detour, standing at a balcony instead. 

 While you stared at the moon, Jayce stared at you. “I guess I appreciate it a bit. I’ve never…been on a date before, so…”

“I find that hard to believe.” 

You turned to look at him. “Well, it’s true. Sure, it’s not a real date, but date is still in the name, right? Besides…you’re not half bad.”

Jayce chuckled. “Well, coming from you, that means a lot.” 

You smiled, turning back to the moon. You two stayed quiet for a moment longer, before Jayce started again. 

 “You know…this will probably go in one ear and out the other, but…you do know that it wasn’t my intention, getting on the council, right?” 

“I guess. But I suppose it doesn’t irk me any less. Not that it’s exactly your fault, but…you know. It’s a bit annoying when you see someone get what you worked years for at the drop of a pin.” 

“Yeah, I guess I understand.”

“Do you?” 

“Okay, maybe not. But my words still stand. Besides, even a man who’s blind could see how hard you’ve worked. Not just to get here, but in your life in general. You seem to never rest. Maybe you should.” 

 “Me? Rest? That’s foreign.” You both chuckled before you turned to face him again.

“Okay, maybe not. But it’s not frowned upon to take a break once in a while. And before you even say it, you won’t seem weak.” 

You sighed. “I guess.” 

He stared at you for a few more moments before asking, “Do you…mind if I kiss you? I know it’s against your rule, but–”

You didn’t let him say another word before leaning up to kiss him. His eyes widened in surprise before he eventually closed them and kissed back. 

 You’re not sure how long you two kissed before eventually pulling away.

“You know what, Talis? Maybe you being on the council won’t be that bad after all.” You smiled. He smiled too. 

“You think so.” 

“I know so. See you tomorrow, Golden Boy?” You asked, adjusting his collar. 

“Uh…yeah.” 

“Good.” You said, before walking away, leaving him staring at the spot you just occupied. 

[crescenthistory]

hey my love 💓💓 i just wanted to say that i am so infautuated with the way you write and the way you think, i can't seem to get enough. your characterizations hit for me 🤧 i don't know if this request is going to make any sense, but i was wondering if you could share some general headcanons you have for the slytherin gang? like, i want to see more of how your mind works and how you view them. it can be things about them you already actively include in your fics or things you think about but maybe haven't gotten to explore yet? idk, go crazy, we will eat it up regardless 💘

this. this is exactly the kind of ask writers want to get – you've basically just asked me to yap away about my favourite characters, don't mind if i do love<33 and i appreciate your sweet words so much, know that i deeply appreciate and love you mwah

characters: barty, evan, regulus, dorcas, pandora

cw: discussion of abuse (crouch sr., walburga black, students), foster care system, taxidermy/animal death, violence, mental illness, fire, mentions of canon-compliance (though not based around it)

the holy bible of crescenthistory canon for the slytherin skittles !

barty

this is something i haven't touched upon in any of my writings, but am eager to bring to fruition -> i view barty as eastern european

you give me a dark-haired, thick-browed, chaotic, loud, incredibly welcoming and loyal to those he loves, avid drinker and smoker, i will tell you he is eastern-european

i am not necessarily particular about which eastern-european country, but personally i am partial to romanian

this is partly because it's the nationality that fits best with the rest of my hcs (as it's a romantic language in eastern-europe, surrounded by slavic nations), because i think the stereotypes work well for barty's characterisation while also not putting him too much in a box (unlike for example russian) and i can just see it

romanian pet-names i think he'd use: Dragă (dear), Inimioară (heart), Buburuză (ladybug), Soare (sun), Pisicuță (kitten), mami (lol)

i will also accept polish (known in europe for being high-energy and off the rockers), moldavian (alcohol is part of their blood) and bosnian (good-hearted, explosive temper)

specifically, i think his mother was eastern-european and his father was english; his mother tongue was romanian but they primarily lived in england because of his father, thus he went to hogwarts instead of durmstrang

because he is so fond of his mother, i believe barty feels a rather strong connection to his eastern-european culture and it's definitely something he brings up/jokes about a lot

this all ties into another important hc i have for barty, which is that he is The Polyglot TM -> and provides the reasoning for why (apart from the fact that he is freakishly intelligent)

growing up, his father was neglectful and rarely spoke to barty unless it was to scold him. romanian became barty's native language because he was only ever truly raised by his mother.

thus, i think he struggled with english quite a bit in the start, because he was not exposed to it to the same degree

when crouch senior used barty's lack of fluency in english against him, taunting him, barty experienced his first act of rebellion/spite by ensuring he became so fucking good at english

it was not enough for him to become fluent, he needed to be a master of it, even learning many different accents (which he often pull out for a joke or a party trick btw. suddenly he's just speaking with a heavy derry accent)

both to a) show off and 2) prove his father wrong

as he grew a bit older (all still pre-hogwarts), the thought of being so connected to his father's language kind of soured for him, and to counter act that, he decided to pick up as many eastern-european languages as he possibly could

barty is nothing if not petty, fuelled by spite for his father

thus, he learned russian (very common language in eastern-europe), moldovan (neighbouring country to romania), hungarian (neighbour) and serbian (neighbour)

most of the slavic languages are fairly similar, so once you learn one, it is "easier" to learn the others, especially at a young age

by the time barty started hogwarts, i think he was fluent in 6 languages already, toying with a few others

when he befriended regulus in his first year and found out he was french, his reaction was immediately "oh guess i've gotta learn french now too!"

both to know what regulus was saying and so that the two of them could talk shit together

as a romance language, it was fairly easy for barty as a romanian to adapt to it, which is also how he throughout his time at hogwarts also learned spanish and italian. maybe latin?

barty is intelligent, out-of-pocket, spiteful and loyal; thus he is the epitome of an eastern-european polyglot

i think it's also canon that barty received 12 owls? that is a piece of canon i am 100% compliant with. he is just wired like that, he is the type who does not need to study for it and loves to flaunt that in others' faces

lastly, while i often depict barty as aloof and careless, i view this as the persona/facade he is putting on for protection. i genuinely believe barty is so terribly vulnerable and has some grade A meltdowns during his time at hogwarts

i don't want to say outright that i hc him as someone with borderline, but i will say that my partner has borderline and kins him for that exact reason so. do with that what you will

the only people who truly get to see this is the skittles, you, his mother and james potter on one unfortunate evening (which led to him understanding and respecting barty like never before)

evan

first and most obvious: twins with pandora

he was born 12 minutes after her, though i don't view them as the type to argue about "oldest"

visually, i have always imagined them to be almost identical (sometimes one of them are hc-ed as trans and they are identical twins, but i think regardless that they have the same face, height and size)

absolutely angelic, ethereal creatures -> all sharp angles (in their faces, sharp teeth, almost fox-like) and large contrasts (dark skin, blonde dreadlocks & very white teeth, big noses and thin eyebrows)

the twins have hetereochromia -> one green eye and one brown and yellow (again with the contrasts)

evan is also a very contrasting figure between his looks and personality; i see him as an incredibly beautiful, almost feminine person who has a primal, stoic personality

the type of face that makes others' jaws go slack while his tightens painfully at their reactions

i have seen others hc that evan is called a "doll" by everyone because of his looks and i think that does something to him mentally over time

it sent him to a quiet, dark place before he found true comfort and belonging with the skittles -> by seventh year, i think they had made it into an inside joke

stoic in the sense that he does not speak before he has thought over his words extensively and his face is in a constant deadpan, not letting anything slip

incredibly observant, finds comfort and joy in watching others. it can be studying human behaviour and social cues, or watching others squirm under his watchful eye, relishing in their discomfort

i believe he was selectively mute for a period of his life and pandora spoke for him (twin telepathy is real with these two)

with the skittles, he was treated as a person of interest for the first time in his life, with particularly dorcas and barty prodding to find out who he is and what he thinks

this is how he grew comfortable with them; he tested the waters and when they liked him even more for all his weird, he let go with them

humour wise, i believe him to be the type that snickers and barks laughters when he is with his select circle

crude, direct, unapologetic, clinical, curiosity-driven, loyal, animalistic

he is not the type to snap, but rather to sit back with his emotions and let them simmer until he channels them into something dark

however, if one of His People TM snaps, he is loyal to a dangerous degree and will be right there with them, going for blood

(which is how he and barty always ends up in fist fights)

barty gave him his first piercings in third year (perhaps to offset the whole "doll" thing at the time) and ever since, evan has been getting more and more

if his body is an angelic vessel, he wants to decorate it as he fucking pleases

oh and i think he curses like a sailor. again with the contrasts between looks and personality

anything unorthodox or "unacceptable" catches his attention -> his mind almost gets hung up on certain concepts or thoughts like a scratched plate

it can vary vastly from things considered "immoral" to things people just look down upon -> e.g. taxidermy vs skating

fascination with creatures (human or animal or fantastical), their bodies (blood, bone, veins, etc.) and behaviour (social interactions, hierarchies, relationships, etc.)

the point is that evan himself has lived as an oddity his whole life, so he pursues oddities in all forms. a sense of belonging and understanding.

preferably does it all with pandora

in a muggle au, evan would either be a tattoo artist specialising in occultist imagery or a biologist within a super niche field of a species he became obsessed with -> same same but different

regulus

i apply the generally accepted headcanon that the black family has french roots and thus french was his mother tongue; he slips into it when deeply emotive (in either end of the spectrum) and he borrows his favourite words that he feels does not have a sufficient equivalent in english

for instance, he calls his love amour instead of just "love" because he feels like the word holds more meaning in his native language

personally, i don't necessarily view regulus as a polyglot -> i think he could learn spanish and italian if he felt like it, but he would rather pursue poetry and music

(though i do believe he has taught himself latin to be That Bitch)

i recently touched upon this, but i believe that regulus is the most exquisite violinist

all sacred 28 children are raised almost as royals with all the "traditional" upper class teachings of learning classical instruments, reciting sonnets, horseback riding (though perhaps a magical creature instead? thestrals?)

both regulus and sirius were taught the piano to begin with, but regulus excelled much quicker than sirius, and mastered the piano incredibly early on

(the boys were heavily pitted against each other and made to compete, and due to their age difference, this was one of the few areas regulus outdid him. i believe regulus always did better than sirius had at his age, he felt as if he was behind because sirius was better than him in the moment. so he absolutely cherished it, and thus made musical instruments a large part of his personality for the first half of his childhood.)

to continue im(proving) himself, regulus decided to try out the violin, and i believe this is the instrument he truly fell for

the violin is a more physically engaging instrument than piano (at least for regulus, pianists don't kill me) -> he has to move his whole body to make the sounds he chases after, he can hold his fingers down on the sharp strings until they bleed, he can clutch the violin in between his chin and shoulder until it bruises

it becomes a much-needed physical outlet for him as well as an artistic one

if we want to get very sad, i picture sirius unable to listen to any music with violins in them in the parts of his life he spends without regulus (for whatever reason)

generally, i view regulus as someone who appreciates the arts as an escape

i believe he also reads and writes poetry -> originally he mostly consumed and replicated the sonnets he had forced down his throat (shakespeare was probably a wizard, right?) but as he grew older and continued, he developed his own style

i think he primarily discusses different manifestations of pain and generational trauma in his works; these are the pieces he is proud of and considers publishing under a pseudonym

but when regulus falls in love, he falls hard and i think it would be impossible for him not to write sappy love poems; these are the pieces he stows away and vows to never share with the world, until he is old and married and healed and finds them once more and walks into the living room to show his partner as they laugh and cry together

i think his most emotive pieces are written in french, his most secretive ones are written in latin and the ones about healing and developing are written in english

i don't feel like i need to dive deep into it, but i obviously believe regulus is a cat animagus

(i think he either did it young simply because he could, or he found out that sirius was an animagus and refused to be upstaged once more, so he did it over the summer after he discovered it)

(because regulus black is what? petty as fuck)

(it's part of what bonded him and barty early on)

i also want to touch upon the fact that i often (though not always, and rarely explicitly) view regulus as transmasc

i might delve more into it one day, but for now i'll just say i think he would use he/they pronouns if given the opportunity

LAST thing i promise: crop tops. slutty waist. thank you!

dorcas

without a doubt, i view dorcas as the strongest of the group, maybe even the strongest of all marauders era characters.

this is referring primarily to her magic but also her will power.

her spells have an explosive force to the point where she prefers not to cast healing spells or casual spells, because her magic is too "rough" for it to be suitable. she's a strategist in that sense, often delegating such spells to others. she works on more permanent/solid spells, e.g. putting up wards, hexing objects, any and all battle spells, potions.

she is a proper scholar and a good student who gets top marks, but that is not where her talent or aspirations stem from. she knows her power and she wants to use it effectively and pragmatically.

that goes for her willpower as well. say it with me: dorcas "debate team champion" meadowes. she is blunt and direct and unapologetic about it. she believes there is such a thing as a "correct" opinion and she will tell you as much in a so devastating manner you cannot formulate a response.

(canon-compliant: this is why she was killed by voldemort himself. she went straight from the mckinnons' home to where she knew she would find as many death eaters as possible, and then she just unleashed everything she had. knowing it would kill her, a form of suicide mission. she could not live without marlene, could not take the grief, but she wanted her death to be worthwhile; thus, she let go and single-handedly caused the largest amount of casualties for the death eaters had had in one battle. it was voldemort himself because no one else could.)

most of this stems from a pathological need to prove herself.

unlike the other four skittles who all grew up in abusive homes (although in varying forms), i believe dorcas grew up in the foster care system. which in the uk 70s was not a pleasant experience.

i don't think she experienced many caretakers who were angry/violent, but i don't think they were involved or engaged with her at all. they were just there, she was just there, and that was that.

from her fellow children in the system, she learned both what love and hatred was. the first girl she kissed was a roommate at one of the houses she spent some weeks at. but in the orphanage she spent most time at, she was caught in a severely psychologically harmful environment among the children. there was bullying, there were fights, there was instability.

dorcas was a blurred face in a massive crowd, moving at full speed. she needed to stand out, she yearned to be someone.

so; she began proving herself and she never stopped. academically, socially, capability-wise. which is how she harnessed such massive power. she had to establish a strong sense of self and make it seem to others like she stood with her head held high at all times, even when she was feeling fragile or scared.

i don't think she had a temper like barty's though, nor was she so wrung-tight like regulus. she was not one to snap or shake. she fake-it-till-you-make-it-ed her self assuredness and honestly believes it herself until she is alone.

when she crumbles it is through exhaustion and maybe a few tears that lead to silent sobs. if you don't know to look for it, you would never be able to notice it when she's in bed.

"i'll keep everything bottled up right here thank you" and does so successfully until she is held gently and then she melts

from northern england in my mind. favourite curse word is "bloody" and she overuses it.

because she is confrontational and not afraid to ask the tough question, she is the ideal person to come to when you need to get some real advice. in that sense, she serves the same purpose in the skittles as lily does with the gryffindors. i think the two would bond a lot.

dorcas is really proud of her name. i think she feels a real connection with it and identifies with it – it's beautiful. despite this, she likes the nickname "cas" because it signals a closeness she has yearned for her whole life. as i already have written about a lot, she can and will kill you if you call her "dorc" (the skittles still do ("but it's with a c!").

i would not go as far as to call her a pyromaniac, but she has a fascination for flames. i think she identifies with them a lot, too. she would have many candles lit around her at all time, and plays with the wick and the wax when she's bored.

she likes to read kind of niche, disturbing literature. she likes tropes like "cannibalism as a metaphor for love", "transforming into a bug", "a relationship between a voodoo doll and its maker"

i always believed dorcas' features and voice to be rather soft. i think her voice especially was naturally quite airy and light, which she tried to fight against for years to make it louder and match the power she knows she harnesses and wants to exude. as she heals, she knows she does not need to. she can still command a room with her soft voice and can still lead an army with a soft face.

i feel like maybe one of the most disputed aspects of dorcas is her style? and i'll tell you right now, in my mind dorcas has a light academia meets princess mermaid style. and it is significant. she dresses like she is the president of the debate team and would be the best person to bring on a beach date at the same time. with potentially some witchy/whimsygoth undertones.

in a muggle au i picture dorcas as either being in the un or a professional volleyball player. i don't think i will elaborate.

pandora

nicknames "dora"

everything said for evan regarding looks of course also applies for pandora as his twin -> ethereal, angelic, "doll-like" looks, heavy contrasts in colours and features (including heterochromia and blonde dreads)

i occasionally view pandora as transfem (making her and evan identical twins) and i think their features are quite androgynous, though femme-leaning

when i view her as trans, i think it was evan who picked her name out with a reference to pandora's box

in general, "pandora's box" is a running joke within the friend group. there are no ends to how the term is used; it can refer to her mind, her room, her partner, her bag, etc.

she has had the same wide cloth shoulder bag throughout all her time at hogwarts, that she always patches up by hand using natural elements, and she has hexed it so many times (to have more storage, to not let anyone with ill intentions in, etc.) that it radiates this magical energy you can feel when your hand hovers above it.

pandora's oddities are just as severe as evan's, but partly because she's a girl they're more often brushed off as "whimsical" -> i argue this is a mistake on their part

she is not the flora to evans' fauna; they are both fauna, they are both primal and wild

the reason evan is more violent than pandora is largely because he does it out of loyalty to barty and because he has been shunned in a more aggressive manner due to gender roles. pandora instead can be mentally and magically violent, creating new jinxes that crush someone's psyche in ways previously unheard of, should need be.

she is also primal in the sense that she is a very tactile person -> she touches to understand and learn. she can randomly grab someone's chin mid-conversation or rub at their eyebrows. her friends are not fussed over this whatsoever anymore, carrying on their sentence without any disruption. others, not quite as much.

pandora collects bones and uses them with everything from her magic to jewelry or decor. she has a habit of giving the prettiest bone of whatever creature she is pilfering from to whoever she is happiest with at the moment, kind of like a crow.

she has a deep respect for all fauna and their way of life; she often finds it to be more logical than humans'

pandora thinks on a plane above most other people.

i believe her to be a seer, though not always in the traditional sense. she doesn't necessarily know everything that is going to happen (some of it, sure), but she sees thoughts and feelings that are about to form in the air around her. she sees auras and sounds too.

in fifth year, her and barty make a business out of her giving relationship advice based on the fact that she is a seer. unfortunately, she actually said it as it was, leading to some unhappy customers, leading to barty beating them up. not good for business (but hilarious stories at parties)

she enjoys crystals, tarots, sage and other things we usually associate with spirituality. she enjoys them both for the concept of occultism or otherness, and as actual tools for her more unorthodox approaches to magic. many of her friends don't quite believe it, but it always works when she uses it all on them, so they don't say anything. i think dorcas quite enjoys learning tarot from pandora, while barty makes up fake stories for the cards.

her seer-abilities leads to a lot of miscommunication and is in large part why she talks the way she does. on her own plane, she often misses certain social cues or sarcasms, while others aren't privy to what she bases her worldview on, because they cannot see it.

i have always thought her voice and way of speaking to be very similar to luna's (that's where she got it from). it's airy and light, like she is addressing more than just the people present in the room.

in my fics, i usually make her quidditch commentator for that reason -> people find it entertaining (some in good nature, some in taunting) and her insights in players' mindsets and actions is beneficial

incredibly kind and patient with her friends

i think she has a fascination with mirrors -> both the concept of reflecting back, the idea of distorted mirrors, using mirrors in her magic, etc. her house is full of them.

i often view her as on the aroace spectrum ("i have greater concerns"), but if she is not i think she either:

a) views relationships and situationships in an almost clinical sense; experimenting with quite a bit of detachment, maybe even taking notes of it, yet somehow in an innocent-ish way

b) mates for life. finds one person and goes oh yes this one'll do and stays with them forever. (which i suppose is what she did with lovegood?)

in muggle aus, i think she would work at a funeral home and be that soft, celestial presence that sticks with a grieving 8 year old for the rest of their lives like a loving ghost reminding you that death is natural and grief is loved persevering

on that note, given the option i fully believe she would have become a ghost. the only reason she isn't in canon is because she missed evan and regulus.

the whole gang

everyone has made out with each other at some point -> have you heard of the term queer platonic? yeah that's them

overprotective in every form of the word. supporting each other in their maniacalisms. a cohesive group to the core.

pandora and regulus are best friends who can talk about the real shit and understand each other on an almost cosmic level

regulus and barty are best friends who are back to back in any situation, ready to be with each other through the worst -> the type who have been close for almost too long and bicker like an old married couple because of it

barty and dorcas are best friends who "will do it if you do it" and end up in the most nidicolous situations together just for the laughs

if barty goes through a breakup, it's dorcas he calls. if regulus goes through a breakup, it's pandora he calls. if evan goes through a breakup, the group splits in half where regulus and pandora stay with him while dorcas and barty goes to kill the breakup-er

regulus is the mum friend of the group, the kind of exasperated mum who sprays her kids with a spray bottle and put them on leashes. when regulus is out of commission, big sister dorcas picks up the mantle in the most chaotic manner you have ever seen (swap the spray bottles for bug smackers and the tired sighs with screeching). pandora is constantly the aloof auntie. evan and barty are babies with no regard for safety (their own or others').

their interests loop together into funny weird little systems

for example: barty finds the dead animal (maybe kills it if we're being honest), evan experiments on its carcass and dissects it, pandora retrieves its bones afterwards and makes jewelry with it

another example: pandora likes creating paint from natural elements, evan likes using it for his skateboard, dorcas likes using it for her paintings and clothes, and barty likes huffing it

on graduation day, pandora handed them all little dolls of each of them that she made herself -> in reference to the "rosier dolls", showing that they were all dolls because they were all family. they looked like a combination of voodoo dolls and babushka dolls, painted, sown and bedazzled with button eyes. they treasured them.

when i write fics where the skittles never got involved with the death eaters at all (which is most of the time), i usually hc dorcas as half-blood and the discrimination she faced is a large part of the reason why they were turned away.

they will vocal stim at the same time together, particularly barty and pandora. it drives regulus mad, while dorcas and evan don't even notice it.

when barty got in fights, evan backed him up and eventually threw him over his shoulder when it was time to stop. if they were fighting someone who deserved it, regulus and dorcas would stand on either side and throw healing spells on the perpetrator/victim, so that the punishment could be prolonged without actually killing someone.

pandora is the only one with veto rights in the group. whether it is to stop an argument, decide who is right, decide what to do or any such thing, it is only her word that is final. it's not always it comes to that, but when pandora's soft voice says "stop" or "yes", that is the end all be all.

many of them were each other's first real hug.

i love them, your honour

[dramas-vs-novels]

Love in the Air Special Novel Excerpt: Prapai vs Drunk Sky

** Context: After Payu stumbled home drunk one night and Rain got to see his boyfriend being cute and whiny, he became obsessed with seeing what those around him looked like drunk. So Rain conspired with their other friends in their major to get Sky to drink. However, Sky proved to just be a sleepy drunk, so Rain called Prapai to come pick him up.

After Rain made the call, it wasn’t long before Prapai walked into the pub behind the university.

But when the playful person saw his beloved boyfriend hunched over beside Rain, his sharp eyes that always sparkled in a good mood became noticeably darker. 

A large hand slipped to tighten around Sky’s shoulder, as he asked in a deep voice, “Why did he drink so much?”

Fip!

Of course, the whole table was pointing at Rain all at once. 

"Hey, are you guys selling me out like this?"

"Well, you said if we can get Sky drunk, tomorrow you'll buy us pork ribs."

When meeting the dark eyes of a dark skinned and handsome man, everyone sold their younger nong out in unison as Rain glared at them, then hurriedly returned with a flattering smile to his friend’s boyfriend.

"Just drinking alcohol, P’Pai, you don't mind, don't you?" Rain tried to make a pleading face.

Prapai looked at him for a moment before his dark expression returned to his usual good-natured smile.

"I didn't say anything. Anyway Rain, you were the one who called me." 

So, if I didn't call, would I be killed?

Rain just spoke to himself but didn't dare to ask aloud. He looked at P’Pai who lightly shook the drunk man's arm.

"Are you okay, Sky?"

The shaking caused the drunk man to slowly open his eyes, his face was flushed red, and Sky shook his head vigorously.

"No more, I want to go home." Sky mumbled then fell asleep. 

"Alright, let's go home now."

"Um."

The big man was so indulgent, he moved his hand from Sky’s shoulder to caress his hair lovingly, sharp eyes twinkling as he looked down.

Of course, it was an image that the entire table looked curiously at.

The image of a white friend slumped on the table next to them with a handsome, mature man stroking his hair on his shoulders was indeed attractive.

He is attractive in the same way as P’Phayu. They see him often, but Sky rarely brings his boyfriend to college. Most of the time Prapai parked the car and waited and then Sky would just walk to the car. He didn’t come to mingle with the classmates. Seeing Sky with his boyfriend, the prying eyes came straight from every direction, and believe me

tomorrow in the club, there will be teasing messages from seniors and guys in their class year.

He has a boyfriend who loves him so much. 

"Rain."

"Yes, P’Pai!" The person hastily answered.

Prapai took his hand away from his lover, pulled his wallet out of his trousers, then took out all the thousands of baht in banknotes that he had in it and handed it over to his boyfriend's friend. As Rain took the almost ten thousand (~$300) in cash and held it in a daze, his sharp eyes flashed, and he couldn't understand why P’Pai would give him the money.

"Today I am footing the bill. If it's not enough, call me, and I'll transfer the money to you."

"Really?"

"Why would I be joking? I am paying."

The whole table cheered in unison. 

"Oh my, Sky's boyfriend is so fucking caring." 

"We are going to another pub, that guy just paid."

"Damn, I'm jealous of Sky, I want someone like this."

"May Phi prosper, paying for us like this guarantees that in your next life you will be more handsome."

Amid the cheers of the free drinkers, Prapai just smiled, his face bright and clear, the kind of good-tempered adult that children wanted to approach even if he was a stranger.

"In exchange for that, no one can tease Sky about me picking him up."

He knew well that his boyfriend didn't like chaos, and didn't like to be the center of attention, so he gave the condition and his sharp eyes turned to make eye contact with Sig.

Giving him a smile that was as threatening as a zip-your-mouth gesture. It was a nice way to threaten his boyfriend’s classmates.

"Good, everyone agrees. I'll take Sky home now."

"Alright Phi, we'll keep our mouths shut." 

"That also includes no texting."

"Oh, P’Pai, you're really good at cornering us. Okay, trust us." Sig laughed loudly, looking at his friend's boyfriend, whom he had met so many times that he now knew Prapai’s personality.

After all the game bosses had been dealt with, Prapai turned to the sleeping man, looking like he wanted to carry him away. But rather than create a scene for his little boy, his big hand pulled Sky's arm around his neck. With some force, Sky staggered to his feet and leaned against him.

"Let's go home." 

"Um, I'm sleepy."

"You can sleep at home."

"Ugh, no, I'm going back to my dorm, so sleepy." Sky looked dumb, raising his free hand to rub his eyes to say that he's really sleepy.

"Yessir, let's go back to the dormitory." Prapai said politely, waving goodbye to the children around the table and leading his lover to walk out of the shop.

TN: After the assault on Sky in episode 13, Prapai sells his condo and buys a new and much larger one in a high-security building (Rain and Sky are hanging out at the condo's pool in the LITA special episode). This becomes his and Sky's home throughout the Special Novel (which covers around 10 years). However, when he is a student, Sky still keeps his dorm, since it's close to campus.

"When he's with his boyfriend, Sky is cute too." Behind his back, the female senior says jokingly.

Smack!

"Oh, why did you hit me?"

Sig himself smacked the senior's hands loudly and made a gesture of zipping his mouth in an annoyed manner. "Sis, don't you want free alcohol? Or are you deaf? Huh, what did P’Pai say just now? Bitch, have you forgotten? Do you have a short memory?"

"Damn it, Sig!!!"

That's all it took, and the story of a handsome boyfriend coming to pick up Sky instead turned into a war of saliva and cursing across the tables of seniors and juniors.

--------

"Sky, Sky... wake up, we're at the dorm."

Although the distance from the pub to the young boyfriend's dormitory was not that far, Sky did as he said and slept in the car. He leaned his head against the window and fell asleep immediately, not waking up even when Prapai repeated his call and shook his arm.

The sight looked so cute that Prapai smiled, and his big hand unbuckled Sky’s seatbelt and leaned over his boyfriend's seat. His face was sharp, sweeping away from the soft, fluffy hair that was unshaped, the skin of the cheeks smooth and clear like that of a baby's skin, and the long eyelashes laid on those cheeks.

No matter where he looks, Prapai finds Sky adorable.

Why, why do you always think that you look ordinary, even though you are so cute?

"Here, if you were awake, you would call me a psychopath who kept staring at you, Sky."

Mwaah!

He really couldn't help giving a big kiss to the soft cheeks before letting go of the soft skinned person.

Now, no one was around to see them, Sky wouldn't mind if he carried him up to the tower in his arms. Prapai shrugged and proceeded to carry the drunk man up to his room.

When Sky was propping himself up and sitting on the bed, Prapai had just changed from a slacks shirt to comfortable pajamas that he had left in his boyfriend's room. Sky’s white face looked sleepy, his eyes glistening from the effects of alcohol, but he didn't look as drunk as he did in the pub.

"Oh, why did you wake up? Get ready for bed, I’ll help change your clothes.”

"I'm not drunk, Phi Pai."

"Hmm." Prapai hummed in surprise, moved to stand beside the bed, and looked at the state of the drunk boy who said he was not drunk.

"Just now, I acted as if I was drunk so that Rain and the others wouldn't give me more alcohol." Sky replied with a slight slur, but Prapai could still understand him.

"I didn’t fall asleep in the pub, but I probably fell asleep in the car. P’Pai, did you carry me up upstairs?" the person said, looking up. The person who was listening couldn't help feeling that this angle was nice. Whether it's a flushed face or a view down the wide collar of the shirt, revealing beautiful and erect nipples.

"So, you mean that you pretended to be drunk."

"Well, back in high school, I drank even more than this."

"Whose boyfriend is this? So evil too, I fell for your acting completely."

"If I didn't make him believe it was real, Rain would do it again." the person who was speaking said, knowing his good friend well.

Prapai has to admit that he likes this angle… but even if Sky isn't as drunk as he pretended to be in the bar, it's still better to let the little boy rest.

"Sleepy, right? If you're sleepy, just go to sleep." 

"P’Pai."

"Yes sir?" A deep voice accepts the words, preparing to leave to find some clothes to change into.

Swipe!

"Just now, P’Pai, what were you looking at?" 

"Ugh!"

Suddenly, Sky used his hand to grab the big man's wrist and pull the big man back. And how could Prapai not gulp hard when his boyfriend deliberately fluttered his shirt around? From the first moment he stole a glance of Sky’s nipples, Sky saw him.

"Come on." The young man groaned in a low voice, wanting to cover his face with his hands and resist the temptation.

But Sky smiled. "P’Pai, you looked right? Do you want to touch them?"

He didn’t just say the words, Sky also grabbed his boyfriend's hand and moved it to hold his collarbone as he raised his head to make way for Prapai's big hand to reach into the wide collar. The power of alcohol made him force Prapai’s hand through the collar and touch his hot body.

Fip!

"Ugh." As soon as the fingertips passed the nipple, Sky let out a low moan.

That's all, Prapai now knows what it looks like when his little boyfriend drinks alcohol… he becomes a provocative cat that would almost drive him insane. 

When Prapai clearly teased him in a way that he normally wouldn’t, Sky held his breath. "Please rub, P’Pai." Sky whispered.

Prapai rubbed his hard knuckles in a circle around the base and listened to the sweet moan of his lover, then gently pinched with his fingertips. The person sitting on the bed writhed slightly. Sky’s body seemed more sensitive to touch than usual, and Prapai couldn't help but pinch and pull.

"Oh, good, good." The drunk person looks up and meets Prapai’s eyes, "Harder."

And damn it, his little one was licking his lips as their eyes met, the look in his eyes said that Sky wanted more.

Swipe!

"Phi Pai, your cock is hard." 

Sky is drunk, very drunk!

At first, Pai believed it when his boyfriend said he was pretending to be drunk. But as soon as a soft touch pressed against his pants, touched the hardened part through the fabric, and Sky laughed heartily, he understood that Sky had drunk more than he thought.

He should put Sky to bed and lull him to sleep. 

"P’Pai."

"Yes?"

"...Wanna do some licking?" 

Tum!

The evil side stomps the side of the dharma side, the evil side punches the good side in the face, and the righteous consciousness is scattered.

"Of course."

Prapai pulled his hand from the soft skin and made a move to unbutton his pants.

Pia!

"No, I want to do it." The drunk man smacked his hands hard and commanded in a stern voice before tucking his face into the crotch of his big boyfriend’s pants and rubs his hands along the part slowly.

Then, Sky pulled out his boyfriend’s son from inside his trousers. His eyes fixed on the red veined cock that had pierced his body countless times. The thin hand grasped the length, it was hot like a fire.

Mwaah!

Soft lips touch the tip before Sky swept his lips sideways from tip to root. Then the bright-colored tongue licked it, hungrily savoring the familiar taste. At the same time, the white hand stroked while the mouth was licking at the juicy tip.

"Mwaah...Mwaah...Phi Pai...Hmm."

The sight of his lover sucking on his cock just made Prapai even harder. However, Prapai only stood still with his big hand touching my head, stroking gently. Despite his heavy breathing, a low moan escaped from his throat.

But then, the white man broke away. "Hot."

Sky moaned a single word, then straightened up to take off his shirt and throw it by the bed, followed by pants and underwear. Everything was pulled all out at once, then dropped to the side and Sky was left naked. Sky returned to sit in a kneeling position facing the big cock.

The sight... is very provocative.

The white hand came back and he eagerly shoved Prapai’s cock into his mouth.

Sky's soft tongue licked around with a satisfying taste, then opened his mouth to receive most of the length. With both hands, Sky took Prapai's hand and made him grip his head, telling his lover that he could move his head back and forth as he wanted.

However, Prapai still didn’t slam his cock into Sky’s warm mouth, he almost couldn't resist. The young man just slowly brushed Sky’s messy hair and was in no hurry to release into his hot mouth cavity, which seemed to be hotter than usual.

Crack!

Sky didn't care about the sound of the bedside drawer opening, he only cared about the veined cock moving in and out of his mouth, wishing P’Pai could do more but…

"Ugh!!!" 

At that moment the clear gel ran down his buttocks until the drunk Sky groaned deep in his throat, sending a tremor that caused Prapai to moan low.

Not only did the lubricating gel run through the butt crack, but Prapai's big hand moved from Sky’s forearm to the other softly, squeezing both sides so hard that there would be faint red marks. The boy who was giving it to him groaned in his throat, his soft buttocks accidentally twitching toward him.

Fup!

Prapai himself did not let go, for a long finger was inserted deep into the sweet colored channel that only he could feel. Prapai felt the force of his thrust make Sky twitch with joy until Prapai sent his finger in all the way.

And damn it, the finger wriggled inside, Sky was insanely hot! 

"Arrgh."

Then, like a kitten turned cat would want to provoke him to the extreme, Sky swayed as if wanting more fingering until Prapai pulled his finger out and slammed it in again. Prapai felt the trembling of the boy who was still sucking on his cock for him.

The picture now is Sky crawling on the edge of the bed kneeling and watching Prapai stand beside the bed with a large hand skillfully inserting deep into the white body, making the person on the bed moan loudly; that's why it sent a trembling force into Prapai’s cock, still in Sky’s mouth until neither of the parties thought to endure anymore, their eyes glistening.

"Ah, ah, Sky? Can I enter you?" Prapai spoke in a heavy voice, his sharp eyes staring at the white hips that also thrust against his fingers.

"Mmm." A request that Sky himself sucked hard on caused a low moan from the big man.

Sky, whose face was so sweaty that his damp hair clung to it, lifted his head and gave him a sweet smile, "Yes, Pai." 

Fip!

The drunk man moved to lie on his back, immediately spread out in the middle of the bed. Two legs spread wide, revealing a naked body flushed with red all over, and a cramped and wet channel, twitching as if demanding something big to fill it.

 And it's like Sky thought he wasn’t provoking Prapai enough, because his white hands had already moved to grab his soft ass and pull the white cheeks further apart. 

"Phi Pai, hurry." 

Ping!

Prapai heard the sound of something torn apart, and that was probably his own consciousness.

He immediately rushed toward Sky, and a large hand pulled the two provocative hands above his head. Then he pinned them with one hand until they sank into the thick blanket, sending his other hand to the hole below and... inserting three fingers at once.

"Ah, ah, Phi Pai, ah!"

Prapai looked at Sky with his sweaty face shaking, wriggling beneath him, as he fumbled for something with his fingers; And it didn't take long for Sky to startle as if he had been electrocuted.

"Right there...argh."

The big one managed to pull his fingers out, and sent his big son in his place, at the moment Sky looked down.

"Ugh!" Prapai bent down and pressed a provocative kiss on the lips until they were close, almost at the same moment that he plunged into the hot tenderness... So hot that he almost came immediately.

As the person below cried out in full volume, a trembling sensation was felt along with a slight stabbing pain inside. But when Prapai first entered him, he stilled because he knew that something long would follow, and it didn’t take Prapai long to push all the way in.

Sky’s two legs split open even more.

Sky didn't know if he should be interested in the insanely hot kiss, or the stick moving in and out of his body.

It's good, it's so good that he doesn't want to stop at all.

"Phi Pai, uh... fuck me like that again, do it again... [huff] [huff] good, it’s so good."

As soon as his lips were freed from the kissing, Sky let out a loud moan, his small hip pushing up against the slamming force. His newly freed hands grasped the sheets beside his head, and clear tears welled up in his eyes, looking like they could fall at any moment.

"Do you like it?"

"Love it, but I like... P’Pai, more."

The piercing moment made Sky sway and his back channel tightened more and more, his body twitching as if waves of happiness would come crashing in at any moment.

Suddenly!

Prapai slowed down the pace, wishing to prolong this moment a little longer.

He would always give Sky anything he wanted, today the drunk one took charge. "Hey, wait Sky." Did the alcohol made the child braver than usual? Because Sky pushed the giant Prapai onto the bed, and then, the drunk man straddled him. His soft hand felt the heat of Prapai’s cock, but he wouldn't let Prapai cum.

He felt that Phi Pai should only cum inside him.

With these thoughts, Sky pushed his legs wide apart, his tantalizing face tilted up and his hips pressed down to take the hot stick into his body… to the deepest part.

"Arrgh."

Sky bit his lip vigorously, as he pulled his body up and pressed it all the way down again, again and again until the heat gathered in his lower abdomen, his heart pounding, his ears soft. His legs began to shake.

Prapai’s cock was twitching in a pulsating beat that drove them both crazy to death. 

"Mmmhpf, I can't endure anymore."

"And who...ask Phi to endure...it." Sky’s panting voice answered in a rhythm that was broken.

And that…

Swipe!

"Assume that I have already warned you." 

Phew!

"Ah! [huff] Phi Pai, Phi Pai, harder and harder."

Prapai moved forward vigorously and looked at the beautiful view of his ruddy lover, his two hands reaching behind him to grab Prapai’s knees to support himself. Sky's two legs spread wide enough for him to see the connection point where his cock was moving in and out with force. Sky’s own  beautiful piece of flesh bounced in front of him until Prapai couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke it.

"I am going to cum ...it’s coming out."

Even if Sky didn’t tell him, Prapai himself was going crazy from the twitching inside, and he knew that his lover would cum in one minute or another by the way he spead up. 

Prapai's sharp eyes looked at the sweet love hole that devoured him with even hungrier eyes, a bright tongue licking around his lips.

Pfuuush! 

Not long after, Sky’s body began to spasm and released every drop of cum he had, smearing Prapai’s his strong stomach.

As the pressure from Sky reaching the dreamland itself gripped Prapai like crazy, after just one blow, hot cum sprayed into the provocateur's body. Sky trembled, and moaned softly, eyes tightly closed, as he felt the fluid that filled his inner depths.

But don't think that everything will end there.

Prapai once again pushed the exhausted drunk onto the soft mattress, holding his white legs wide apart.

"Mmmhpf! Phi Pai, wait, ah, fuck!" Sky cried out at the top of his voice.

He felt a flash of tenderness rushing in. At the same moment, a hot tongue was licking his abused love hole, drawing out the cum that was flowing backward from his twisted waist. Clear tears streamed down the corners of his eyes, both hands gripping Prapai's thick hair tightly.

Who would have thought that P’Pai would put his tongue in that same place his own cum flowed out of?

"Ugh, huh, good."

"Lewd." 

Prapai raised his head mockingly, and that made Sky turn red. "Who exactly is lewd?"

The young man gave him a smile, a low voice whispering in a raspy voice. "So, we're both lewd to each other."

After he finished saying that, the sharp face tucked into its original position right into that still twitching hole, Prapai knew very well that the shy Sky liked when he licked his love hole right after fucking it rudely. So, having provoked him, Sky had to accept his fate tonight.

"Phi Pai, ah, it tingles."

In the silence of the night, in the dormitory of a young man named Sky. The groans echoed with the moving sound of the soft mattress, time after time, and it didn't seem to end so easily.

[plushiefucker69]

ik a lot of ppl compare diona to diluc, but honestly, i think she and kaeya have a lot of similarities tbh - which, i know is vv typical coming from the guy who sees kaeya similarities in literally everything lmao, but hear me out on this:

kaeya seeing her angry, child self in diona - being angry at a father who abandoned you (whether it's physically or emotionally), but still being so desperate for his affection again. believing that if you could somehow prove your worth or save him (kaeya wanting to be a good spy, diona wanting to destroy the wine industry), that he will come back and love you again... that you can be his little girl once more and save you from the horrors you had to endure in order to make him proud / save him from himself.

they are both being thrown into dangerous situations (kaeya being left alone in a foreign country in the middle of a storm, diona literally working as a bartender, despite being like 12), and while both of them obviously see what's wrong with their situations (kaeya being a repeat runaway, diona regularly trying to make the most disgusting drinks imaginable to scare off customers), they still don't quite understand the weight of their situation - believing that their suffering must be for the greater good if it means that that one day, their fathers could be happy and that they could finally be a family,,,, they both scream "LOVE ME LOVE ME PLEASE LOVE ME !!!" even if they do their best to push other people away... they want to be loved. they just want to be loved. loved by the man who was supposed to protect them - not the other way around.

perhaps, in a way, kaeya sees her child self and her inner feelings in diona - young and angry at everyone, overwhelmed by these negative emotions that you don't know what to do with; and diona sees a dreaded future in kaeya - a heavy drinker who fakes a laugh and smile, suppressing those emotions deep within you, just so you could be tolerated and loved by everyone. idk, there's much to consider here, i think.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

TF 141 and their Morning Drink Preferences

TF 141 Dump

TF 141 Headcanons

Ghost:

Obvious tea drinker

Or is it that obvious?

Painfully British of the whole lot of them

Will only drink black teas, absolutely despises herbal, green or rooibos teas

Of the black teas avoids anything floral because he thinks it’s a bit too frilly for his palette

Never adds sugar to teas, says it ruins the flavor

Will add milk to help cool a tea, but only just slightly

Claims drinking a freshly made cup of tea on a hot summer day helps cool him down

How this works is beyond me, but he claims it anyways

Thinks adding cream is a vile concept and anyone who does so should be interrogated by the CIA

Soap

He’ll drink a cup of tea with Ghost, but he’s really more of a coffee person

Prefers medium roast with a heavy serving of cream

He can’t stand adding milk, but will use it if there’s nothing else

Adds sugar when he gets a chance

Despises sweeteners and will make little digs at anyone who does use sweetener, usually citing health reasons

Don’t try arguing that adding two spoons of sugar is just as bad, he won’t hear it

As for tea he prefers rooibos, which drives Ghost up the wall

Is down for anything, really

Gaz

Doesn’t like hot beverages

Prefers either a cool glass of water or juice

Does not understand caffeine addiction whatsoever

Claims the drinks are healthier and more refreshing

People just think he’s incredibly dehydrated in the morning

Will take orange juice from concentrate without batting an eye, but really enjoys more exotic juices if he can get his hands on them

When stationed in foreign countries he’ll try juices made from native fruits

Really likes cactus and mango juice, but is not opposed to papaya

Dislikes southern lemonade with a passion, claims it’s far too sweet

Is surprisingly peppy in the morning despite only drinking juice

Roach

Whatever’s there will work

However, he tends to prefer teas

He’s especially fond of green teas

He goes on about how healthy they are for the mind and body

Also will go on about how easy they are to transport and keeps a small sachet of matcha powder (the cheap stuff) on him to prove his point

He thinks Ghost is a snob and should just get over himself

Has tried to sway the others, but they all tell him matcha tastes like grass

He thinks they’re all idiots

Price

Coffee only

Does not fuss over his coffee whatsoever

Whatever’s in the canteen will do

His one gripe is adding cream or sugar

He will only take his coffee black

Some have tried to win him over with coffees made with cream/milk/sugar, and he’ll be polite enough to drink them and thank them, but he really doesn’t like it too much

He will tell them to not fuss too much if they get him another coffee so they don’t do it again

Cannot stand people whining about how they take their coffee and how the military doesn’t give out the good stuff

He just considers them weak whiners

This includes Ghost when he complains about not having enough black tea in the canteen

Price glad to say it to his face

He could not care less about age or temperature

He’ll pull a day-old cup straight out of the fridge and down it like there’s no tomorrow

Art from This Post

[botchedsundoll]

Brrrroo you cooked with them previous headcanons....

How do you think the kengan dudes would react to reader taking them to a bar/ attempting to get them drunk

G. WONGSAWAT, O. TOKITA, R. KURE, C. IMAI, SP. YOROIZUKA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; bar hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none!!!!!2’qnqnw

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; hi hru guys, bro all ive been doing is playing ff15 so like i hvsnt been reading kengn omega and kneojnf me i wont do so anytime soon ummmm, r these ooc yes probs but IDC in my world this is them💔

G. WONGSAWAT

are you crazy

first of all, well done if you even managed to drag him out to a bar or club setting in the first place. second of all, if you did succeed in doing so it’s most likely to make sure you don’t do any dumb shit and keep an eye on you

once you start practically shoving pints infront of him, claiming that he needs to ‘ease up a bit’ or ‘this one’s really good’ once a fruity colourful cocktail is comes into his view, he might cave eventually and take a sip

don’t count on much, though. he’s definitely not getting drunk or even tipsy - he still needs to keep a look out on you! and have you seen the guy? it takes a lot of alcohol for it to hit

definitely starts mixing your drinks as he notices you get tipsier - your almost clear screwdriver suddenly turns a rather orange colour… not as if you’d notice anyway

overall, he’s there for you to latch onto his arm and ramble to him with a small smile on his face before taking you home for the night whenever he deems appropriate

O. TOKITA

the problem with him is that he’d genuinely rather eat. his appetite’s insatiable

yeah, he might have a pint or two to wash it all down - maybe a third one if you’re paying but it’s generally quite difficult to get him drunk without breaking your bank

he doesn’t necessarily drink often, or anything heavy, but for some reason his tolerance is crazy

doesn’t mind going out to the bar with you - as long as you buy him something to eat whilst you’re there. oh, and let him fight any guy that so much as dares to look at you a certain way. then he’s 100% on board with this little trip

also, how’s he supposed to fight if he’s drunk? huh?

starts prodding whatever he’s eating against your lips, telling you to ‘open up’ as you need ‘something to eat after all that drinking’ - also probably an extremely poor attempt at sobering you up even the slightest

C. IMAI

he’s young, so he likes to drink a little here and there

yet refrains from doing so often, it’s REALLY rare for him to get drunk as he needs to keep in ‘top shape’ for all his training or whatever he’s came up with in his head

he won’t decline a bar visit with you. but will most likely settle on a pint or two, sometimes choosing not to drink at all. one of the rare times he does it has to be a good occasion - someone’s birthday, or an important celebration or event

trying to get him to drink when he’s not feeling up to it will simply get a chuckle out of him, teasingly asking you what your intentions are

such a lightweight.

settles on watching you down drink after drink over the course of the evening, amused by your rambling

R. KURE

why would you even want to get this guy drunk? he’s even more insufferable than usual

he’s loud, rowdy and constantly trying to start fights with random strangers at the bar

oh yeah, all of a sudden he loves cracking joke after joke. and usually it’s at your expense

you two definitely get into an arguement whenever he’s had something to drink because of how he acts LOL he just genuinely makes you wanna strangle him

a pretty frequent drinker, so he wouldn’t be opposed to a bar visit - he just doesn’t usually drink that much to get him drunk. but there are times when he does

whiskey. no mixer.

SP. YOROIZUKA

takes it as a challenge

will literally drink any and every drink you offer him, desperate to not lose whatever stupid challenge he seems to think this is and to prove himself to you

and truthfully, you don’t even know if he’s drunk or not. he’s VERY good at acting relatively sober whenever he’s drunk - i mean, he’s all over the place when he’s sober anyways

you two most likely see who can drink the most. he’s beat you every single time and ended up carrying you home. each and every damn time without fail

in conclusion, wouldn’t recommend trying to get him drunk. you end up blackout, your bank account drained and a rambling saw paing. which is pretty much the same saw paing as usual

he absolutely loves it though. he loves winning whatever ‘game’ he thinks this is

[tinygarbage]

December

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: simon has been in a foul mood all of december and you think he hates you

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, implied trauma, american reader lol, mentions of alcohol (reader is slightly buzzed), implications of familial trauma, no use of y/n, no physical description, not edited fully bc i am last minute on this (again), military inaccuracies bc im just a silly girl on a silly app :p, lmk if I missed anything :)

au: lol there’s not really a plot to this but i plan on building on this little friendship so if u like it lmk :) just something silly i wrote bc the holidays are a little tough for me :)

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

The two sargents and the captain of the one-four-one find themselves tasked with a new objective when December rolls around. Keep you from being alone with Ghost. Even stretching far enough to keep you away from situations that might cause an outburst from the broad Brit.

It all started one morning in the kitchen. You and Soap having your morning coffee. You being American and him being Scottish, you two were the outcasts. The only coffee drinkers.

      "We outta finish these quickly." Soap speaks, looking over a report meant to be turned into Price by noon.

     "Why's that?" You ask, completely oblivious to why you have to gulp down your steaming mug of coffee so early in the morning.

      "LT," Soap says as if it's an obvious thing.

      "What about him? He deals with it every other morning." You say with a shrug, sitting up in your chair as your boots are tied perfectly tight. Leaving it impossible for the laces to come undone during training.

       Soap looks at you as you take your first sip, wincing at how hot it was. You glance back at him, feeling his wide eyed stare. "What?" You ask, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

     "You're new. That's right." Soap says, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

      "Not that new. I've been here for 10 months already." You say defensively. You had just escaped their teasing nicknames and comments about how green you were. To the team, that was. Which, to be clear, never messed with their trust for your skill. They knew you were an important asset to the team. But what's friendship without a little teasing?

      "Yeah, but you're new to LT and December." Soap chuckles, gulping more of his coffee.

       "It's just another month," you say with a shrug.

      "Just finish your coffee, hen." Soap says, shaking his head as he finishes his own up. Rinsing it and the pot out in the sink.

The rest of the month is similar. The team still shielding you from Ghost. You see him obviously. While on the training grounds, during morning roll call, passing through the common room. But you hardly talk to him. Instead, overhearing stories about his mood towards new recruits being much worse than normal. Which was astonishing to hear because his mood towards them was typically foul.

You knew why the team was creating a barrier as soon as you heard about his mood. It's because to Ghost, you're just a new recruit. No matter how many times you cover him on a mission, or prove yourself and your strength time and time again. You're green. A baby deer stumbling to walk. And it drives him nuts. He constantly ignores your looks of admiration. Brushing aside your words of praise as you hold out your fist for a fist bump. A tradition strong among the rest of the guys and you.

Instead, he gives you disapproving stares. Degrading lectures in front of the new recruits when your golden retriever attitude gets too bubbly. Scoffs when you suggest strategies or try and help during mission briefings. Shoving shoulders when you stand in his way. And your least favorite, the mumbling. Little remarks and insults spoken under his breath. Hardly hidden from behind the mask. His harsh words still fall on your exceptional hearing, causing your nostrils to flare as you see red.

You'd spent nearly 10 months trying to prove yourself to him. And you nearly got him. His walls slowly coming down, brick by brick. He'd start making small jokes about the new recruits to you when partnered together. Pat your back firmly after a good shot. Acknowledge your presence when you both were in the kitchen or the common area.

Until bloody December rolls around. Again, you're thankful to the team for shielding you from his horrendous mood. But you're frustrated that you can't keep trying to weasel your way into getting him to like you. That all of your efforts have been thrown away and you'd have to restart as soon as you have full access to his side again.

It isn't until the end of December that you're alone with him for the first time in a month. It's late, just past midnight. He's sitting in the common room, a steaming cup of tea in front of him. You walk in late from a night out at the pub after gaining Price's approval to go out. You were just catching up with a couple friends who were studying abroad. Your heart feeling twice it's size after seeing a little piece of home.

It's dark. The only thing lighting up the room is the glow of his phone screen and the light from the door outside the common room. Which you held open as you stared at him like a deer in headlights. Not knowing what to say. Or do.

Slowly, you close the door. Making your way across the common room slowly. Your converse tapping the tile of the floor with each step. Vision slightly blurred from the pints you indulged in. You're almost past him, completely avoiding eye contact as you quietly walk past the couch he's spread out on.

"It's a bit late," He speaks up. His deep, gruff voice sending a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps forming on your skins despite your warm hoodie and worn jeans.

"Captain gave me a pass. For the Holidays." You speak carefully, eyes finally meeting his form in the dark.

The pale moonlight from the window across from him gives her a better view. His phone screen lighting up his face. He's wearing a black surgical mask, covering the lower half of his face. A black hoodie covers his upper half, the hood up to create a perfect shadow over what the mask wasn't covering. The only thing really visible to the eye was his eyes. His dark chocolate irises that scan over your casual appearance. Taking in the sight of you outside of uniform or athletic clothes. Instead seeing you in the dark jeans that hung from your hips. Hoodie and jacket baggy on your upper half.

      You look past him, seeing the time on the clock above the door way. The green electronic letters reading 00:13. It's now officially Christmas. Your eyes shift back to him, catching his intense stare. The air seems to run cold as he glared, his demeanor clearly bothered by your existence. You can't stop the small shiver that runs down your spine as you stare back. Blinking slowly as you try and keep your brain working.

     "Merry Christmas, Riley." You finally say, eyes dropping down to your scuffed converse.

     His head turns and he checks the clock. He turns back, "Merry Christmas." He says. His voice sounds...different. Tired? No...defeated...maybe.

      You smile politely, your sneaker twisting against the tile of the common room. You should walk away. Leave him to his own thoughts. Get into bed and sleep off the couple pints you threw down with friends. But you don't. Instead you stand awkwardly near the exit of the common rooms. Your brain busy with contradicting thoughts. Say something. Go to bed. Ask him about his mood. Shut up and go to bed. Sit next to him. Scream at him for always being an asshole. But you do nothing. Standing as still as a statue. Not daring to move, your muscles completely stone.

      "Don't break yourself, kid." He retorts, a small chuckle at his own humor.

      "Huh?" You ask absentmindedly, before it clicks in your head that you were standing still like an idiot. Thinking so loudly that Russia was probably disturbed. You awkwardly blurt out a response, "Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

     He raises a brow. Clearly unimpressed with your inability to act normal around him. "You want to say something?"

     "It's late," you say sheepishly, "Why are you still up?"

      His eyes drop down to his tea. You watch as he shifts slightly, revealing more of himself in the moonlight. He's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, fitting tight against his thighs as he manspreads on the leather couch. Taking up space with his huge, muscular body.

      "Cant sleep." He says shortly. In his typical, gruff manner.

      "Something keeping you up?" You ask without thinking.

     You brace yourself for a snotty comment, or a silent glare as he pushes past you. Instead, you hear a huff of laughter. Or what was supposed to be laughter. You can never tell with the Lieutenant. "Isn't it always something?"

     "In our line of work, typically," You shrug, fingers tingling in the pockets of your jacket. "Do you," you pause, clearing your throat to sound more sure of yourself, "Do you need to talk about it?"

      His eyes meet yours. He says nothing for a few seconds. Letting your words hang in the air. "I just don't fancy the holidays."

     You nod, somehow smart enough in your tipsy state to realize exactly what he meant. It was more than the military. It was his life. "I get it." You say softly, "Do you mind if I sit with you? I need to gather myself before I try and stay quiet."

    "Go ahead.”

    Easier than you thought. You cross the common room carefully, sitting at the other end of the love seat. Immediately drawing your knees into your chest. Your arms wrap around your legs as you press them into your chest. Gaze falling to the window to see the brick building across the way. You're not exactly sure what to say, drawing in controlled breaths as you sit in silence. Fighting the urge to ask a million and one questions as your buzzed brain runs wild.

    "You've been avoiding me." He says suddenly. Ripping through the silence.

      You turn your head, chewing the inside of your cheek as you look at him. From this angle, you see the rest of his face. His dark scar poking through the surgical mask. His other scar curved above his thick eyebrow. His usual eye black is nowhere to be seen. Just dark circles formed under his eyes from exhaustion.  His dark eyes darting around. He seems..uneasy. Which is unlike him.

     "I haven't been," you say quickly. Both of you let the lie sit for a second before you eventually come clean. His intense eyes sending you straight into confession mode. "Ok, maybe I have been."

     "Why?"

     "Aren't you happy I'm not up your ass anymore?" You can't help but ask.

     "At first."

    "What changed?"

    "Maybe I don't mind having you around," he shrugs.

       You stare at him for a minute. Waiting for him to say he's just playing, and actually wants you to get out of his face. But the words never come. Instead, you look at the man next to you. His usual determined expression is no where to be seen. Replaced with a sheepish gaze as his eyes dart around everywhere but on you. He wasn't joking around. He liked your company.

      "The guys said to keep my distance," you reply. Figuring there was no reason to lie about it.

      "Because December." He finishes.

      "Pretty much," you say with a shaky exhale. Not exactly fond of the route this good take.

       "You didn't have too. I wouldn't have snapped at you," he says, voice soft. "I just don't do well around the holidays."

       "You don't have to explain yourself." You reply with an empathetic tone. "I'm sorry for avoiding you."

        He turns to you, finally making eye contact with you. Shifting slightly under your gaze. "Thank you."

       You smile, "You don't need to thank me. We all have our own shit. Just know I've got your back if you ever need me."

     His eyes soften in the moonlight, "And I've got yours."

    You smile, turning your head back forward. Knowing that if you continue to look at him you'll lose the small sense of control over your buzzed emotions. As you sit in a comfortable silence, you quickly realize you can't stay in the room any longer. His lingering cologne and his kind words creating a pool of fluttering butterflies in a cage. Locked right between your ribs.

    Carefully, you drop your legs. Your converse plant on the ground and you push yourself up, the room shaking as you regain full balance. With your hands stuffed back into your pockets, you walk towards the hallway filled with the small rooms the team occupies. Before you leave, you turn on your heel. Staring at him for a second as you try and form words. A lump of complicated feelings lodged in your throat. So instead of saying anything of importance. Or stating why you are fleeing the scene at a rapid pace after he said his first genuine non-work related thing. You give him a tight lipped smile.

    "Merry Christmas, Simon."

    "Merry Christmas, kid."

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

part two :)

there u are :)) it’s small and uneventful but sometimes i really enjoy writing small moments like these :)

thank u for reading <3 happy holidays !

[kyokutsu-sama]

Happy birthday Nemi!

Sanemi x reader| fluff birthday fic

A/n- Since today is my husband's birthday, I wrote something cute for him❤️🎂

Happy birthday Sanemi Shinazugawa. I love you🤍🖤

Tw: little suggestive at the end

🔸️✨️🔸️✨️🔸️✨️🔸️✨️🔸️✨️🔸️✨️🔸️✨️🔸️

Today would be Sanemi's birthday. He personally didn't want to have a big party, but you couldn't let that date go by unnoticed. whether he liked it or not. So you made him an offer to go out with him and have dinner somewhere. Just the two of you. He rolled his eyes but ended up accepting. Besides, he wouldn't turn down an invitation from you because he loved you.

"You're really stubborn, huh?"He said after sitting at the table with you

"I learned from you! You winked, giving him a playful smile." Baby, come on, today is your birthday. Do you really think I would forget that day? Master Ubuyashiki even made a point of giving you a day off. You should take advantage of it since it's not every day that you have a free night, you spend a lot of nights at work and during the day you just train and don't do much about it. Just try to relax for now, okay?" You grabbed his hand and squeezed it lightly and he sighed heavily

You were right and he couldn't hide it. His job wasn't like other people's. He couldn't take vacations whenever he wanted or days off, he couldn't pretend that everything was fine. It was serious and dangerous, you could lose your life for a second of distraction. He was quite competent but he also had to let go of that posture from time to time to avoid going crazy even more.

"Yeah, you're right. Let's just relax then." He said

And so it was, you ordered a lot of food and drinks. You knew that Sanemi wasn't much of a drinker, but seeing him drink made you challenge him. Besides, the night was just beginning and you still wanted him to have a little more fun.

"Hey Nemi?" You called while he was arranging the bowls

"What?"

"Do you think you can drink a little more or have you already reached your limit with only two glasses?" You smiled, teasingly

He stopped what he was doing when it starting sounding like a challenge. Sanemi was a man driven by challenge and by taking risks, whenever you challenged or tease him he felt the need to teach you a lesson. It was then that your boyfriend looked up from the empty bowls to meet your eyes, with a smirk. Oh you were crossing the boundaries of this man's patience, playing dangerous games like this one with him.

"Are you trying to tease me, brat?" He narrowed his eyes

"Me? I was just wondering what your limit would be."

"My limit? Girl, you should know by now that your man has no limits."

"Well, in that case, why don't we go to the bar down the street?"

"If you insist, I'm in. And then don't say I didn't warn you, you stubborn idiot." He said, getting up from the table and you followed right behind

You entered the establishment and there were a lot of people there having fun too. You followed him to the counter and then you started choosing what to drink.

You then decided to order a bottle of sake to share between the two of you. You looked at him, still with the challenging smile that was starting to make him uspet. You could tell just by the veins bulging in his neck and also on his face, that meant your provocations were having an effect on him and that was a point for you.

"I'll make sure to wipe that stupid smile off your face when I prove to you that I can handle this bottle and a few more." He said before bringing the glass to his lips and drinking straight away

"We'll see then, sweetheart." You said, drinking after him

Result: You both got drunk, however, you seemed more sober than him since he was the one who supported you all the way home and after he also almost got into a fight because of some idiot who was looking at you too much. For a stubborn man like him who said he wouldn't get drunk, he wasn't sober at all. And it all started after the second bottle. Not after all the others he said he could handle.

"Nemi, why did you have to punch him like that? That man almost die. You'rea beast!" You said as you staggered holding him on the way home

"He was looking at you and you're my girlfriend and I don't like it when other fuckers look at what's mine, do you got it now?" He grumbled, looking at you and you just shook your head

"You're always so jealous, man." You giggled and he frowned

"You don't usually complain about this, what is it now? You don't like it?"

"Forget it. Our house is right there." You pointed out

"Finally!"

You entered the house with him and closed the door, placing your boyfriend on the couch in the living room. He gave a long sigh as his body fell into the comfort of the couch. This man only needed two things at that moment, the comfort of home and a hug from you.

"Stay here for a while, I just need to go to get some--" You were about to finish the sentence but he pulled you onto his lap, making you hold onto his shoulders to balance yourself

"Don't you dare, stay still here for a moment and shut up. I just need your hug for a fucking minute, okay?" He said in a deep, husky voice. You felt a shiver run through you, the drink really did things to him.

"Does drinking leave you wanting cuddles and attention? What a needy boy you are." You smile, arranging the bangs that fell in his face.

"Yes, that does." He said placing his head in the crook of your neck and kissing all over that corner. "And I need you to stay here with me. I love having you in my arms. Just for me." He whispered

"Oh yeah? Alright then, I'll stay here with you until you fall asleep then." Your fingers caressed the white strands of his hair as he hugged you tightly, making sure you weren't going anywhere.

"You were my best gift today, you know?" He confessed, moving his face away from your neck and looking at you and you smiled at you

"Thank you. I just wanted you to have a good day and have fun."

"You really did, brat."

"When are you going to stop calling me that?"

"When you stop acting like one and when you stop being a stubborn ass." He said, slapping your ass and you whimpered, caressing that area

"Babe, don't be mean, you idiot." You pinched his cheek and he gave a little smile.

"You're the idiot here. MY idiot, by the way." He placed his head on your chest and rested it there

You just laughed at him for the way he was acting at that moment, after all it wasn't just you who was a brat, he also seemed to be acting like one but you didn't say anything. Taking the opportunity to point this out later when he was sober.

Oh yeah, because you were going to tell him how needy he seemed when he was drinking. His arms wouldn't let go of you for a minute and his lips wouldn't stop spreading kisses all over you. He wasn't usually so clingy when sober but when he drank a little too much, he would reveal that side of himself and it was cute, very cute considering he was always rough and tough. After all, even the Wind Hashira had a soft side. A soft side that he only showed to you. His pretty girlfriend.

"I love you Nemi." You placed small kisses on the top of his head and then cupped his cheeks with your hands. "Happy birthday, baby!"You kissed his lips and his hands grabbed your waist

"I love you so much too." He confessed kissing you and pulling you for a tight hug."But you know? I think we can still enjoy a few more hours until dawn." He whispered close to your lips, giving a suggestive look that you already knew well

"Well, today is your day, so I will not oppose my love's wishes." You said, winking at him

"Good."

[tricitymonsters]

How would any/all feel about a fat MC, especially one insecure about her body and reluctant to let them touch at first, since she wouldn’t believe they were actually into her? I’m on the heavier side and this game is such a good escape for me. Thank you very much! 😭

I've answered a similar ask before but i TRULY love this one because it gives me the chance to shout it out again: across the board, all the ROs are into fat MCs. Everyone moves to physical intimacy at their own pace and I think they'd be good at being insistent enough to prove that they're being honest while making sure they don't push hard enough to make MC more uncomfortable.

Akello used to be really fit but has since put on some poundage as his metabolism slows down but he's accepted his thickness as a blessing. He's well fed, strong, and comfortable with age changing his body. But also I think of all the ROs he's probably the most specifically into fat bodies- fat babes of all genders and presentations feel great in his hands, and he loves the look of a fat ass + thick thighs + belly. PLUS also Akello really likes to eat and he wants to share meals with an MC who's open to relishing the pleasures of life with a little bit of hedonism.

Amir loves Big Girls and Thems and Boys don't let his slender looks deceive you. He also has a very mild feeder kink and would insist that you look adorable when he can get you samples of luxe snacks you've never had before. He knows that a lot of people have baggage about eating and bodies but he's one of the first to INSIST all bodies are beautiful and that conventional notions of beauty are not only impossibly narrow, but also carry gross baggage deeply rooted in racist, classist, and sexist nonsense. Besides if a man who looks like Amir does can't pass the Conventionally Beautiful Margin just because he likes makeup and dresses and huge heels how good of a judge could it POSSIBLY be, obviously he is earth-shatteringly beautiful and they're just insecure haters.

Mori wants to put his grabby little goblin hands all over a fat MC please. He loves big boobs (gnc), big butts, big thighs to get crushed in. He has a little belly pooch himself because he's an irresponsible drinker and eats garbage so he's also one of the LEAST likely RO's to make judgments. He's here for a good time, not a long time, and he wants to enjoy getting physical with MC and explore whatever body they have.

Bonus Mentions:

Kazu may be an insufferable gym rat who meal preps but he also eats like a garbage disposal and food is a huge stress/comfort thing for him. As long as you feel strong and healthy in your body, that's all he cares about. Also he's an ass guy so please don't think a big ass won't get him all worked up.

Raath ESPECIALLY loves chubby/fat bodies. So much for him to grab and bite.

Marcel is kinda like Kazu in that he can be a little bit obsessed with his workout routine but Marcel's more interested in that for himself, not pushing it onto others, especially if they haven't explicitly shown interest in getting a routine of their own. Most likely to brag insufferably about his thicc mc partner as loud as he can, though.

[willowser]

ma’am i only found your blog yesterday but your ex hubby bakugo got me in a trance, and i hsjsksksksksk, but ill present you: ‘drunk ex husband bakugo’ i- i mean he would be so silly and calls you at 1am to tell you how much he loves you and the little one and how much he misses you, babbles away all the nonsense else, but the way he murmurs and mumbles silly things on the phone got you giggle at midnight (and sad at the time because holy hell you miss him too), then you have to talk him out of it to go home and sleep, he listens, he goes home, yeah, and 10 minutes later he shows up at your front door (still hella woozy) because he is just that stupidly drunk and he has always wanted to go home to you :((

ANON ??? OUCH ????? THIS MAKES ME SAD AKFJSODHAIA

i've always wanted to do drunk ex-whathaveyou bakugou that shows up at your door too late 🥺 but in this instance !! i feel like. you get a few calls in the middle of the night, but they're very short ?? like you wake up to your phone ringing and it's his number, so you're reaching for it, but it stops before you can answer. and you're thinking, "darn i must have slept through the first few rings," and as you're typing out a text to check in with him, he calls again for like two rings, and then it stops. and then he calls and it rings for one and then it stops.

and so now you're like — okay maybe he's butt-dialing me LOL but he tries again like 20 minutes later and you're so tired of the ring-tone that you answer it as fast as you can and just listen, waiting to see if you can hear his voice distantly, as if you're down in his back-pocket.

but he grumbles, "—the fuck? hello?"

and you ask him, "uh hey, have you been trying to call me?" but you're almost certain he doesn't hear you, because half-way through you are able to hear the loud background music and then the sound of shuffling, his grumpy lil "—the fuck off me, 'm—shut th'hell up—'m on the DAMN PHONE!"

clearly, there's a struggle, so you just kind of wait, worried you're about to hear your ex-husband get nerfed while on patrol maybe ?? but then the music drops away and is replaced by a barely-there scratchy wind, and he's breathless when he asks if you're still there.

"yeah, no, i'm still here. is...everything okay?"

he huffs, so heavy into the phone that the static almost hurts your ears. "whadda'you think?"

it's bitter enough that you blink in the darkness of your room, before glaring at the opposite wall. "excuse me?"

"fuck, 'm sorry, i—fuck." he inhales audibly, stuttering. "i'm sorry."

you frown, head turning; he sounds lazy, like he can't be assed to speak properly, and he's speaks impolitely on the regular — but it's never this bad. all his words sound curved, looped together, and he's shuffling too much on the other end, sniffing loud and mumbling to himself. almost like he's—

"are you...drunk?"

you're expecting an immediate no, even if evidence is proving otherwise, because he's not a drinker. occasionally, when he's out for dinner or at one of kirishima's backyard barbecues, but it's so infrequent that his tolerance is low, for someone of his size. it doesn't take much to have him a little sloshed, and he hates it, not only for the feeling the day after, but because his mouth tends to run. more than usual.

"it's that fuckin'—dunce head ass 'n his—stupid piano teeth, tape-face—"

kaminari and sero, you think. you think.

"'n i didn't want to fuckin' come to shit like this, ever. because they're so 'blah fuckin' blah, get over yourself', as if i'm—whatever. dumbasses." he pauses, and before you can finish piecing together what he's trying to say, he continues. "'n i'm not even like them, because they're fucking losers, and i don't—i don't even want that chick's number, okay? i don't fuckin' care, okay?"

your heart throbs dangerously, suddenly swollen and too tender, at the very thought of him and someone else, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut tight. "bakugou—"

"bakugou?" he cuts you off loudly, offended. "'r'you fuckin'—sorry, shit. bakugou? you're a goddamn bakugou—"

you have the throw the blankets off your lap so that you can hurry to your bedroom door, to shut it before hissing at him. "i'm not gonna sit here and get cussed out, katsuki. we're divorced."

"sorry! fuck, i'm—i mean—sorry, sorry. 'm not—it ain't at you, y'know? you know that, right?"

and you do. you do know that. it's just how he talks, he would tell you, and he would cut down on it for a little while before it inevitably came back and — it just hurts, at times. to be on the receiving end of his hottest flame.

"yeah," you tell him quietly, leaning against the door when he sighs. "yeah, i know."

"she—" he groans, deep and frustrated. "she fuckin'—god, sorry. she did that t'me all th'time, y'know? 'cut the fuckin' attitude, katsuki,' 'n then fuckin' SMACK!" you can hear the sharp sound of his slap, metallic, like he's against a lamp post or something. "but then she's comin' up t'my room, all like, 'y'know i love you' 'n—how 'm i suppos' t'know that stuff?"

he's never really spoken about his childhood; his parents, yes, through comments here and there about how they irritated him, but nothing serious. you've seen firsthand how tumultuous his relationship with his mother is, and she still smacks him around, but he's big now, much bigger than she is; you never considered what it was like for him, when he was younger.

even if he is drunk, even if he won't remember tomorrow — you still want to be there for him.

you realize he's waiting for an answer, with how long he's quiet, and you shrug to yourself before gently saying, "i don't know, katsuki. it sounds like it would have been very confusing."

"yeah, i mean—" he exhales slowly, though the end trails off into a growl, as if he's grown frustrated again. "i would never fuckin' hit you."

"i know that, katsuki, and i've never thought you would. and i would never hit you, either, y'know?"

"yeah," he repeats, and you can hear him swallowing, the sound so thick that you think he might choke. "i'd never hit you, or—or—hey, where is he? i wanna talk to 'im."

at the mention of your son, you peek down the hall to make sure his door isn't open, that he's not snooping around like you've caught him doing lately — but it's still mostly closed, and you don't hear any little feet against the hardwood.

you squint at your phone, blinded momentarily at the blue-light as you check the time. "it's the middle of the night, katsuki, he's asleep."

"did he have a good day?"

"yeah, he—"

"tell me about it. tell me th-the whole thing."

and — you do, as he listens and grunts and murmurs little things you don't catch. occasionally, he'll groan, really quiet like he's trying not to cry, and it's after the third time he asks to speak to him again that you finally decide to call him an uber.

and you put in his home address !!! but not thirty minutes later, you are sort of roused out of sleep because he's lightly knocking on your door, in the middle of the night, and you have to get up and go check so he doesn't wake your son up !!!!

and he's probably a MESS, all red-faced and SAD, rubbing at his eyes, almost tripping into your house because he was leaning against the door. it's not even worth arguing about getting him to his actual home because it's late and he's being a little loud, so you just give him some water and make him lay down on the couch and — he's out like a light right away LOL

but. you wake up a few hours later to him laying in your bed, on top of the blankets, his pants are on the floor but his shirt and jacket are still on LOL and he's not quite touching you, but if you jostle even a little bit, his face will press into your back 🥺 you don't know when he got up and came into your room, but he was sober enough to be quiet about it, and when you wake up in the morning, he's already re-dressed and sitting with your son at the kitchen table 🥺

WAAAAHHH i made this so sad. i'm so sorry akjfajfajaljfa he's such a BABY !!! god help me, bc if it really was me, i would take him back in a heartbeat LOL

[jujumin-translates]

[18TRIP] Ten Murakumo | [SR] Black Melting Into the Hustle and Bustle | You Can Drink, But Don't Get Drunk

Characters: ☁️ Ten Murakumo, ☔️ Kafka Oguro, ☀️ Renga Nishizono

Location: HAMA House - Tiger Room

*Drink being poured*

Kafka: You’re having a nightcap again today too, Ten?

Kafka: Maybe it’s fine once in a while, but don’t you think you should hold back from having one every night? It tanks the quality of your sleep, y’know.

Ten: C’mon, stop worrying so much, Prez. This is just what works for me.

Ten: (I can’t have him messing with my routine.)

Renga: Exactly, Kafka. Ten likes to drink, and it’s not like he drinks recklessly.

Renga: And when we go out for drinks together, I think he always seems fine! You don’t gotta worry.

Kafka: I see. If my drinking buddy Renga says so, I guess it’s fine.

Ten: (...Never thought I’d have Renga-san to back me up.)

Ten: Cool, with that settled, to doing this again…

*Ten taps his glass on the table*

Renga: …

Ten: …

Ten: …Renga-saaan, don’t stare at me like that. I thought drinking wasn’t your strong suit.

Renga: Ah, my bad! Don’t worry about me, just enjoy your drink!

Ten: I’m only saying that because I care.

Renga: No, I was just thinking that I’d be able to drink like you do someday, Ten…

Ten: Ah~, you do get hammered in no time, don’t you, Renga-san?

Renga: T-That was just last time! I was more tired than usual, so…

Ten: Haha, you sure about that~? It would’ve been pretty dangerous for you if you were a girl.

Renga: Whatever, there isn’t anything wrong with me watching! All I’m doing is watching you drink!

Ten: (Just watching’s not gonna make you a better drinker… Well, it’s all according to plan. That’s just how much you’re fascinated with me.)

Ten: Alright, just for today?

Renga: Yeah! Thanks!

Kafka: (Hehe. There’s something pretty interesting about those two.)

· ❀ —– ٠ ❀ ٠ —– ❀ ·

Location: Shirohori Studios

Staff: That’ll be it for today’s shoot, Renga-san! Thank you very much!

Staff Members: Good work!

Renga: Heh, I’m looking forward to seeing the finished thing.

Capable Producer: Do you drink wine, Renga-san? We prepared a vintage for today’s shoot.

Renga: Huh? Yeah… Thanks.

Renga: (Maybe it’s because of the last variety, but I’ve been getting a lot more gifts like this…)

Capable Producer: Don’t doubt it. It’s a genuine vintage, okay? There’s that famous saying… “I only want the real deal”.

Staff: Well, you heard the producer. This is undoubtedly the real deal.

Renga: H-Haha… Fair enough.

Renga: (I’m grateful, but what am I supposed to do…? Ah, I wonder if Ten would like it if I gave this to him.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Location: HAMA House - Tiger Room

Renga: I’m back~... Wait, where’s Kafka?

Ten: Ahh, Prez is working late tonight.

Renga: Gotcha… Ah, I’ve got a gift for you today, Ten.

*Renga takes something out of a bag*

Renga: …Ta-da!

Renga: It’s a vintage wine. It was given to me by a producer, and I think it’s a good one! Hey, let’s drink it together!

Ten: Ah, sorry, I’m not really a wine guy.

Renga: YOU’RE NOT!!?

Ten: (Wine’s the only thing that gets me really wasted… Still, I’m pretty confident that I’ve got a better tolerance than him.)

Ten: Alright, how about I drink my sake and you drink that wine, Renga-san?

Ten: That way, we’re still technically drinking together.

Renga: That’s true! Alright, let’s do that!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Renga: ‘Cauuuuse~! That’s the kinda shoft-heartednessh that proves that you’re sucha good guy, Ten!

Ten: I know, that’s the third time you’ve told me that.

Ten: (Not even a full glass and he’s already like this.)

Renga: Noooo! I shtill haven’t gotten the point acrossh! Despite how you seem, you’re sucha good guy, Ten…!

Ten: Ow, wasn’t that like sorta a diss?

Renga: Mn~mh… Mmmhmnh…

Ten: Renga-sa~n, if you sleep with your stomach exposed like that, you’ll catch a cold.

Renga: I’ll show you the roshes when they bloom, Ten…

Ten: (Roses? The hell is he going on about?)

Ten: Jesus Christ.

Renga: Ten, let’sh have another drink together again~...

Ten: … Alright, I’m gonna tuck you in now.

*Sheets rustle*

Ten: (Goddamn, this guy is hopeless…)

[norabugz]

In honour of one of my favourite listeners (BARISTA), I present to you...

HOW SAKUVERSE CHARACTERS WOULD DRINK THEIR TEA / COFFEE

Featuring: Elias, Andrew, Xanthus and Isaac

ELIAS (no idea if he has a canon order but oh well)

Whenever he would come into the brew house early on he would always, without fail, order a black coffee.

Because it was a neutral ground for the gangs, I imagine many other gang members would be around.

Elias is so hell bent on trying to prove himself and keep up his 'bad boy' act, I genuinely see himself smiling through the bitter taste of a black coffee.

Eventually, I imagine he would start to venture outwards. Maybe the Barista ordered him a different drink 'on the house', or another customer bought him a drink to try and make a move/ flirt with him.

I can definitely see Elias as a Latte drinker. Solely for the reason that he would like to see what different art the barista can do with the steamed cream.

Sometimes it would just be simple swirls when the shop was busy, but other times it was more intricate designs.

After being taken to the safe house I can imagine Barista teaching Elias how to make late art and trying different, much more complex styles.

They're so cute your honour 🥹🥹

ANDREW

Honestly, I don't see him being a big coffee drinker or going to a coffee shop.

He strikes me as the type of guy to make his tea at home exactly how he likes it and put it in a portable thermal to carry with him.

When trying to make a move on Darling he would start to go to a coffee shop though.

I can just imagine him walking into class the morning after a late night marking with three paper cups, Earl grey for him, a hot chocolate for Luca and a different type of coffee every day for Darling, who always shows up before anyone else in class.

After transitioning from the university to the museum, I imagine his coffee shop visits becoming less frequent

In museums lots of different areas prohibit eating or drinking due to the fragility of the displays and although his previous transgressions don't show it, he is a rule follower.

But I still see every once in a while, Darling dropping in to his work with either a thermal of Earl grey or PG tips, or would take him to the museums café.

Btw they definitely have matching thermals.

And I DEFINITELY did not make the thermal headcanon because that's what I do LMAO... 😬

XANTHUS

This man CANNOT STAND tea bags

Bro is so posh he definitely uses tea leaves and a pestle and mortar

He also has those fancy tea cups that are antiques and says shit like "Florence nightingale drank from that teacup once"

Man shut up (with affection, ily sm ur such a yapper)

He always nags Love to put whatever mug or teacup they have on a coaster. Picture Effie Trinkets "THAT IS MAHOGANY"

He doesn't really care that much, but just finds it amusing that Love doesn't care about getting tea stains on a century old coffee table lol

Since Love moves in with him though he did buy a top of the range coffee machine.

He avoids it like the plague, but Love likes it so that's all that matters to him.

Also when Love moves in he went through their cupboards and found this self made pottery mug that is so ugly it's unbearable

He uses it everyday and says it's an 'art piece'. Love hates it. He does it anyways.

Sometimes he sticks his pinky up in the air. Old ass vampire aristocrat smh 🙄❤️

ISAAC

Unlike Elias, Isaac unironically likes black coffee.

Pickle asked to try it once and was absolutely disgusted.

Pickle still makes it for him though, but always says something like "I don't know how you can stand this, it takes like dirt"

Was absolutely horrified when pickle told him they couldn't remember what most coffees/teas tasted like.

The next day delivers different boxes of tea leaves, tea bags, herbs, coffee grounds, creamers, etc.

Every mug in his mansion house is either fully black, or fully white.

Except for three. One mug had a hand drawn superman logo and writing that said DAD, one mug had different hand drawn flowers and writing that said MUM, and one with little planets and stars with writing that said ISAAC.

They are hidden right at the back of the cupboard.

Pickle also found a scribbled down recipe for a herbal sleeping tea in handwriting they recognized as Isaac's mother's.

Isaac couldn't put together why Pickle's "experimental" tea tasted so familiar and how he fell asleep so quickly. Pickle would tell him someday.

SORRY ISAACS HEADCANONS WERE LOWKEY DIABOLICAL LMAO.

Anyways, my little British heart enjoyed making these, I might make some more for different characters, unsure yet 🤔

[lainiespicewrites]

A lesson in flirting

Hi friends! This one had been sitting in my unfinished stories for a while. I love a good Henry fic It's another OFC because I can't seem to get off the "Self-insert" thing rn! LOL but you guys seem to love these stories and writing myself as a main character just gives me this air of confidence...Idk lmao... anyway enjoy! Also maybe doing this is part of kinktober?? Idk I’m not really following a prompt list buuut this kind goes with size kink??? Idk? I just wanna post more!

Plot: In which Alayna and her friends are at a bar, she's trying to explain to her friends that flirting is easy. until she sees Henry and her friends tell her to put her money where her mouth is.

Warnings: Smut Like just so much smut. Dirty talk, Oral (male and female receiving), P in V smut, creampie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “No, I mean it! It’s so easy! Men aren’t THAT complicated.” I exclaimed. Hayley shook her head at me. I laughed and downed the rest of my drink.

“You are so boy crazy,” She laughed, “If it’s so easy prove it!” she smirked. Shit, I’d been drinking and lord knows I’m not one to back down from a challenge. I looked over at Skyler who had the same look on her face. 

“Come on Alayna, you look so good tonight! Don’t waste it! You’ve been eyeing that guy by the bar for the last 5 minutes. Go for it!” She urged. I really stuck my foot in my mouth here. I’d been telling them about a time I went out a few months ago and decided I wanted to kiss this guy and just … made it happen. I may have been a little overconfident. I looked over again at the guy they were talking about. He was absolutely gorgeous. He was at least 6’1 with beautiful dark curls and one of the sweetest smiles I’d ever seen. 

“I-I don’t know, I’m all talk,” I said immediately going back on my previous statement. “This guy is way out of my league.”I sighed. 

“No he isn’t!,” Skyler said quickly, “You’re literally so hot! He’d be stupid not to be into you.” Hayley nodded. 

“She’s right dude! Prove yourself right! Go talk to him.” I took one look back at him. Well hopefully if this doesn’t work out I don’t make myself look like an idiot. 

“Alright,” I paused looking at the girls. “Commencing phase one.” I joked.

“Jesus,” Hayley shook her head and Skyler just laughed. 

“Yes! Go get your man!” She cheered me on. Okay, Phase one. Luckily this would be easy. The bartender Nick was already down at his end of the bar so it was the perfect excuse to “Bump into him” and squeeze my way up to the bar to order another drink. It helps that it’s a little crowded too. I pushed past a group of country boys standing around holding their Busch lights. The kind that rolls into the bar in tattered jeans they’ve been working in all day and dirty old work boots. Definitely not my first choice. I shake the thought out of my head starting to get nervous as I approach him. His back is toward me now. I walked up next to him at the counter, my shoulder brushing against him. 

“I’m so sorry!” I blushed. He turned to look at me and smiled. 

“That’s perfectly okay! It's a bit crowded here tonight huh?” he asked, chuckling softly.  Sweet baby Jesus, he’s British! I nodded. Nick was still with another customer so I took the opportunity to make light conversation. 

“Whatcha drinking?” I asked. He fully turned to face me.  Beer bottle in hand. 

“Guinness has always been my favorite.” He said, taking a sip. “Are you a beer drinker?” he asked. I shook my head. 

“Not unless I'm already drunk, or it's in an Irish car bomb.” I joked. He laughed and raised an eyebrow.

“An Irish car bomb? Wouldn’t have assumed that’d be your drink of choice.” He smirked.

“Oh, it’s not! but my brother took me out for my 21st with his friends, they’re like my brothers. Anyway, I did a full “bombs away” Not sure if you’ve heard of that?” I raised an eyebrow. He chuckled, nodding. 

“I do, That had to be a rough time!” 

“It was certainly rough the next day!” The bartender was finally ready so I made eye contact with him to signal I wanted to order. 

“What's up?” he asked. 

“Hey, can I get another Rum and Coke please?” He nodded and walked away to get it started. Nick was a man of little words. I appreciated that about him. 

“Not a bad choice,” I heard the guy say. I laughed

“It’s been my drink of choice since my friend and I started stealing “captain” out of her parent's liquor cabinet senior year.” He chuckled softly. Just then Nick came back with my drink. I smiled and thanked him again. He just nodded. I turned back to the mystery guy and smiled. “Well, it was nice talking to you!” I said. 

“You too! Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.” He said. 

“Alayna!” I said quickly. 

“Alayna,” He repeated and smiled. “I’m Henry,” 

“Nice to meet you, Henry!” I said and started to walk away. 

“Nice to meet you, Alayna!” He called after me. I walked back to the girls' new drink in hand and a spring in my step. I smirked sitting back down in between them. 

“Oh my god how’d it go?!” Skyler asked immediately. 

“So he’s fucking British!” I stated. 

“You’re kidding!” Hayley added. I shook my head. 

“Dead ass! His name is Henry, and that’s about all I know! Except he’s even more beautiful up close!” I tried so hard not to squeal. Having a crush was thrilling and fun even if it went nowhere.

“Okay not to get your hopes up but he’s definitely looking this way!” Skyler said. I brought my drink to my lips took a long sip and let my eyes fall in his direction. He was and he was smiling. Before I could catch his eye his attention was brought back to his friend as they continued their conversation. 

“I told you.” I shrugged. Hayley shook her head.

“That doesn’t prove anything buddy, maybe he just thought you were nice,” she stated. Skyler laughed

“He was absolutely staring at her ass as she walked away but okay yeah he just thought she was nice.” She said, I was blushing and trying so desperately to act cool but I knew it wasn’t coming out that way. I took a long pull of my drink and sighed.  

“This is gonna be a high school crush situation all over again if I can’t hold it together. God, he’s so beautiful up close though. I really don’t know how I managed that conversation, let alone blatant flirting.” I shook my head and changed the subject. Asking the girls about work. I had neither of them fooled but they let me change the subject.

 “It’s going okay but I certainly could use a vacation,” Hayley said. I laughed 

“Says the girl who was in Hawaii 3 months ago!” I rolled my eyes. 

“Yeah, and you left us here!” Skyler argued. Hayley retorted with something sarcastic but I didn’t hear her. Henry was walking in our direction and I immediately caught his eye. He smiled when he saw me slowing down as he was walking past. 

“Hey! Are you having a good night?” He asked. I nodded and gave him a big smile.

“I’m having a great night! Just out with the girls. And you?” He quickly glanced over at them and smiled softly. 

“That’s awesome,” He turned his attention back to me and it was a bit dark but I’m almost positive he gave me a once over. “And I’m good! Great now, just a little buzzed and headed to the toilet,” He chuckled. 

“Well don’t let me keep you!” I laughed. I watched as he smirked slightly, looking me over again. He gave me a quick wink.

 “I’ll see you later, love,” He spoke and then walked away toward the restrooms. As he walked away I heard Skyler trying to hold back a squeal. 

“He was absolutely flirting with you!” She smiled. Even Hayley agreed. 

“Dude it’s like we weren’t even here,” She said. I smiled.

“Yeah, I noticed that. But he does seem really sweet! I’m gonna let him make the next move though.” All of a sudden feeling a rush of energy I downed the rest of my drink.  “Fuck it let's go dance!” I said standing up and pulling both of them up with me. I heard Hayley start to complain that she can’t dance so I took her hand and spun her. “Just move! Everyone’s drunk anyway. No one cares! Let loose!” I said. Skyler grabbed my hand and spun me and then jokingly twerked on me. We were laughing and genuinely having a good time. 

This is what we came out for tonight. Just to have fun and be carefree. The song switched to some early 2000s girl group. The kind that makes you feel invincible. The girls and I were still dancing. I spun around and almost ran directly into Henry. 

“I’m so sorry!” I giggled. Clearly more a little more buzzed now. Henry smirked. 

“No need to apologize darling. You’re having fun!” He chuckled. 

“I am!” I exclaimed. “You should dance with me!” He smiled but raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m not much of a dancer, Love,” He said. I pouted. 

“Please? It’ll be fun!” I begged. He chuckled. 

“Of course, I will, for you!” He smiled. I let out an excited squeak causing him to laugh. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to a slightly less crowded area of the makeshift dance floor. I turned around and pressed my back to his chest. Immediately his hands found my hips. I slowly started to move my hips against him and looked back giving him a cheeky smile. 

“Told you I’d make it fun!” I said. He smirked and licked his lips slowly.

“I never doubted that,” He spoke. He slowly started moving his hands up my sides. I bit my lip. I loved the feeling of his hands on my body. I felt my shirt rise a little as his fingers moved over the hem of the crop top. Then I felt his fingertips against my neck as he brushed my hair back off my shoulder. I pressed against him, grinding on him to the music. His breath was hot against my neck. “Enjoying yourself, love?”  He spoke his voice low and gravely. I knew he wanted to make a move. I could feel him against me. But He was trying to be respectful.  Or as respectful as he could with my ass pressed to him. 

“Mmhmm, but I’d be having more fun if you’d kiss me.” I started trying so hard to play cool. My heart was racing and the anticipation felt like electricity coursing through me. He moved his hands back down squeezing my hips before he turned me around to face him. He was smiling. God, he was such a beautiful man.  He brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “You have the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen by the way.” I blushed, losing my nerve now that I was looking him in the eye. 

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” He said back. I blushed. 

“That can’t be true, you’re like, insanely hot!” I blurted out. He chuckled, tightening his grip on my hip and pulling me flush against him. My hands were on his chest. Fuck he was solid. We were so close. I was even more nervous now that I had the chance to really look at him. He was wearing a plaid button-up with the top 3 buttons undone and revealing a patch of chest hair. His shoulders were broad and strong. I felt small in his arms. The way he was looking at me I felt like I’d have fallen over if he hadn’t been holding me up.

“Yeah, and you’re absolutely gorgeous,” He stated. He caressed my cheek softly before leaning in and kissing me. I immediately kissed him back. I moved so my arms were wrapped around his shoulders and tangled my fingers in his hair. He groaned softly, walking me backward until my back was pressed against the wall. He kissed me roughly and as he pulled away he caught my bottom lip between his teeth biting down softly before pressing one last gentle kiss to my lips. He looked down at me hungrily. “I wanna take you home with me.” He growled in my ear before he started kissing my neck.

“I’m sure the girls won’t miss me,” I smirked. He stopped peppering kisses along my jaw and looked me in the eyes. 

“Is that a yes, love?” He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on his face. 

“If I don’t go with you, you’re coming home with me! I don’t wanna miss out on you!” I said. And maybe it was a little eager but I meant it. There was no way I was walking away from him now. “Give me like two seconds to let my friends know so they aren’t panicking though!” I said. He gave me a soft smile and kissed my cheek. 

“Of course darling,” I walked over to where the girls were still dancing not far from me. No doubt they’d seen our spur-of-the-moment makeout session. I didn’t care. 

“Hey so um…” I started. 

“You Whore,” Hayley stated before I could say anything. I just laughed. 

“You know it!” I joked back. 

“Just make sure you use protection! I mean it!” Skyler said. “And I want details!!” She added. I laughed. 

“Okay well, I’m gonna go then … you guys get home safe!”

 After a quick goodbye, I turned around and found Henry at the bar closing his tab. He smiled when he saw me and pulled me to his side. 

“Are you ready to get out of here?” He asked. I nodded. He kept his arm around me as we walked out. He led us to his car, opening the door for me. He got in started the car and paused. “My place or yours?” He asked nonchalantly. 

“Yours, one of the girls lives right down the hall and I don’t need her keeping an eye on me.” I chuckled. 

“It’s sweet that she checks in though. Do you live alone?” He asked. 

“Well hold on, how do I know if I tell you that you aren’t gonna stalk me and murder me?” I raised an eyebrow. 

“Because you’re already in my car and if I wanted to kill you I could just do it now.” He paused for a second and chuckled. “I’m not a murderer, I promise. Besides if I killed you I couldn’t take you on a proper date after all this. That wouldn’t be very chivalrous, and to be honest I just know I wanna see you again.” I was blushing. 

“Okay, you make a good argument,” I said. “I wanna see you again too. And we haven’t fucked yet.” I immediately squeezed my eyes shut. I can’t believe I said that. And I was too nervous to see the look on his face. I felt him put his hand on my thigh. I slowly looked over at him. He was smirking. 

“Oh, but we will.” He stated. He looked over at me letting his eyes roam over my body quickly before he focused back on the road. 

Fuck. He’s so hot, this man is about to ruin all other men for me. I heard him chuckle. “Doing okay over there love?” He squeezed my thigh and let his hand wander further up. I bit my lip and nodded. 

“Y-yeah, having the best time right now!” fucking idiot. 

“It’ll be even better in a few minutes. You’re so sexy. Do you have any idea what you were doing to me back there?” It was my turn to smirk. 

“I’ve got a pretty good idea. Pretty sure I could feel it!” I teased. He playfully smacked my thigh. God this was gonna be a good night. 

“Not sure how you could miss it with your ass pressed against me like that.”  I just laughed.

“I didn’t hear you complaining!” I said and laced my fingers with his hand that was resting on my thigh. 

“I wasn’t,” he smiled, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. He let go of my hand as he turned into his driveway and put the car in park. He waited for me in front of the car and took my hand again leading me up to his house. He quickly unlocked the door and I followed him inside.

 He flipped on a light in the entryway so we could see where we were going. Then he turned back to me grabbed me by the waist and pulled me into him. I initiated the kiss wrapping my arms around his shoulder and tangling my fingers in his curls pulling him down to me. It was a very needy kiss. Pressing my lips to his and letting him suck my bottom lip between his. He backed me into the wall and started to kiss my neck. “Fuck your such a naughty girl, what am I gonna do with you?” He asked and then scraped his teeth across my neck. I moaned and tugged at his curls. He growled against my neck, soothing it with soft kisses. His touch was sending shockwaves through my body. I needed more of him. I ran my hands down his shoulders and over his chest. I brushed my hand over his cock, he was already getting hard. I teasingly squeezed him over his jeans. “Mmm” he moaned softly pulling away from his assault on my neck to watch me tease him.

I continued to explore his body, slipping my hands under his shirt and letting my fingers brush across his abs. I bit my lip when I felt him tense under my fingertips. He chuckled and stepped back pulling off his shirt, a proud smirk on his face. He was incredibly muscular. His chest was solid and broad. He was hairy which I had to admit was a serious turn-on. I hadn’t realized it until now. His stomach was hard and defined. It’s like he was carved out of stone. His happy trail matching his chest hair. He had to be incredibly strong. The muscles in his arms were large. He towered over me making me feel small. But his face was so soft and kind and gentle. His eyes were crystal blue and so inviting. He had such a warm smile. God I was mesmerized by this man.  His voice broke me out of my trance. 

“Come here Darling,” he said, pulling me to him again. He pulled at the bottom of my top and leaned in pressing a sweet slow kiss to my lips. “Take this off for me?” He asked. I bit my lip 

“mmhmm” I mumbled, taking a step back to take off my top. I dropped it to the floor and looked up at him. His eyes were focused on my chest. 

“Fuck” he whispered and licked his lips. His eyes flicked back up to mine. “I could tell you had big tits but, wow” he whistled jokingly and I rolled my eyes and laughed. 

“Omg shut up! Says the guy literally built like a Greek God!” Now he was laughing. I stood on my toes kissing him again. I reached my hand between us rubbing over his jeans. He growled against my lips.

“Mm slow down baby, we’ve got all night.” He led me to his couch and pulled me onto his lap so I was straddling him.  Trust me Im gonna fuck you tonight darling, I’m definitely gonna fuck you.” He started kissing my neck down to my chest and he kissed the top of my breasts. Then he pulled my bra down and took my nipple in his mouth. I moaned, arching into him and he wrapped his arm around my back holding me to him. 

“But you’re going to make me beg first,” I teased, biting my lip. He hummed around my breast smirking before biting down and dragging my nipple between his teeth. I gasped and ran my fingers through his hair. 

“I love hearing the sounds you make for me,” He moaned as he gave the other breast the same attention. He was driving me crazy. I whimpered softly grinding my hips feeling into his. Trying to get some friction against his now fully hard cock in his jeans. 

“Please Henry,” I moaned.  as he finally unhooked my bra and tossed it aside. He dug his fingers into my hips keeping me still. I couldn’t help the whine that escaped me.

He kissed back up my chest leaving a chaste little kiss on my lips. Fuck he was such a tease. 

“God you’re desperate for it, aren’t you love,” He smirked. “Why don’t you show me how bad you want it,” He nodded toward the floor and I knew exactly what he meant. I slid off his lap and onto my knees in front of him. He stood from the couch and pulled himself from his jeans. Fuck he was big, and already so hard. There was a bead of precum glistening from the tip. If he wanted to tease two could play that game. 

I leaned forward and licked the head of his cock smiling up at him sweetly. 

“Mm don’t stop now love, we're just getting started.” He moaned cock twitching in his hand as the other hand brushed the hair out of my face and rested on the back of my head. 

“You’re just so big, not sure I can handle all of you,” I teased. He chuckled softly running his thumb over my bottom lip. 

“You’ve been talking big talk all night baby, I’m sure you can make it fit,” He winked. I blushed but let him guide me forward taking him in my mouth. I hollowed my cheeks bobbing my head slowly. At first only took him halfway and slowly let him hit the back of my throat. He was already moaning for me. Tightening his fingers in my hair guiding me along his cock. “That's it, love, just like that, fuck,” He growled. He pushed my head further down forcing his cock further down my throat. I choked and my eyes started to water but I let him hold me there. I knew it had to feel incredible for him. He pulled me back and I came up gasping for air. He chuckled. “Fuck that’s so sexy. I need more of you.” He held out his hand to help me up and immediately crashed his lips to mine. He bit my bottom lip dragging his teeth across it slowly before finally releasing me. 

“Are you gonna fuck me now baby?” I asked shyly gently running my fingers down his chest. 

“You’ve more than earned it now darling.” He said kissing me again more gently this time. “But I still wanna please you first.” He smirked bending to pick me up over his shoulder. 

“Henry!” I squealed laughing softly. He chuckled and smacked my ass as he carried me to his bedroom. He dropped me gently onto his bed finally ridding himself completely of his jeans and boxers. He gave me one last look asking for permission before stripping me completely as well. He didn’t speak just smiled to himself and started to kiss and grab and feel all over. Kissing my chest and my stomach. Squeezing my breasts. He settled between my legs spreading my thighs kissing and biting at the inside. He slowly made his way up to my core. 

“Fucking dripping for me. I could feel it when you were in my lap. So needy.” He ran his fingers through my folds spreading my slick smirking to himself. I whimpered softly unable to take it anymore. 

“Fuck please don’t tease me, I need you to touch me. Please, Henry.” I begged. He just smirked.  He spread my lips swiping his tongue through my folds. He pulled me closer by my hips and started circling my clit with his tongue. He pulled it between his lips sucking softly and continued to lick. I moaned tossing my head back and my fingers found his curls again. “Oh fuck!” He slipped two fingers into me curving them into me as he continued his assault on my clit. 

It wasn’t long before I felt the coil build up in my stomach. “Henry, I’m gonna cum!” I whimpered. He didn’t let up just continued through my orgasm licking up my juices and pulled back with a growl. Kissing his way back up my body. 

“God you taste incredible,” He moaned in my ear before flipping me onto my knees on the bed and spreading my thighs. “I need to be inside you.” He groaned, lining himself up with my core running his head through my folds gathering the wetness there. He started to push in slowly. “Such a tight little pussy.” He groaned. “Relax for me, baby.” He leaned down kissing my shoulder as he pushed all the way in. “Such a good girl for me, always so ready for my cock.” he growled. I whimpered. I’d never felt so full. It felt incredible. He finally pulled out slowly and started a rhythm holding onto my hips as he took me from behind. Our moans the sounds of our bodies meeting filling my ears. 

“Mm it feels so good,” I moaned pulling at the comforter I could feel my orgasm building again. I started to squeeze around him. Henry pulled out and I whined softly. I heard him chuckle. He flipped me onto my back wrapping my legs around his waist as he shoved himself back into me. 

“I need to see your beautiful face when you cum on my cock baby.” He moaned picking up the pace. He was starting to get close too. He kissed my neck and I dug my nails into his back surely to leave scratches there tomorrow as I came undone around him. He growled in my ear as he thrusted a few more times letting go inside me. 

“You’re so fucking perfect.” He moaned. He kissed all over my face and smiled. “Are you alright darling?” He asked catching his breath

“I’m amazing,” I laughed. 

“Fuck yeah you are,” He chuckled. He laid down next to me for a moment pulling me into him. “Just give me a minute,” he breathed. 

I knew we were just getting started.