#maybe its time for me to draw metal as well

[pierrotwrites-hc]

part III ch3 sneak peak

Doran was a badger. 

At least that’s what Connell’s mother Reenie had said. Doran had protested: surely Connell, who regularly dug up grubs, was more like a badger than he was. (Yes, Connell dug up grubs to draw rather than to eat, but still. The point stood.)

“My Connell is a quail,” said Reenie decidedly. “He blends in when he needs to and he knows how to take care of himself. You, my lad, are a badger. Tough, clever, stubborn as anything. Hardy, too. When the weather changes, you’re the first to adapt.”

Even as a child, Doran had known Reenie wasn’t just talking about the kind of weather that spun the metal rooster on the barn roof. The Duke’s estate had its own climate, a complex system of currents and atmospheric conditions which produced storms no less intense than the ones outside. Doran often found himself caught in the crosswinds. He knew, without anyone having to tell him, that this was because the Duke loved his mother, and Lady Amelia hated her.

(The Duke told Doran’s mother he loved her, anyway. He said the same thing to his horse, and with much the same tone of voice.)

Now, a dozen years later and hundreds of miles from home, Doran had new reason to appreciate his badger-like adaptability. He’d found a nice little place for himself among the soldiers at Redditch, and there was no reason he couldn’t do the same at Guye. 

From what Doran had seen so far, Robert Black’s encampment outside Castle Guye was like and unlike the garrison at Redditch. It was full of soldiers, obviously, and soldiers were more or less the same wherever you went, but these soldiers were unusual (in Doran’s experience, at least) because observed no strict hierarchy between themselves. Once Doran got over the shock, he found this arrangement quite suited him. He had as little patience for hierarchy as a freedman as he had when he was a slave. 

And thank the gods for that. He’d feared the opposite might be true—that he might turn into one of those men hated by everyone, who shun the class they come from even as they’re kicked at by the class they want to join. A man like Hector Balkas.

Doran tried not to think about Balkas. It made his back itch. His back and his fists.

Anyway, there was no need to think about Balkas. Doran had been one to look back over his shoulder; he certainly wasn’t going to start now. Not when there was so much behind him he’d like to forget. 

That smarmy prick Robert Black had ordered him to find an occupation. Well, Doran planned to do exactly that.

The smithy seemed the obvious place to start. Doran had a strong arm and no fear of open flame, which were, as he understood it, the basic requirements for forge-work. He’d always fancied himself as a blacksmith, or maybe even a farrier. He liked horses well enough, and the leather aprons the smiths wore. Besides, he had a vague idea there was money in it. 

Money, now, that was something to be thinking about now he was free. Annie would be waiting for him on the other side of this war, and he wasn’t about to make her a pauper’s bride. She deserved better than that.

Building had started on the smithy on the moor at the same time as the privies were being dug, and while it was nothing to the mighty forge at Redditch, it was still in better nick than the rest of the camp. The crackling fire cast a ring of light and warmth that defied the gloom of the moor. In the glow, Doran saw a familiar figure straighten, hammer in one huge hand.

“Finn?”

“Doran! By the gods, it’s good to see you.”

Finn pulled Doran to his great chest and gave him a bone-cracking squeeze. 

“I see you lost the chain,” said Doran, when Finn released him. “The collar, too.”

“Mislaid it at Redditch,” said Finn cheerfully. He gestured at Doran’s bare neck. “I see you’re short a bit of metal, too.”

“Me and Connell both.” Before Finn could ask about Luca, Doran rushed on, “Tell me what happened at Redditch.”

It was the right question to ask: the garrison’s fall was still blazingly clear in Finn’s mind, and his description was absorbing enough to distract both of them from Luca. Doran hadn’t thought he had any sentimental feelings for Redditch, but hearing about the gates going up in a hail of flame and cinder gave him a funny feeling in his chest. Still, he was cheered to hear that Davies was dead. 

“The forgemaster, too,” said Finn. “Smoke poisoning, of all things.” He shook his head in disgust. “Ah, well, at least he’s gone. Gods forgive me, Doran, but it’s a better world for him being out of it.”

Doran agreed. As far as he was concerned, there were still far too many men like the forgemaster left in the world, and smoke poisoning was far too kind a fate for any of them.

Unfortunately, at this point Finn turned to far less interesting topic, namely the valor, gallantry, and general heroism of Robert Black. 

“He came out of the fire with his sword flashing, like something out of a legend. Rallied the men with a word. They say Roland had Melchior’s blood, but I never believed it til I saw Black in action. He’s a commander, all right. The real thing, not a pretender like Davies and Balkas.”

Doran must’ve winced. Finn gave him a sympathetic look.

“No fond feelings for your old master, eh? I don’t blame you. Balkas was a brute. I’ll never forget that whipping. No wonder Luca was passing the bastard’s secrets on to Black.”

“You knew?” 

“Yeah, he told me,” said Finn, shrugging. “Needed me to make him a contraption to smuggle information out of Breakwater. And here, listen to this—turns out my daughter joined up with the rebels! She’s alive, Doran, can you believe it?”

“That’s fantastic,” said Doran, his mind still on Luca. “Is she here at Guye?”

“Black left her with friends in the Midlands. A gentleman by the name of Fourteys. He’s got an daughter Wilma’s age. Good people, Black says. They won’t treat my girl like a drudge. And Black wrote to tell Fourteys about me, so he can tell my Wilma that papa is coming for her just as soon as he can.” 

Finn had gone wet around the eyes. Doran pretended not to notice, to spare the big man his dignity. 

As Finn pulled himself together, Doran thought back on what he’d just learned. Finn had known Luca was a spy. Toby knowing was bad enough, but at least Toby had figured it out himself. Luca had actually told Finn. Luca never told anyone anything about himself if he could help it. Connell said they shouldn’t pry; Luca would share when he was ready. And he had shared—a little, anyway—and even if most of it was fucking horrifying, Doran was still grateful to hear it. He knew it wasn’t easy for Luca to tell. That made sense, Doran supposed. If he’d been stripped down as often as Luca, maybe he would’ve clung to his secrets, too. Maybe it made him feel a little less naked, knowing there parts of him the men would never see.

So, fine, let Luca keep his secrets. He’d a right to them. But to trust one of the biggest to Finn! Finn was a nice bloke, but he was a fucking stranger compared to Doran. Hell, Luca one of Doran’s closest friends. He’d thought Luca felt the same.

Maybe he’d thought wrong.

“Twinge in my head,” said Doran, seeing Finn’s questioning look. “Anyone else we know come to Guye from Redditch?” 

Finn rattled off a few names, mostly free laborers or freed forgeworkers. “And Mal Fergus, of course. Never one to pass up an opportunity, eh? His brother’s here too. Ned. Joined the rebels at Absalom. Nice as anything, Ned is, and honest as they come. Dunno how Mal came out so crooked and his brother so straight, but that’s family for you.”

Doran thought of Toby and winced again. No mystery as to which of them was the crooked one.

He’d been wondering how to ask Finn about apprenticing at the forge—as a slave he’d always just been assigned work; he had no idea how to go about asking for it—but luckily Finn gave him the perfect opening. They’d set up Redditch as a sort of arms factory for the Midlands, and most of the smiths had been left behind to run it; they were badly undermanned here at Guye. Oh, no doubt the Dogs of Guye had their own smiths, but Finn wasn’t keen on the chances of peaceful collaboration, not after all the trouble over Luca when they arrived.

Here Finn broke off, and Doran could tell he was about to ask if Doran had heard anything about Luca. To cut him off, Doran blurted out his plan (stupid, now he heard himself stammering it aloud) to train as a blacksmith, or maybe a farrier—something along those lines, anyway, and might there be a place for him at the forge?

To Doran’s relief, Finn responded so enthusiastically it was clear that help was badly needed indeed. 

“You won’t be at an anvil right away, mind,” Finn warned him. “It’ll be fetch and carry work, cleaning tools and the like, but you’ll learn as you go, and the lads’ll be glad of the help.”

Fetch and carry work sounded unpleasantly like what Doran had done as Balkas’s drudge, but he supposed even free men had to start somewhere. 

Mal Fergus wasn’t hard to find. He’d found a plum spot to pitch his tent and was dealing out a hand from his “lucky” (for which read “rigged”) deck of cards to a group of soldiers. They were a mixed lot, three Solasans and an Enkaaran, plus a Guyish-looking fellow chewing a birch twig. All watched Fergus deal with the keen avidity of seasoned gamblers.

Fergus, of course, looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. That was his real gift, Doran thought, even more than quick hands and a devious mind: the ability to appear totally plausible even as he was swindling a group of heavily-armed men. 

As Doran approached the table, a boy stepped out from behind the table to block his path. He looked barely old enough to have left home.

“We’ve got a full table,” he said, crossing his arms.

At this, Fergus looked up to see Doran and broke into a broad grin.

“Doran, as I live and breathe! Fellows, excuse me a moment. My lieutenant here will take over.”

“You set up your new operation fast,” said Doran once he and Fergus were out of earshot. (He bit back the sir just in time.) “Got a new flunky and everything. Did you ditch Carnaby and Graeme at Redditch?”

“I buried them at Redditch.”

Fergus said this so casually that Doran gave him a sharp look. But he wasn’t joking. He wore his usual mild, mocking expression, but his jaw was tight, his eyes remote.

“They died when Black’s men took the garrison?” Doran asked.

“They were Black’s men by then. I recruited them. Maybe if I hadn’t, they wouldn’t’ve been killed by their own barracks-mates.” He tried to smile. “Well, here we are. Out of the ashes and all that. Are you happy to see me?”

“Delighted.”

Now it was Fergus’s turn to give Doran a sharp look.

“Still haven’t forgiven me for cutting you off, eh?”

“I know that was Mouse’s doing.”

“Yeah, but your Mouse is hard to hold a grudge against. Especially now.”

Doran forced himself to shrug. A tense, effortful gesture. Like shouldering a stone.

“Anyway,” he said, “I figure you owe me a drink, s—Fergus. Now I’m a free man and all.”

Fergus laughed.

“That’s right! I promised to take you out on the town, didn’t I?” 

“And rent us a pretty girl.”

“Too bad there’s none of those around. Nancy and the rest stayed back in the Midlands.”

“Good,” said Doran, with a vehemence that took both of them aback. He cleared his throat. “You’ve set up quite the a nice little operation here, s—Fergus. Not worried about Black bringing the hammer down?”

“Ah, well. The thing about Black is, he wants everyone to get along. And cards, they’re the great unifier. A common language, see? Solasans, Enkaarans, Northmen—we all speak aces and spades.”

Doran was about to retort when his gaze was caught by a passerby. Words fled.

It was the young man from Black’s tent, of course, the one with the honey-colored eyes and scar on his cheek. He moved lightly, in long strides, like a stalking cat. His clothes hung well on him; Doran could imagine the tapered waist and lean, muscled thighs beneath the fabric.

He was brought back to earth by Fergus jabbing a sharp finger into his ribs.

“Better watch that roving eye of yours, Doran. That lad’s not on the market.”

“He’s got a lover?”

“A protector, anyway.” 

“How protective of a protector?”

“Put it this way: I’d rather steal a boy from the King’s seray than try to chat up Robert Black’s adoptive brother.”

Oh, fields of hell. Doran was beginning to think that Robert Black had been sent by the gods to thwart him. 

“They’re that close, eh?” said Doran weakly.

“I hear Tam Tregeryth himself wanted to court the lad, but when he went to Black for permission, Black threatened to cut off his head and post it on a pike. He’d do it, too. Gods know he’s ruthless enough. And you must’ve seen that barbarian bodyguard of his. Inseparable, the two of them. Anyway, after that, Black put the word out: Asher Lacey is strictly off-limits.”

“You’re well-informed,” said Doran, trying not to sound bitter. “Been collecting gossip like a fishwife, have you?” 

“I keep my ears open, that’s all.”

“You hear anything about Lord Tobias?”

“Balkas’s shitty little squire?” said Fergus, surprised. “Yeah, he’s up at the Castle. Best-treated prisoner in the kingdom, from what I hear.” He eyed the healing bruises on Doran’s cheek and temple. “A fair sight better than the Dogs treated you, I don’t doubt.”

“They had their reasons,” said Doran. He couldn’t explain without telling Fergus what had happened with Luca, and he’d rather have Robert Black’s bodyguard cut off his head and post it on a pike. 

“Well, if you’re keen on revenge, we’ve had more than a few Northmen sneak out to the moor for a bit of action,” said Fergus. “Would be nice to have a strapping fellow like yourself around to keep an eye on things, like you did at Redditch.”

By keep an eye on things Doran knew Fergus meant stand between me and the pissed-off fellow waving a knife. Doran hadn’t minded when the fellow in question was Solasan: their soldiers were generally willing to let themselves be talked down from a fight, especially if there was a bribe in the offing. But the weeks Doran and Connell had spent as the low men in the Dogs’ hierarchy hadn’t exactly left him impressed with their restraint. And the Enkaarans were a totally unknown quantity.

Seeing his hesitation, Fergus said, “At Redditch, you wanted a free man’s cut. You’re worth more than that to me now, especially with Graeme and Carnaby gone. What d’you say to ten percent of the winnings?”

“Call it twenty, if I’m worth that much to you.”

“Cut the difference at fifteen and I’ll shake your hand, freedman.”

Doran hesitated. Could he get more if he pushed? 

But he was tired of pushing. Whatever fight was left in him after that nightmare journey through the Wychwood had been leached away in the cold void of the pit. Besides, knowing what Fergus took in from the punters at Redditch, fifteen percent was nothing to sneeze at.

As they shook hands, Doran thought of Robert Black ordering him to find an occupation. Well, hark at him now: two occupations before noon, and hardly any work at all to get.

How’s that for earning my supper? he thought triumphantly.

[pepirfecin]

This guy

Something about murderous robots is just so endearing

[francy-sketches]

I'm gonna have to work on my final project non stop for like a month straight bc I procrastinated on it too much fuck my stupid baka life

[enkvyu]

12:45am — gojo satoru ;

“cute earrings, where’d you get them?” shoko asks.

“hm?” still clinging to sleep, you absentmindedly reach up to caress the metal dangling from your ear. the sharp indents of its gem pricks you back into a memory. “oh, these. i got them from a friend last week.”

“friend? or do you mean boyfriend?”

shoko’s words are throwaway, her wandering eyes and yawn a clear indication yet your face warms despite yourself. shaking your head furiously, you exclaim, “a friend! just a friend."

shoko hums, shifting her cigarette to the other end of her mouth. her gaze flickers somewhere behind you and you almost look too, when her words pull you back. “come to think of it, i don’t think you’ve ever told me what your type was.”

“my type?” your mind blanks. “i’ve probably never told you because i’ve never thought about it myself. i mean, being a jujutsu sorcerer and all, romance is kind of off the table.”

shoko keeps looking at you, pressing you without words. you grimace and sigh.

"i mean, i guess, maybe someone good looking? someone who’s not boring? and now that we're talking about it, someone who is fit and athletic too. they'd have to be smart, but not book-smart, like, street-smart." the more you think of it, the more words seem to spill from your mouth. "and someone who has a good sense of humour, someone who will make me laugh.”

“someone good looking, interesting, sporty, smart and funny? that’s too greedy.”

you giggle. “you’re right, there’s no way there’s anyone that perfect. i guess i’ll have to be single forever.”

“you'll always have me.” shoko says, grinning.

you push her shoulder but don’t deny it.

yaga walks into the classroom, cutting your conversation short. you spin around in your seat to face the front, eyes accidentally meeting gojo’s. he turns around too, and you reason that he was probably looking out the window behind you. you see getou snicker and whisper something in his ear, but gojo seemed to be having none of it, blatantly ignoring him.

seeing his face makes you think. didn’t gojo kind of match your type? someone attractive, interesting, athletic and maybe not academic smart, but he definitely carried an air of confidence when it came to fighting. and it wasn't a secret that he lightened the air wherever he went, intentionally or not.

with a start, you look back at shoko. “and someone calm. someone with manners.”

“well-mannered and calm. what insane preferences.” shoko chuckles. “are there any more?"

yaga slams his hand on the table a few times, reluctantly drawing your attention back to the front.

your previous conversation dies and twiddles away into the background, overtaken by droning lectures and predictable missions. by the end of the day, you can't even remember what you had told shoko early that morning.

when you enter the classroom the next day, you’re surprised to find gojo already there, seated at his table. his sunglasses hangs lower on his nose than usual and most curiously of all, a book is held in his hands. you’re not sure if he’s actually reading or not considering that pages were being turned far too quickly for someone reading “ordinary objects” by amie thomasson.

his eyes flicker to yours as you head in. “good morning.”

“morning. what’s with you?”

gojo clears his throat. “what ever do you mean?”

your frown transitions to a grimace. “why are you talking like that? did you break something of mine? was it my potted plant, gojo i told you to take good care of it!”

“i am taking care of it! it’s not dead yet!” he exclaims before pausing uncharacteristically. he sits back in his chair and turns back to his book. “i mean, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“i am.”

you narrow your eyes before looking away, dropping into your seat. “it better be. shoko got me that one.”

“speaking of shoko, is she not coming today?”

“i think she stayed overnight at the morgue.”

“is that so? perhaps i should write notes for her. i wouldn’t want her to miss out on class.”

you turn to him horrified. “so you did kill my plant!”

“i said it’s not dead!” gojo bursts. another pause. he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “i simply worry for her.”

you stare at him and watch as he fidgets under your gaze. “are you feeling sick? did you eat something wrong?”

“i’m not sick. what part of me looks sick?"

“well you’re usually not this…” you watch him as you wrack your brain, trying to find a word to describe this situation. “c…”

gojo leans forward. “yes?”

“crazy.”

he falls back in his chair, groaning, book forgotten and placed harshly down on the table.

you tilt your head. “where's getou, you guys didn’t come to class together? don’t tell me you fought.”

gojo peers up and frowns. “no, can i not show up to class early just because i feel like it?”

“it would be extremely out of character, yeah.” you rest your chin on your hand as you watch gojo mutter to himself, his jaw jutted out and his nose scrunched.

he was clearly unhappy, it didn’t take a scholar to know. it might take a genius to figure out why though.

you had time to kill, might as well take up the challenge. maybe he hadn’t had his morning dose of sugar yet, or maybe his favourite anime had delayed it’s upcoming episode. maybe he didn't save properly on the new game he was playing, or maybe he simply didn't sleep well last night. or maybe he had lied to you and he had fought with getou, leading to this strange attitude.

the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. the way he was acting now was like a mockery to getou's usual behaviour.

“are you trying to be like getou?” you try.

gojo whirs around to face you. “what?”

“well, you’re trying to be composed.” he keeps staring at you and you clear your throat. “like more well-mannered. more calm.”

gojo remains silent but you watch as his jaw drops. you think that he might say something but then his mouth closes, only to open again.

gojo speechless, what a sight. but as good of a sight as it was, you were beginning to feel concerned.

“are you sure you’re alright? what did you eat yesterday?”

he doesn’t register your question. “you think getou is well-mannered?”

“yeah?”

“and calm?”

you nod. “more than you, at least.”

“do you think he’s interesting too? sporty? smart? funny?” he pauses. “good-looking?”

the questions throw you off guard and you sit up. “what? where is this coming from?”

“oh my god, you do.”

“no? i mean, i think getou’s great and everything—”

“you think getou’s great?”

“don’t you?”

“you think getou’s hot.” he concludes. “and you think getou’s great.”

"what are you even saying?"

"i don't know. why don't you tell me?"

baffled, you flail for words. “are you jealous of him? that's strange, i didn’t think either of you would ever feel jealous of each other.”

gojo grits his teeth and looks away. with a pout, he says, “me neither.”

the door to the classroom is thrown open and getou steps through, rubbing the back of his neck. he yawns on his way to his chair and it wakes him up, looking between you and gojo as you both watch him enter.

“what did you guys do?” he asks with a sigh.

“nothing!”

“nothing.” gojo says and glares at him.

getou blinks.

“okay.” he says slowly, sliding out his chair and sitting. “what did i do then? why are you both looking at me like that?”

“gojo’s being weird.” you snitch. “are you guys fighting?”

“how should i know? i thought we were doing okay. gojo, if i did something, use your words and tell me.”

"i'll use my words to tell you to suck my dick instead."

"so i did do something. you're so predictable, gojo."

you snicker as gojo huffs and glances away, looking away out the window behind your head. his train of sight cuts right past you but you can’t help but feel slightly flustered as he looks on, almost like he was looking at you, so determined to ignore getou’s pestering.

subconsciously, you drown getou out too, your traitorous mind observing the blue in gojo’s eyes. you had always thought it was just one colour, but looking at it now, it seemed more like a kaleidoscope of blues, the many shades sparkling and dimming as he watched birds flutter outside the window, and you watched their shadows through his eyes.

something shifts, in the air or in the skies you don't know, and gojo meets your eye. startled, you hold the gaze and he holds it too, just long enough for your lungs to run out of air.

you look away hastily and inhale.

gojo glances to the front, oddly fidgety.

getou looks between the two of you. “what the fuck was that?”

“nothing.” gojo says.

getou clearly doesn't buy it but though he tries to get an answer out of you, you don't give him one either. cupping your cheeks, your thoughts mirror his question. what was that? it was embarrassing, that's what it was and your realisation is only heightened as a silence fills all four corners of the classroom.

gojo clears his throat. “for me, i like someone who i'm already comfortable with. someone i already know.”

at his words, you look over at him and find him already staring. he frowns as you don't give him any other reaction.

yaga saves you from addressing his statement, walking into the room as the bell for class rang. "oh? you're all early, even you gojo. where's shoko?"

“she’s staying at the morgue because of the recent mission.”

“i see.” yaga nods. “then let’s start.”

your mind fails to work as you turn over gojo’s words, thinking them through. what did they mean? what was he talking about? did this weird confession have something to do with why he was acting so strange?

slowly, you draw connections between your conversation with gojo and the talk you had with shoko yesterday morning. an epiphany shoots through you and you cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

did that mean…?

someone he knew? acting strange? getting mad when you said you liked getou?

you watch gojo’s side profile, hoping he’d turn around. if what you thought was right, he’d turn.

seconds tick past. yaga’s voice drawls on and yet gojo doesn't even spare you a glance.

no, maybe you were wrong after all.

just as you were about to face yaga again, gojo’s head shifts and his eye flicks over to yours. they widen when he finds you, and you’re sure you’re in a similar shocked state.

oh my god, you think, eyes darting between him and the other boy in the room.

gojo has a crush on getou.

filler imagine based off of that One scene from the manga: "megane tokidoki yankee kun"

[a-ikuoliver]

w/c: 1.1k tw: needles, at home piercing (DO NOT PIERCE UR TONGUE AT HOME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD), pet names (baby doll, gorgeous) notes: inspired by this thirst hereeeee + thank u my love @ghostbeam for always helping me ilysm

"hold still."

"schorry."

"that means don't speak, idiot."

you roll your eyes in response, pointedly staring at your best friend after you do. his own tongue bar clacking against his teeth when he bites his tongue, concentrating on yours, stuck out over your lips for him to inspect. dyed black hair was all you could see as he dipped, twisted, turned and tilted his head, latex all you could taste as he lifted your tongue with a gloved hand, adjusting the muscle as necessary.

"stick it out as far as you can." you follow touya's instructions, adjusting yourself in the bathroom sink, touya subconsciously stepping further between them when your thighs slip apart, his eyes still focused on your mouth as he stares, his eyebrows drawing further down his face.

you lick your lips as soon as he turns away, attempting to ease the discomfort of your dried lips and pooling saliva from holding your tongue out for so long. touya flashes you a playfully disapproving glance, reaching for the pile of tools sat beside you on the porcelain sink.

"think you can do it?" you study your face like he'd studied your tongue, mapping every freckle, mole, vein, scar and piercing marring the face of the little boy you'd met, you love him like this, you think. so perfectly touya. just as much your touya as he'd been as a hot-headed tween, dragging you by your hand into his room to show off action figures, just as much your touya as he was at sixteen, after his first piercing (well, technically first two, he'd gotten both nostrils at once), when he'd snuck into your room after his mother had seen the gems flash the moment he walked through the door, promising he'd go back home if you watched a new horror movie with him.

"'course i can, gorgeous," you begin to fidget, growing more and more nervous the more he toyed with the tools, gathering what he needed; preparing iodine, lubricant, the needle, the taper and of course the titanium bar. picking up a tissue and something else you can't see, he turns to face you again, inching closer once more, his hips nearly bumping your own on the sink, "that's the point of being a bad influence, isn't it?"

grinning, he pokes his tongue out, metal flashing under low lights, making you hyper aware once more of what you're tucked in your bathroom to do, "alright, out all the way again."

"is that the needle?" you think your voice shakes, staring at the tool he grasped in his left hand with wide eyes, a quiet, wobbly tone like a scared child.

"marker, baby doll, gotta make sure i pierce your pretty tongue nice and straight." touya's smile is crooked, a tiny flash of pearly teeth behind pierced, pink lips.

"oh, okay." still with a wobble in your speech when you begin to fiddle with your fingers, you try to focus instead on the multitude of misshapen chips in your nail polish, trying to decide what colour you might paint them next, wondering if touya will match you with a navy blue, or if the matching tongue bars will be enough.

"i can get you a towel to squeeze? if you're scared?" his voice is low, hushed as he pats your tongue dry, glancing up to your doe eyes as you shake your head, attempting to say you were okay with your tongue out. touya had countless piercings, certain there's more than you can see right now, countless times he'd gone through this process; sanitising, marking, piercing, and not once can you imagine him squeezing something soft in his hands for comfort, digging blunt, painted nails into a plush, imagining a curious face instead, sharp eyes following the needle as you avoided it, maybe crunching his eyes closed in a wince at the very last moment, when the sharp, unforgiving needle tip forced its way through squishy flesh.

"you sure?" he taps the pen on your thoroughly dried tongue, a tiny purple dot staining the centre of your tongue, the fine marker tip making you jump, overly sensitive with adrenaline pulsing through your body, waiting to nod until after he placed the pen aside.

"if you say so, baby doll." you feel the smooth latex of the glove on your tongue again, adjusting his hold on the tip of your tongue to hold the twitching muscle still, looking up to your eyes once more, noticing how you squeezed them shut the moment his muscles twitched to reach beside you for the sterile needle.

"ready?"

"uhuh."

"breathe in." your hands twitch in your lap as you suck in a deep breath, holding it in your chest even as he chastises you for it, muttering a quiet, gentle, "you have to breathe out, too, idiot."

your hands fly to his hips the second the needle touches your tongue, not even quite piercing it yet, gripping him like your life depended on it, a soft whimper echoing from the back of your throat as the needle came out through the underside, your exhale shaky as you clutch touya's hips tighter, your body tense as he whispers soft encouragements for you to keep breathing, "go nice and slow, gorgeous, like that."

you listen as best you can, focusing on the sensation of the denim underneath your fingertips, how it feels to drag your nails over the material, how your lungs inflate and deflate, how touya's voice sounds in the shell of your ear as he comforts you, praising your stillness as he places the bar at the end of the taper.

"i'm gonna put the bar in now, baby, you ready?" you don't nod, not risking moving, instead shifting your fingers to slide under the hem of his shirt, gently tapping thrice on his hot skin, y-e-s, before tucking your fingers securely into his hemline, holding him as tightly as you could when he instructs you to breathe again, "in, 1-2-3, out. did so perfect, baby."

touya doesn't move, doesn't step out of your gravity, out of your hold on him, back three steps into safety from whatever was blooming between you the longer you held him between your thighs with saliva gathering on your swollen tongue, a minuscule amount of tears gathering in your waterline with your wobbly exhale. you make no move either, keeping your hands tucked into the hem of his faded jeans, your tongue out and your eyes closed, cracking one open only when he rests his hands on your thighs, "you will not live it down if you drool on me."

closing your mouth, you giggle before wincing, resting your head on his chest as you whined out at him, "ow, touya, don't make me laugh."

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[staylovesmiley]

Mixtape: OH~ Chapter 1

₊˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Han Jisung x Fem!reader

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Summary; Having a crush on your friend/roommate while trying to navigate college life is hard enough as it is, what happens after you find out the secret he has been hiding?

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Warnings; college!au, female!reader, angst, smut, mentions of sexual harassment, alcohol and drug use, she/her pronouns used for reader, this is very loosely based off the overall themes/tones of the manga and anime “kiss him, not me!”~

“So…you gonna buy it?”

Soft chocolate brown eyes flit around the room, his honey skin flushed lightly caused by the cider he had been nursing throughout the night.

“Ya know what? Sure- gotta take down Minnie-opolis one property at a time.”

Cool condensation wets your palm due to the cold glass of cola you sip on while you listen to the chatter of your friends around you, not fully paying attention to anything but the man sitting so close beside you on the floor that your thighs are pressed together.

“Pay up then, baldie!”

“oh that was so uncalled for! I still have hair, ya know! It’s just buzzed.”

“Yeah, you look like a kiwi fruit.”

An exchange of flimsy paper money for a piece of card stock printed with the property being purchased is made across the coffee table and a moment later there is a shout that draws everyone’s attention, well….almost everyone.

“Ya! Don’t think I didn’t see that, you little cheat! That money is supposed to go in the bank not your personal stash!”

Playful argumentative yelling bounces off the walls of the small apartment belonging to two of your dearest friends, ending with a little metal playing piece being thrown and the sound of it making contact with its target as a loud shout sounds to your left.

“Okay okay someone else please be the banker?? We can’t trust this dog with such an important task, the power is going to his head.”

A tongue licks over a plump bottom lip after the bottle of cider is finally finished off, a soft clink sounding as it is placed gently on top of the table. God you wished it was your tongue instead.

“Uh- hellooo? Earth to Winnie??” You startle slightly, the sound of your nickname jolting you out of your trance as you turn to see Jeongin eyeing you expectantly from across the table, blush fanning over your cheeks as you realize they had been trying to get your attention for a while.”Sorry, Innie…think I’m starting to get sleepy.” You say, playing off your lack of attention with what you hope is a convincing yawn and a little stretch of your arms and shoulders. “You wanna call it a night? We do have class in the morning-“ Jisung whispers from your right, hand coming to rest on your thigh and the warmth you feel from the contact makes your brain feel fuzzy.

“Uh- yeah, maybe that’s a good idea. Sorry guys-“ You reply sheepishly as you move to rise from your spot on the floor. Your best friend is giving you a knowing look, smirking as he nudges your other best friend to his left and you mentally groan as Celine stifles a giggle and turns to whisper something to a confused looking Chris who’s eyes widen after she pulls away with his mouth making a little ‘o’ before he nods in understanding.

“Night guys! Gotta drive the lightweight home and pray he doesn’t have too bad of a hangover in the morning.” You tease, bumping your shoulder lightly against your roommates as he whines. “Ya- I’m not that much of a lightweight anymore!” He complains though you know it’s all for fun. The two of you say your goodbyes to your friends before heading out and down the wooden steps to your car parked a few spaces down from the exit of the old apartment complex.

Your roommate, Han Jisung, slips into the passenger seat as you enter on the drivers side. With your foot on the break you push the start button and the engine roars to life while your passenger princess eagerly turns his heated seat on max and cozies up against the leather material before buckling himself in. “We could have stayed a little longer if you had wanted to, ya know…I could have gone and crashed in Celine and Chris’s room for an hour or two to let you all finish the game-“ The man is quick to shake his head at your admission, giving you a warm smile as you start to back up from the parking space.

“Nah, you and I both know the second your head hit that pillow your ass wouldn’t be up until morning and you’d be late to class having to double back and grab your book bag from home.” You sigh in defeat, knowing full well he is right. “No fair- you know all my bad habits by now you shouldn’t be allowed to call me out like that.” He chuckles and leans his head against the cool pain of the window while looking over at you to watch as your focus lays on the road ahead. “No can do, my baby. It’s cause I know you so well that I have the privilege and duty to call you out.” You groan, hearing him call you his baby always makes you weak and really you shouldn’t let it go to your head too much as just last week he was calling Hyunjin in the same way as you both met in the quad before grabbing a quick lunch in between classes.

You had met Jisung two years ago, at the beginning of freshman year when your friend Celine had introduced you to her new boyfriend Chris and his slowly growing group of friends. The two of you had instantly hit it off and after years of feeling like an outcast despite your two best friends always being by your side you finally felt like you had found somewhere you belonged. Your crush on the slightly older man didn’t happen until after you had moved in together your second year of college as you had both been desperate to get out of the dormitories and into a proper apartment.

It was simple, really. The way he would brush his hand against your lower back gently as he passed by while you were cooking a meal or washing the dishes, giving you a soft smile and muttering an apology as you both maneuvered in your impossibly tiny kitchen. You always felt a blush creeping up your neck and to the tips of your ears when he gave you one of those smiles, big boba eyes looking so soft and apologetic you couldn’t help but step aside to make his exit a bit easier despite wishing he would touch you again in such a soft manner. Your feelings for him only deepened over time, though you would never admit it to him. You couldn’t admit it to him, despite Celine insisting that Chris said your roommate was obviously down bad for you as well. His evidence? The way he would always cut their producing sessions short the second your location showed that you had arrived home, the way he would light up at the mention of you or when he would be in the spare room of Chris and Celine’s apartment and both of you girls would pop in to say high after a girls day out, or how he hadn’t changed his phone’s lockscreen from the picture Jeongin had taken of the two of you in the living room of your then brand new apartment, boxes of your belongings stacked haphazardly around the surrounding space as you both held up your keys with cheesy grins that made your cheeks feel sore after it was taken.

You were not convinced, however, your bad brain telling you that no one as charming and charismatic as Han Jisung could ever feel more than a platonic connection with you.

Even now as you entered your small two bedroom apartment just outside of campus, dropping your keys in the bowl by the front door and slipping off your shoes as Jisung did the same with a slight stumble as even though he’d only had the one drink he was such a lightweight it still had an effect on him.

You made your way inside with your arm loosely around his waist under the guise of helping him steady himself. Jisung allowed it, head coming to rest on your shoulder as you made it to his door. “Winnie, baby?” He cooed softly, looking up at you with big brown eyes that always melted you into a puddle under their gaze. “Yes, Ji?” You said softly, pulling away to look at him just as soft. “Do you um-“ he started, looking between you and his door a few times giving you the impression he was going to ask you to stay the night in his room.

It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to fall asleep in one of your beds, snuggled up on nights after a long study session or when either of you needed an extra bit of comfort after receiving a bad grade. You nodded to him, trying to not seem too eager as he looked down at his feet. “Do you want to stop by the cafe on campus before class tomorrow morning?” You paused, trying to hide the disappointment you were feeling with a smile and small nod. “Y-Yeah, Ji. That sounds like a good idea.” He looked back at you with a bright smile before opening his door. “Sweet! Okay- I’ll see you in the morning then.” You giggled a bit, nodding to him as you turned to head for your own room. “Don’t over sleep too much or we won’t be able to go to the cafe without being late.” You called out to him before closing yourself in your room.

You sighed, the darkness of the room surrounding you as your eyes slowly adjusted. It was silly to be so upset at not being asked to sleep in your roommate’s bed, as if you had any claim on the space. You carefully got dressed into an oversized hoodie and pair of sleep shorts before laying down and grabbing a make up wipe from your bedside table to haphazardly remove the small traces you had worn that night before pulling your spare pillow to your chest. If you couldn’t fall asleep with the beautiful musical theory major in your arms then this would have to do until you maybe one day worked up the courage to tell him how you felt.

The smell of deli pickles and the loud sound of the latest pop hits surrounded you as you poked around at your salad absentmindedly while Jeongin sat across from you ranting about something your professor had left a comment about on his most recent assignment. You were too busy thinking about how earlier that morning Jisung had come up behind you in the quad in between classes and wrapped his arms around your waist with his head rested on your own while you had been talking with Felix and Jeongin about the party that was happening later that evening.

The musician had lit up as he pulled back to look at you in surprise. “Wait- you’re going to Junnie-hyung’s party too? I thought you said those were too loud and crowded.” He pouted, arms giving you a squeeze before falling limp at his sides. “Well I wasn’t gonna go but Lix insists I need to get out of the house more than our normal game nights with the crew.”

He still held the pout on his lips, arms crossing over his chest. “But if you’re going to the party who’s gonna stay in and watch dramas with me and listen to me complain about the lead girl picking the wrong guy??” He said with a little whine, one hand coming to hold your bicep and you felt your resolve cracking. Maybe you should just stay in after all with your crush instead of going out to a party you’d most likely get overstimulated at and wish you were at home anyways. That’s when Felix perked up and bounced over to wrap his arms around Jisung with excitement. “Well then you should just come with us!” The musician groaned as he let the slightly younger engineer squeeze him before shaking their bodies dramatically. “Come ooon it’ll be fun! Please?” You gave him a small smile, and that’s all it took for Jisung to agree.

“Hello? Winnie- Are you even paying attention?” Jeongin huffed, popping a fry in his mouth as you looked up from your salad to give him a bashful smile. “Sorry, innie- was trying to figure out what I’m gonna wear to the party tonight…” You felt his smirk on you before you saw it and you whined, knowing what he was about to say before he even spoke. “Why? Trying to impress a certain someone?” He teased lightly as he took a bite of his sandwich. “No- just…there are gonna be a lot of people there so I wanna look nice.” You shrugged, taking a bite of your salad while your companion gave you an exasperated look. “Stop playing around, it’s just the two of us here. Anyways, it’s not like everyone isn’t already aware of your little crush but him.” Jeongin comments as he finishes off half of his sandwich and goes in for a bite of the second half. “Still- you act like my world revolves around pleasing Jisung.” You mumbled, eating a piece of chicken out of your salad as you thought for real this time about what you should wear to the party. “Will you help me pick something out? You’re way better at this than I am.” Jeongin smirked, nodding his head enthusiastically. “You’re giving me a chance to dress you up? Hell yeah. I’ve been dying to do something about your wardrobe situation for a while.” You gasped at him playfully while picking a fry off his place to throw at him. “Are you saying I don’t have style?!” He laughed, picking up the fry you threw from the table to pop it in his mouth before answering. “You have the style of an eighty year old grandmother with those cardigans you always wear.” You rolled your eyes before continuing with your meal. “Besides, gotta make you look hot so maybe you’ll finally grow the balls to tell Hanji how you feel.” Your eyes widened at that. It’s like he could read your mind- how you had been thinking of using this party as a way to gain the confidence to confess. The two of you finished your meal in relative silence, chatting here or there about class before finishing up and making your way back to campus for the rest of your day.

The bass was loud, as expected, the floor beneath your feet practically vibrating as the drink in your hand left a bitter taste on your tongue but you continued to sip at it in hopes it would blur the anxiety edging in your mind. Jeongin had done a wonder on you, dressing you in a lacy black cropped cami you completely forgot you had purchased and a miniskirt with a red floral pattern you normal would have worn under thick tights but tonight he had handed you a pair of fishnets you knew you did not own prior and he had to have brought them with him. You had to fight him on allowing you to wear a plain black cardigan, insisting that the cool autumn air would freeze you to death without it.

You made your way through the crowds carefully as to not spill your drink on yourself or others as you were already starting to feel a nice buzz when you happened to run into the man of the hour, your friend Yeonjun who was now the chapter president of the fraternity who’s party you were attending. “Winnie! Oh my god I didn’t think you’d actually come!” He exclaimed excitedly as he pulled you into a warm hug, patting you on the back lightly as he pulled away. “Well I wasn’t going to but Felix made a compelling argument-“ you giggled, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as he reached for the drink in your hand. “Whatcha got here?” You made to stop him before he tipped it back and made a face like he was going to spit it out. “What the hell was that?! Who gave you that?” He groaned, taking your hand firmly before dragging you towards the kitchen. “Wooyoung mixed it up- no clue what he put in there but he swore it’d be good.” The older man scoffed as you leaned against the counter while he poured your cup out and began making something new for you to drink. “Figures. That dude has no taste- I’m sure he’d drink nail polish remover if he thought it would give him a buzz.” You laughed, taking the drink he offered you with a thanks before taking a sip and sighing in relief. “Better?” He asked, an amused smile playing at the corner of his mouth and you nodded. “Much, thank you again.”

You stayed talking with Yeonjun in the kitchen for a while, catching up with him before he was pulled away by another member of his fraternity to play some drinking game you weren’t too knowledgeable. By the time you found another familiar face you were pleasantly intoxicated with yet another drink to sip on being thrust into your hand by an equally as intoxicated Hyunjin. “You look hot, Winnie bear.” He said with a smirk and a nudge to your hip with his own. You heard a chorus of agreement from the rest of your friends around you causing a blush to fan across your cheeks. “It’s all thanks to Innie! He deserves the credit.” You said, trying to take the attention off of yourself and thankfully it worked somewhat as the conversation naturally drifted off and you were able to sip your drink and listen in as your mind wandered until you could feel someone’s gaze burning into you.

Jisung. He was staring at you with an unreadable expression as he sipped at the drink in how own hand. The colorful flash of the strobe lights in the living room illuminated his honeyed skin in a way that mesmerized you and you swallowed hard before stumbling up to him. His hand came to your waist instantly as he let out a light chuckle. “Woah there, careful baby.” You blushed, feeling a bit embarrassed but the feeling of his hand still resting on the dip of your waist spurred you on as well as the earlier gassing up of your attire that evening. “You were staring, Hanji~” You sing songed to him, giggling a bit as you looked up into his eyes adoringly. He blinked a few times before shaking his head. “Just making sure you’re alright. You don’t usually come to these and you seem to be pretty drunk.” Jisung teased, poking your cheek though he pulled his finger away quickly as you turned to bite it playfully.

“You are so sweet, Ji…always looking out for me.” You cooed, head coming to rest on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you to steady you against him. “Well I-“ he started but you cut him off quickly. “And you’re always so pretty…prettiest man I’ve ever seen.” He blushed now, though you could barely see it under the still flashing lights in the room. The bass still booming around you caused you to feel hazy and the smell of his cologne would have been intoxicating alone without all of the alcohol you had consumed. “Have you seen Lee Minho?” He asked, obviously trying to tease but his voice seemed a little bewildered as he looked down at you curiously. “Han Jisung just take the damn compliment!” You pouted, stomping your foot in playful annoyance causing him to laugh. “Okay that’s enough alcohol for you, you are acting silly.” He said, gently taking your cup from you and sitting it down. “Noo no I’m having a good time! I’m with a pretty boy and I’m at a party and I feel greaaat~!” You stumbled more as you tried to leave his side to grab your drink but his arm tightened around you until your chests were flush together.

You both stood there for a moment with wide eyes staring at each other, and something seemed to possess you as you slowly started to lean in. You were gonna do it, gonna finally kiss the plush lips of the gorgeous man you had been living with for the past year and a half. Just as you were inches from impact his hands moved to your shoulders and he took a step back. “Alright, really you are being silly now. Let’s go find Channie-hyung and get him to take us home, yeah?” You sighed, feeling defeated as you nodded and let him take your hand and lead you to where Chris and Celine were sitting making out on the couch. Fuck your life, that couldn’t have gone any worse.

It was a few weeks after your drunken attempt at kissing your roommate that you were sat across from him in the library studying for your respective classes while quietly snacking on the grapes you had packed for the stuffy session.

Neither of you had spoken about that night much, besides Jisung teasing you about the massive hangover you had the next day. Nothing had seemed to change, and you were grateful for that. Jisung didn’t treat you any differently, probably assuming you trying to kiss him was only due to your intoxicated state and not any underlying feelings you’ve had for him since moving in together. You felt like you could breathe easy with that thought comforting your nerves.

Just as you were popping another grape into your mouth your roommate stood with a stretch of his likely sore muscles from sitting folded up in an uncomfortable library chair for the past few hours. “I’m gonna take a bathroom break, yeah? Don’t slack off without my moral support while I’m gone.” He teased, giving you a wink as he turned and made his way to the far end of the building where the restrooms were located. You hummed to yourself one of the tracks Jisung had played for you earlier, asking your opinion on the tune although you knew next to nothing about music in comparison to the prodigy he was. You both had a shared sociology class that you had been studying for a test together for the past hour and you got to a spot you knew he took some good notes for. He wouldn’t mind if you just..took a look at them while he was gone, right? Surely not. You know if you asked him he’d willingly turn them over anyway so it shouldn’t be an issue to just take a peek. You got up from your spot and took his seat before carefully scanning over what he had open on his laptop.

her moans echoed off the walls as his hand traveled lower, caressing her body in a way that drove her mad as he pressed he back firmly against the wet tile of the shower wall.

Oh. These were definitely not the notes for class. What even was he working on? Probably some fanfiction for one of his beloved dramas or animes. You giggled a bit and continued to read, your curiosity getting the better of you and also maybe you could get an idea of what he was into this way.

Gently he pushed a finger inside, the wetness from her arousal and the steady stream of water flowing down their bodies making the slide easy. His forehead rested against her own as she gasped. “J-Jeongin~”

Wait- what?! Jeongin. As in….Yang Jeongin? Your Yang Jeongin? Yang Jeongin who grew up in the same neighborhood as you, whose mother was your mother’s best friend in college. Jeongin who for the first few years of your life you were convinced was your cousin and even your parents couldn’t tell you that you weren’t. Why was Jisung writing explicit stories about him- what even was this?! Still, you continued to read until your eyes caught something that confused you even more.

”oh Winnie, so wet for me already? I’ve barely touched you.” He chuckled darkly as he began pumping his finger in a slow rhythm before adding a second and picking up the pace.

You- you’re Winnie….no- what is even happening right now?! Your roommate who is one of your best friends, that you have had a crush on for a year, is writing….smut about you and your childhood best friend? You shake your head, unable to fully wrap your mind around what you just read but then your eyes widen as you hear Jisung singing along to some song that had been playing in the car earlier that day and getting scolded by the librarian as he made his way back to you. Shit.

You scramble back to your seat, heart racing as you try to seem nonchalant like you hadn’t just read that Jisung was writing about one of your closest friend’s finger blasting you in the shower. “Hey baby, miss me?” He teased, taking his seat and casually placing his headphones back around his neck. “Haha yeah definitely- you have those notes from Mr. Lewis’ class? I’m stuck and you always have better notes-“ You feel sweat beading at the back of your neck from the adrenaline, worrying in the back of your mind that you will get caught for snooping. “You got it, baby.” He coos, pushing a notebook your way and you curse yourself in your mind that of course he wouldn’t have notes on his computer but in one of the millions of notebooks he kept on his person. “Thanks, Ji.” You breathe out, trying to keep calm as you attempt to get back to work.

What the actual fuck was that.

author’s note; happy birthday to meee~~ it’s currently 12:36am Jan13th and I’m officially half fifty ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒ hope you all enjoyed the first chapter~~ this is just the beginning hehehe

taglist; (pink users I wasn’t able to tag) @chancloud8 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @extremechaoswarning @jisunglyricist @imeverycliche

[kissenturine]

boothill,, gunplay. thats the thought,, if ur comfortable writing that ofc ofc

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 boothill x m!reader — 1.4k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: gun play, slight chocking, boothill puts his gun in reader's mouth, boothill kind of bends reader over, boothill also makes reader jerk off, uh boothill kinda mean-ish, he pretends to shoot reader, aftercare is not written but it is given! lmk if i missed anyy :3

KAI SAYS: hello guys,, shorter than usual bc ive landed myself in the er due to multiple reasons haha (chronic hives, low blood pressure, fainting spells, dehydration, etc) and i miiight not be able to post until like next weekend maybe (?) so so soso sorry for the inconvenience aaargh, writing this in the hospital too... not dying tho everything super minor so!!

The first time you ever saw Boothill pull a gun was at a training centre. He said something about wanting to work on his aim, and so he decided to head there, late at night. No one else was there—just the two of you.

Boothill pulls out his gun, flicking a few bullets into the spinning revolver with practiced ease before he pulls the trigger. A loud ‘bang’ fills the room, followed by the sound of his metal bullets clinking to the floor after the shot.

“Well color me stoked.” Boothill grins, showing off his sharp teeth. “Seems I ain’t that bad after all!”

“Well, you were always good with guns, anyway.” You respond, returning Boothill’s grin with a smile of your own. He was indeed good with guns, and it was undoubtedly attractive.

Boothill’s hands spin the revolver, watching the metal clink. It was much too fast for you to see, so you didn’t know which one ended up landing. Boothill is quick to draw his gun again, smirking as he pointed it at you—straight into your chest.

“Boothill?” You question. “What are you—”

You are cut off by the loud sound of his gun shooting. Your eyes shut and you winced instinctively, your body tensing up for the bullet that was about to hit your skin.

…Yet it never happened. 

Cracking one eye open, you peer at Boothill cautiously, only to find him gripping his metal abs, a roaring laugh rolling from his lips. “Oh, darlin’ you know I’d never shoot ya!” He laughs again, though this time it was softer. “C’mon, love, I’d never hurt ya.” He murmurs sweetly as he makes his way closer to you, his gun still in hand.

He presses the muzzle playfully against your chest, trailing it up and down your abdomen. Boothill’s smirk only widened as he slipped his gun—along with the hand holding it—under your shirt. He presses the muzzle right against your nipple, watching you shiver at the cool metal.

“Boothill.” You whisper firmly. “What’re you doing?”

He says nothing, only continuing to drag his gun against your skin, sending shivers of delight across your body.

Eventually, his gun finds its way to the hem of your pants. Boothill gives you a wicked smile before he uses his free hand to yank down your pants and boxers, exposing your half-hard cock. “Well, ain’t that a pretty sight.” He cooes, letting the muzzle of his gun rest against your tip.

“Jerk it for me, pretty boy.” Boothill says. You blink up at him, confusion filling your face.

“Huh…?” You question.

“I said.” Boothill groans, pressing the muzzle of his gun harder into your tip. “Jerk it for me, or else I’m gonna be shootin’ this pretty lil’ dick o’ yours.” Boothill wouldn’t really. You knew that. He said it himself. And yet… the fear that he would is still there, forcing small tears to well in your pretty eyes as you looked up at him desperately.

“O-Okay.” You comply, wrapping your hand around your shaft as you slowly start to glide your closed fist up and down.

“Good boy.” Boothill praises, and his voice makes your dick twitch against his gun.

You move your hand, squeezing as you get to your tip and rolling your thumb to spread your precum. You throw your head back, moaning loudly as Boothill rocked the muzzle of his gun in time with your hand.

“Look at ya.” He groans, his free hand going to squeeze at your throat. “Gettin’ off to my gun pointed at ya.” Boothill smirks, rolling the revolver again until the familiar ‘click’ sound resounds around the room. “Pretty thing, d’ya even know what this could do to you? Or are you too dumbed down already?”

“Stop teasin’” You whine, your hand's pace slowing as you turn your gaze away from Boothill’s. “Not that dumb yet…”

“Yet.” He repeats, removing his gun from your dick. “Think I can change that real quick, no?” A sharp laugh escapes Boothill’s lips as he suddenly hoists you up and off the barstool you sat on. He spins your body with only a smidge of grace as he lands you roughly on your stomach against the table, your ass now facing Boothill.

“Aeons, you’re so pretty…” He murmurs, his hands roughly groping the fat of your ass. “Can’t believe yer all mine…”

A whine slips from your lips, high and pathetic as your eyes flutter closed. “Yeah…” You whisper. “All yours…” You feel Boothill drag the muzzle along your back—sliding it under your shirt, before he pulls his arm up, tearing through the thin fabric. You shiver at the newfound cold, goosebumps prickling your exposed skin.

You hear the zipper of his pants as he pulls it down, pulling out his cock and tapping it against your clothed ass before he’s yanking down your shorts. Boothill traces a metal finger around your puckered rim, eyeing you carefully. “Such a cute ‘lil hole…” He whispers out breathlessly. “Can’t wait to fuckin’ destroy it.”

The instant Boothill stops speaking, you feel the tip of his metal cock push past your hole, stretching you out more than you could ever imagine—despite doing this with him before. “Boothill.” You moan out, eyes fluttering as you crane your neck to look at him—only to have your face pushed right back into the table by the shove of his gun against the back of your head,

“Stay still f’me, pretty.” Boothill groans, easing his cock into you. The more he pushes in, the more painful the stretch is… And yet, the more painful it is, the more pleasure your body seems to derive from it. Boothill is only halfway in when you feel like you’ve been stuffed to your limit. A pathetic sound escapes you and you feel his gun press down harder.

Boothill removes his gun from you, using it to force your head to the side. He leans down, spitting a thick glob of spit all over the muzzle, smirking as it gets his gun all messy. “Open.” He taps it against your lips, making sure to smear his spit all over. Boothill’s smirk only widens when you follow, opening your mouth and letting his muzzle sit between your pretty lips. “Atta boy.” He whispers, thrusting with full force his cock into your awaiting hole.

“Boothill…!” You moan out, though it’s muffled by his gun pressing against the flat of your tongue. Your thighs tense at the sudden pleasure. A gurgly whine leaves your throat. “I can’t—”

“You can,” Boothill growls, pressing his gun deeper into your throat. His thumb goes to spin the revolver, making sure it lands on a slot with a bullet before continuing, “and you will. Ya know why, cutie? ‘Cause you're my good boy, and good boys take what they’re given.”

He sets a brutal pace after, thrusting into you relentlessly. It doesn’t matter how you plead, all Boothill does is press his gun further down your throat—until you’re sure your lips will bleed from the stretch. Eventually, his tip knocks against your prostate, sending you over the edge. Your dick squirts a load, all over the table and floor, yet Boothill doesn’t falter.

“Look at you, cummin’ like a slut.” He groans, and his pace seems to increase. He’s suddenly going harder, faster, everything that makes your head spin with the added overstimulation.

You cry against the gun, tears welling in the corner of your eyes. Boothill seems to enjoy the sight, leaning down to kiss softly against the back of your neck, his free hand wrapping around your waist and fisting your spent cock.

“That’s it…” He coos. “You think ya can give me one more?” His hand increases, matching the rhythm of his thrusts as he knocks into your prostate again and again and again. “C-C’mon, need t’do it together.” You nod your head eagerly, drool slipping from between the corner of your lips and his gun.

Boothill thrusts harshly, finally sending you over the edge for the second time, and you feel his metal dick twitch in time with you. Your eyes roll back, ecstasy overwhelming you as Boothill pumps a thick, sticky load into your ass, painting your walls white.

“You’re so good f’me…” He coos into your ear, sliding his gun slowly out of your mouth. With a familiar click, the resounding sound of a gunshot echoes throughout the room as he shoots his last bullet into the table—right by your head. “You’re always so good an’ pretty with my gun…”

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @helloanime @kiekole (send ask without anon to be added)

© KISSENTURINE. do not translate, plagiarize, edit, or repost

[muletia]

ugh the optimus ruining your garden ask makes me wanna be mean to him. just a little 🤏. maybe he's being extra clingy when you're trying to get smth done or he accidentally breaks smth again. so you're scolding him while jerking his spike and he's trying to make a cohesive apology, but it's the 5th time you've made him cum and words are starting to be harder and harder to find. then you can tease him about how someone who's given so many inspirational, articulated speeches to his fellow autobots now can't even sob out a "sorry" :(

-💕

cw: sub!optimus, dom!reader, handjob, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, teasing

word count: 750

thank you primus for the existence of overstimulation and for allowing me to torture my favorite characters with it 🙏

"Really, darling, twice in a row is just too much." You click your tongue a few times.

Your hand moves steadily, gripping and tugging at the swollen but valiantly enduring spike. Your skin, slick with pink transfluid, glides smoothly over the impressive length, maintaining the same irritated rhythm, channeling your frustration caused entirely by Optimus.

"I already explained to you, don’t step on my flowers. And don’t even try to tell me it was an accident. I’m absolutely certain you did it on purpose just to get me to punish you a little."

"A little" is quite the understatement when you’ve forced him to overload multiple times in a row. You’ve completely worn him out. His processor is fried, helm’s insides reduced to mush, leaving him incapable of thinking about anything other than the pleasure flooding his entire frame. How exquisitely stupid and helpless he felt, to the point where he kept pushing his hips into your hand, desperately trying to match the rhythm you set. Syncing his movements with yours, chasing another overload. And then another. And another, if it meant more of your touch and your attention focused solely on him.

"I-I a-am so sowwrhy!" he stammers, barely capable of forming words anymore.

"I don’t know, I just don’t see any remorse on your face, Opti. Are you sure you’re truly sorry?"

With his optics rolled back and his intake hanging wide open, coolant dripping from its corners, all you can read from his expression is that he’s having the time of his life. Not a single trace of guilt, no regret for your poor, trampled flowers.

Which is why you don’t believe the dramatic nodding he’s offering you. Especially not when his spike spasms, already preparing for another overload, even though Optimus doesn’t have any more transfluid left to give you — not even a single drop. That doesn’t stop him from shooting blanks, still thrusting his hips without pause, while you relentlessly and methodically jerk off his hard spike.

"Well? Use your words, darling. Are you sorry?"

"Ah, hah!"

"Moans aren’t words," you sigh, propping your elbow on his overheated thigh and resting your head on your outstretched hand. "Try again."

"Y- ah! Yew... mmMm!"

"Should I stop milking your spike? Would that help you find the words?"

He shakes his head frantically. You can’t help the slightly sadistic smile that creeps onto your lips.

"Then keep trying, sweetheart. I won’t let you go until you properly apologize to me."

"A-ah, so-sowwhry!" he sobs.

Your grip tightens around his spike, your hand firmly pressing against the living metal. He knows he’s being punished; understands that he’s failing to accomplish this one simple task, but he’s no longer capable of forming coherent words — nothing more complex than moans.

"Is that supposed to be an apology?" you scoff, the sharpness in your tone drawing a quick yelp from Optimus.

"Sow-Sowrhy!" he repeats, once again. He tries, programmed to obey your every command, but the result is pitiful and pathetic as he fails, breaking down when he can’t manage even one simple word.

Not when his entire frame is focused solely on chasing the next overload. On your soft hand milking his spike, your elbow digging into his trembling, oversensitive thigh. On your voice, icy and cutting against his spark. On simple, easy-to-understand directives, because anything more complex is far beyond the capacity of his poor, overworked processor right now.

"Oh, Opti. Is that the best you can do?"

"Ah! So-hah!"

"The great Prime, gifted with the talent for composing beautiful, inspiring speeches, and he can’t even string together a single simple apology."

He scrapes his servo against the floor as another empty overload wracks his spent spike. Yet you don’t stop moving your hand, forcing him to prepare for the next one.

This time, he doesn’t even bother trying to use his vocalizer, reduced to mindless whimpering.

"I expected more from you. A full essay on how sorry you are. I thought you’d rise to the challenge. You’re Optimus Prime. Prime! The gift of stirring oratory runs through your circuits!"

"Hah, so-sowwh..."

"And you can’t even manage a simple ‘sorry’?"

"S-sorwh... AH!"

You sigh and subtly slow the pace of your hand on his spike. Playtime is one thing, but you don’t want to accidentally kill him.

Though, knowing his submissive tendencies, he wouldn’t have any objections to dying by your hand.

"Let’s try again. And this time, I want an apology worthy of a Prime."

[cherryspeaches]

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die - Chapter 1

Summary: Having lost everything, you joined the games with no hope or expectation of winning. Despite it all, you found something interesting in #001. Maybe you'd stick around a little longer. Chapter wc: 1.1k

------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ugh. Shut the fuck up. The bed springs above me continued to creak, bearing the weight of the middle-aged man that lay on it. It doesn’t bode well to be a light sleeper in a room that you once shared with over 400 people. Little whispers, light snores and soft noises fill up the empty space of the huge room that you’ve been placed in, little rest is present amongst those remaining after the harrowing experience of witnessing death’s embrace, through a fucking children’s game of all things… You stare at the metal frame that lines and supports the bed above you, the only view that’s offered to you in this hellscape. Being placed in a very awkward third bunk placement has stifled your daydreaming tendencies, preferring the company and comfort of the make-believe instead of your present reality. You envied those close to the floor, being able to root their feet and center their bodies to the ground with much more ease. You also envied those closest to the ceiling, closer to the covered stars and having the room to breathe.  You chose to focus your thoughts towards your discontent with the sleeping arrangements, since the alternative is a reality you don’t want to face quite yet. Hoping that it’s been enough time since the lights went off, you slowly feel your pockets for your most treasured item: your older model MP3 player and wired headphones. Feeling it’s weight in your hand, you let out a small sigh of relief. You still don’t understand why they let you keep this when they confiscated literally everything else of yours, but you have noticed that they let players keep little items or trinkets like rapper extraordinaire Thanos with his entirely non-covert drug filled necklace, or that little old lady with that very gaudy hair pin that looks like it’s from the 60’s. You made a mental note to stay away from Thanos, those pretty little pills would do your attempt at recovery more harm than good. Unravelling the knot of your headphones, you go through the motions of placing each earbud in and turn on your device to play at the lowest speed possible, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself or your precious music player.  Letting the music fill your ears, you wonder if it’s worth trying to figure out literally anything about this place or if it’s simply easier to embrace your inevitable fate, it’s something you’ve been asking for at least for the last ten years. Having lost both your parents in a truck accident when you were just 18 devastated you in more ways than you could have ever expected. Not only did you lose your parents who have worked diligently to raise you and your older sister, but you also lost your physical home due to repossession from the bank after failing to pay back the necessary debts just days before their accident. Your parents had taken out a loan to be able to pay for the business that your father started, which suffered severely when the pandemic did its rounds. With no other family to turn to as all your grandparents had passed, your family had booked a motel for a week to organise themselves and try and figure out a living situation first, before looking at debt repayment strategies. The only available location within the affordable budget was in a very sketchy area, where crime was as natural as breathing. It was to no one’s surprise that your parents ended up losing their lives, the mode of death however was a surprise… so simple for a place where violence surrounds you. 

Their passing allowed you no time to grieve. You reached out to your older sister for support however every call, message and plea went unanswered. You weren’t surprised, she fell off the face of the earth a few years prior to the car accident, claiming she “made it” with her rich new boyfriend. You’d never met him, and you never knew what became of her. You had no time to grieve for the loss of your sibling bond either. 

The few days after the funeral, you had reached out to your old friend to ask for a place to live while you sorted yourself out. She had generously allowed you to stay on her couch as long as you needed, it was then that you truly felt the gravity of your situation. You got busy trying to find a job, only succeeding with night shifts at the convenience store. Depression manifested suddenly and severely in the following months, drowning you in waves ever since then. To put it lightly, there were more moments than you cared to admit where you convinced yourself that it might be easier if you just gave up. It’s in those moments that you can never truly place what brings you back from the edge. Was it the hope of reuniting with your sister? Was it the delusion of a misogynistic concept of being saved by a rich, loving prince charming? Was it the innate human nature of being desperate to live? As you mulled over this, you saw a shadow move towards your right, drawing you away from your melancholic thoughts. Trailing your eyes across the room, you spotted #001 keeping to the walls and heading towards the door. Huh. 

You knew it wasn’t your business, but you couldn’t help but let your eyes follow him. 

You hadn’t given him much thought since the vote, writing him off to be comprised of human greed like the rest of those who voted to stay (yourself included), but there was something magnetic about how he moved. He was like…a cat. No. More majestic. A panther. It was subtle but he moved with purpose, with such intention. Around him was an aura that just screamed superiority, but not in a condescending way. You had no clue what his past was but you’d bet your last dollar he had been in a position of power at one stage of his life. Normal people don’t walk that way. 

Even now, you couldn’t even say he’s creeping or hiding his movements as he walks to the door. He continues to walk with grace and purpose, it’s almost as though he’s bending the shadows to his will, and that they will listen to his command. He reached his destination and began a conversation with the pink guard stationed there. You quickly lost interest as you couldn’t hear anything, he’s probably just another older man needing to piss in the middle of the night. 

How curious though. Maybe you’d watch him tomorrow too. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: ahhhhh my first time writing in a very very long time!! would rly love any feedback <33

[darlingshane]

little things

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: You're having a bad day, thanks to your period, but Frank showing up earlier than expected changes that completely.

CW: fluff, crack, hurt/comfort, happy frank, he's still in the marine corps, mention of getting shot, period mention, pet names, cuddling, watching tv.

A/N: Just a little something I wrote the other day while I was having some bad cramping.

Word Count: 1,1k

— Links: AO3 // Frank Masterlist

“You sound a little cranky,” Frank said on the phone, his voice cutting off over the sound of an announcement coming out from the airport speakers and the urgent buzz of people rushing in the background.

It wasn't his fault you were feeling like crap when he called you. Your period showing up at the most inconvenient time of the day was the one responsible for your terrible mood. You only wanted to grab your stuff, leave work, head home and borrow the couch for the rest of the day but alas you still had half a shift to go through before you could do that.

“I have to go back to work, Frank. What did you want again?” You're sure he said it when you picked up the call a couple of minutes ago, but your brain refused to hold onto that information.

You heard him scoff at the other end before saying. “I said I just landed. I'm about to get into a cab.”

“Right now? In New York? Thought you weren't coming back till next week. I was going to pick you up.”

“It's okay, sweetheart. I got an early leave. I'll tell you about it later. Do you want to go out? Maybe grab a bite, go to a movie or something to celebrate?”

“I uh… I’m not feeling well today. I'm sorry. Can it wait till tomorrow?”

“Sure, baby. What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Just everyone's favorite time of the month when your uterus decides to shed itself.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry baby. How about I pick you up? We could order some food and watch one of your shows. Would that make you feel better?”

“You just got home, Frank.” You paused, letting out a long sigh. “You don't have to do that. It should be me. I had this whole thing planned, I was going to surprise you, and now it's just ruined.”

“It's okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of you today. You can still surprise me when you feel better, okay?”

“Okay,” you resigned, bummed about the fact that you couldn't welcome him properly after months without seeing him.

When Frank picked you up from work a few hours later you almost broke in his arms. It was hard to believe he was here. Missing him had become something normal that you got used to. It wasn't until he was in front of you that you realized how much you did miss him. Capturing the scent of his skin when you buried your face in the crook of his neck brought you to tears. You fit your palm at the back of his nape, it was recently shaved, and you could feel the skin under the short, pickling hairs.

Frank held you tightly against his chest, keeping you from tumbling down. It was easy to tell he was dying to see you just as much.

He drove you home where he had prepared a whole thing for you to relax. On the coffee table he had set up a fresh pepperoni pizza from your favorite joint, a bowl filled with candy, and a second bowl filled with tampons, pads, and painkillers that made you laugh. On the couch, your heated blanket was already waiting for you. Frank offered to draw you a bath first, but you didn't feel like soaking in the tub right now. You just put on your pj's, sat on the couch, curled between Frank's legs with all your creature comforts around while you picked one of your favorite shows to binge—Gilmore Girls.

“You forgot to tell me why they sent you home early.” You remembered once your cramps started to ebb.

“Shit, you're right. I forgot too.” He moved slightly at your back to collect something from his pocket. “Here.”

A small metallic thing was hiding between his fingers that he offered to you. It was a bullet without its shell casing. You were quick to recognize from the crash course he gave you once about handguns.

After inspecting the bullet, you glanced at him over your shoulder.

“I'm confused. What’s this?”

“I got shot. That's why they sent me back.”

“What?” You shifted to the side to survey an injury that wasn't visible. His arms, neck, and face were intact. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I'm fine. It was a couple of days ago. I thought about calling, but I didn't wanna worry you. It wasn't that big of a deal. Just one asshole getting one lucky shot.”

“You should've called me, Frank. I'm already worried every time you leave.”

“I know, I'm sorry.”

“Where were you hit?”

“Well, that's the funny thing.” His lips curled up.

“Why?”

“I got shot in the ass.”

“Get out of here.” You nudged him with your elbow. “Not my favorite money-maker.”

“No, it's true.” He chuckled.

“Okay, show me.”

“Uh-uh, we're watching this.” He pointed at the flat screen. “You promised Lorelai and Luke would get back together in a couple of episodes. I'm invested now. I need to see that happening.”

You paused the episode.

“Nope, you don't get to see that until you show me your ass.”

“Fine,” he scoffed and stood up, turning around and undoing his button to pull his jeans and underwear down. On the curve of his right cheek there was a small piece of gauze taped to his skin.

“Did it hurt?” You asked, peeling the tape carefully.

“Nah, it was just a bee sting.”

You grimaced at the sight of his skin stitched together. It wasn't that bad but for some reason it hurt you more than it hurt him.

“One lucky shot, huh?” You uttered, covering his injury. “They should make Kevlar plates for your ass.”

“Hey, at least it wasn't my dick.” He quipped, buttoning his pants.

“Oh, that would be a tragedy. Don't joke about that.”

Frank laughed as he sat back down in his former spot at your back.

“Anyway, you got one hell of a keepsake.” You rolled the bullet between your fingers.

“Brought that one for you. Thought you like to keep it.”

“Me? I don’t want your crusty ass bullet,” you huffed as he locked an arm around you, pressing his cheek against your jaw.

“No? What do you want then, Miss? Diamonds and flowers?”

“Not necessarily diamonds but I’d take a ring.”

“A ring, huh?” He picked up your left hand and massaged the knuckle of your ring finger. “You’re right, your hand is looking awfully bare without a ring. I’ll see what I can do about that.”

“You know I’m joking, right?”

“Well, I’m not. Next time, it’ll be a ring I promise, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

You gazed at him over your shoulder, and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

[heartfullofleeches]

Maybe a better idea..... Farmer Flemish giant rabbit Yan catches Foxboy reader, but gives reader the choice that if he becomes the yans malewife he can live.

(That was the plan to some extent in the long run, but the chase is fun, no? Regardless, here's a blurb of the two lovebirds)

Male Flemish Rabbit Yan + Foxboy Reader

Warnings: Imprisonment, kidnapping. Reader's pronouns are not mentioned, but they are thought of as male. The term Wife is used.

-

That bastard....

"Let me out! Let. Me. Out!"

Rearing your legs as far back as the tight space would grant, your knees bump into your chest as you kick out. Metal grates dig at your arms with every slight turn and jostle of your body. Dirt and moulted feathers mat your fur, yet there isn't any poultry in sight for you to feast and console yourself upon.

Damn it... You knew it was too good to be true. That farmer was a fool, but a watchful and cautious one at that. He'd never leave the door to his pens open unless he was sick or injured. Maybe part of you had prayed that he was. Wrong as it may be to wish ill on someone making a living for himself, you were just trying to survive too.

"Let me out.... please.." Your voice wavers as the pains of hunger and stress exhaust what little strength you have left. Your balled fists slap pathetically against the metal cages as tears well in your eyes, daring to spill. You won't let them. You won't let him win.

"I said...GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

The gravel outside your wooden prison shifts.

"In due time, Love. We've got a deal to make first."

Dread consumes the emptiness in your stomach, pinning your limbs to the dirt covered floor as he at sinks to his knees. Your knees curl into your chest once more, body and mind subconsciously making yourself smaller as his larger figure draws into view - blocking your sight of the forest beyond his land. Your home. You don't even realize your crying till his fingers brush the wetness from your cheek. You have half a mind to bite them off as they get stuck between the grates.

You snarl- "If you wanted me gone you could've asked..."

The farmer presses a strong hand to his mouth, suppressing a laugh. "If I wanted ya gone, I would'a taken the sheriff's generous offer of a shotgun the last time I had him over. You know how he is about outsiders."

The bite in your stare remains - still, your legs quiver at the mention. "You aren't going to turn me over to him, are you?

He can't. The farmer is lenient towards your crimes, but that man.. That rabbit... He'll have you hanging from the town hall by nightfall.

"Please... I'll...I'll do anything...I'll work off my debt day and night, I-"

"Sweetheart...." The farmer rest a hand on the steel wall of the coop, gently petting its bars as he would your fuzzy little head once you agreed to be his. "It's okay. Nobody's gonna hurt you or make you do any hard labor."

"Then-" Your cracked tongue wets your splitting lips. "What do you want from me?"

The farmer cranes his head, meeting you eye to eye. The bags beneath his eyes seemed heavier than usual. How long had been out here waiting for you to return?"

"Cute little fox like yourself shouldn't be out here scrounging around for scraps or the occasional unattended hen. You should have a roof over your head, a comfy bed, all the food you could ever want."

What's he going on about? Another trap?... "If I'm not going to work for it... How does this deal benefit you?"

"I want you to be my wife."

"Wha?!- Ouch!-" Your head shoots up, ramming into the low hanging support beams. "Are you crazy?"

The farmer lets a chuckle slip. "Heh, I'd have to have lost my mind not falling for ya. Think about it this way, Sweetheart. You come home with me and I fill that belly of yours full of food. Or I call up the sheriff and he fills it with lead. Your choice."

Your howling stomach betrays any fight you have remaining. You don't have many options in this scenario. Push come to shove, you could possibly make your escape in the dead of night when he least expects it - taking as many of his hens as your arms could carry.

"Okay... I'll.. be your wife."

"Smart fox." The farmer stands - rounding the corner to the front of the henhouse. He lifts the wooden board that had fallen into place as you crawling inside hours ago. Your legs are too cramped and spent from all that kicking to fight him as he pulls you out by your tail and into his well built arms. The farmer presses his nose to your face, nuzzling your cheek as he walks off towards his home - carrying you bridal style.

"Welcome home, Hun."

[jellitchi]

vat7k designs in my head...

i thought their canon designs were a eensy weensy bit Unpolished so i made these mostly for myself. erm if u rly want it i think varian is 19 here, hugo 19, nuru 18, yong 12.

i also made rhem all playlists and had to draw them a cover so thats what the last img is I linked each of em under my notes for all of em... Under the cut is Like a Huge Infodump of notes i have for each chara,,,,,,

i kept varians design basically the same, i dislike the design w the orange neck thing so i just Nuked it😭... Here's Varians playlist

Hugos design i just wanted to put him in something more Loose. hes a thief, a professional escape artist. i dont think wearing clunky metal is ideal for him. i also gave him a prosthetic arm (blond w no arm design trope!) but u cant see it in the ref so i added another drawing of him in his under layering👍 i vaguely referenced russian(?) clothes for him as well... Yeah not too much changed w him i just tried to make him slippery-er. Here's Hugo's playlist

yong came relatively easy to me, if it wasn't obvious i did rip gaming from g*nshin's hoodie. i thought the lion hood was Adorable and freaking perfect for what i had in mind for hos character. since the og notes said the fire kingdom is loosely Chinese inspired i basically just kept that. i mashed tgt a buncha diff dynasties though sorry for how inconsistent i was... i think he looks Okay. anyways i changed yongs role a bit, ill explain why im adjusting some of their roles later but i kept yong as the Jinx Type character. hes the eldest in his family and has a buncha younger siblings, hes a lion dancer and does performances w his family/siblings. he rly like special effects n keeps tryna incorporate his fireworks into their performances (it flops and he has to sew up the dmg) ill explain more of yongs role in another post maybe shrugs... Here's Yong's Playlist

miss nuru was a bit of a struggle for me i might share my full design process with her coz i did a Bunch of mockups for her😭😭😭... i didnt have a specific country of reference for her but i chose to make her vaguely south asian inspired. i also really wanted to keep the sheer fabric w the star / constellation map. i love that idea its so cute so shes still technically the navigator. but she also wields a sword too, fencing or whatever. (her and varian r Huge Cass fangirls which is probably why she started tryna use a sword (snuck out to watch cass compete) Okay ill talk abt this later) in my head, okay ill Probably make a whole nother post talking abt how im interpreting/writing each chara, but in my head i think nuru is the youngest and her kingdom's archivist. shes mostly in charge of like Her kingdoms history / artifacts / etc. ok im getting too side tracked ill save the lore dump for later but thats Nurus role in the party. Here's Nuru's Playlist

uhm below i made their character stats mostly to help me with planning / role developing. the yellow is their base stats the color behind is their end stats i guess. i was gonna explain my reasoning for their stats but ermm this post is kinda Really long so sorry😭... varian max int for obvious reasons, also max charisma just coz i feel like u kinda learn a thing or two being around a couple manipulators and spending time in jail idk shrugs... (also lets not forget the "ud b surprised what ppl would do for a cookie!") Hugo slippery guy, if a brick is thrown at him as hes running hes gonna try n run faster to shatter it, his mindset is Run Run Run! i think hes relatively agile too but yeah mostly a Speedster. i think he n varian got no Physical strength varian maybe just like A little coz Farm boy but I rly doubt quirin is making him do a Lotta heavy lifting. yong has incredible stamina and agility because hed a performer. nuru is the strongest coz this team would literally Flop without a proper Offense😭... i think varian n hugo r able to outwit plenty of their opponents but i think nuru is pretty good in a fight, same w yong. Yeah Okay Sorry for a Long Long Post thanks hope u guys enjoy

[taeaura]

Thomas {Hewitt}'s Interests

From a gal who's hyper fixating on this franchise

So..I'd like to preface this by saying I do not live nor have ever lived in the Deep South or Midwest. BUT, I do visit the midwest often - which doesn't mean much but give me grace 😭🙏

____

Bone Collecting

I used to collect bones when I'd visit my grandparents up in the mountains - It was fun. I feel like he'd do the same {given his 'role'}. We already know he collects ears, teeth, eyeballs, even heads - and most definitely skin; So why not bones? He probably collected bones when he was younger - Maybe with Henrietta, if they happened to be close.

I like to imagine he has a box or shelf full of his 'collections'; He's got a whole museum in there I guarantee it. Some bugs, bones, bone fragments, hides, teeth, claws, rocks n' geodes, all sorts of naturally-occurring treasures.

General Foraging

In TCM 2003, Thomas is seen wearing rings which I doubt are his {though, they fit him pretty well}. He probably stole them from a victim - And he most definitely kept that engagement ring from Kemper. He'll take clothes, jewelry, books, photographs, toys, drawing utensils, wildflowers, bugs, abandoned artifacts, anything he likes really. He'd go HAM in a thrift shop, trust. I've been to thrift shops in the midwest - They are gold; Lots of old pictures, some racist things {which I do NOT thing are gold}, old jewelry, lots of gemstones, bones, license plates, clothes {obviously}, letters, toys, paintings / posters, vinyls, CDs, furniture, old guns, bullet shells, all kinds of forgotten treasures. I think Tommy would like it if the store was empty..

Sewing

This one's obvious - Thomas uses sewing as a form of catharsis; A way to transform himself just as he transforms the scraps of leather. We see his sewing machine in his room, along with mannequins and mannequin heads; Indicating sewing is something he does often. I doubt he only makes mask - Maybe casings, potential jewelry; He'd definitely make something for his partner or a close friend..not so much the family considering they aren't..the most grateful or encouraging.

His {The Family's} Animals

Despite his busy schedule, I'm sure Thomas likes to spend time with the animals on the Hewitt property. The canon animals {that we've seen so far} include Monty's dog {unnamed canonically}, three pigs, and a few chickens. Now, I know there's gonna be a crowd that spews "But Thomas worked in a slaughterhouse!! He wouldn't take kindly to animals!1!1!1!!" Just because I eat meat doesn't mean I don't adore animals - The meat I eat is from a dead animal. I'm quite literally eating its cooked carcass. Thomas is doing the same - Only he's doing the dirty work firsthand.

I don't know how connected he'd be to Monty's dog - considering that dog is with Monty all. the. time. - But he'd be really connected to the 'livestock'. The pigs don't seem too old - not piglets per se but not fully grown either. I assume Thomas or Luda Mae collect the eggs, meaning Thomas sees the animals quite a lot. He doesn't seem like the type to show too much physical {or verbal} affection - But his primary executions are through observation and care. {I headcanon his love languages as acts of service and quality time; Though he appreciates receiving words of affirmation.} He keeps the animals clean, well-fed, and healthy; Whilst occasionally spending time with them outside his daily chores.

Music

Okay, so ! I've been contemplating Thomas' music taste for a bit now, {previously posted about it} and I have a few inklings I'll try to share:

I've seen many people headcanon Thomas as a 'Kernel' {unofficial name for a Korn fan}; And while I love Korn myself, I don't see Thomas in the same light. Maybe he'd like some of their songs, but I envision him as an occasional nu-metal listener. Type O Negative reminds me of Tommy a lot - Don't know why. I don't think he'd listen to them a TON - But more often than Korn, maybe. If we look back to TCM 2003 from 37:10 to 37:20, Thomas plays something of the metal / rock genre. More heavy-metal than anything in MY opinion. Let's forget about timelines for a minute whilst we walk through this.

I previously stated that Thomas would potentially like bands such as Mortician, Alice In Chains, maybe SoundGarden, Metallica, Black Sabbath?, Pantera, Cannibal Corpse, Megadeth - Bands similar to these as well. This might be controversial but I don't think Thomas would mind country music. Hell, I think he'd listen to some Johnny Cash or The Highwaymen if it came on - Some classic, soulful country. It's not like his momma blasts it or anything...

Continuing on the family note; Skynyrd. That's all I have to say.

In all actuality; I'm sure Hoyt's music taste rubs off on Thomas a bit - I'm sure Thomas prefers metal, but he'll listen to rock just the same. Maybe a little Elvis, Skynyrd, AC/DC here and there; He's not too fussy.

____

Anway, ramble ramble, yappa yappa; This has gone on long enough - But I'd happily make more if the people want it {😈🙏}

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Take care 🫀

[sinning-23]

To Breathe Underwater (Luffy x Mermaid!Reader)

Okay yall this is the first of many in a mermaid/siren series I decided to WRITE LIKE AN IDIOT LOL sorey I fell off and haven’t been active I feel like I’m going to crumble- like a strong breeze could take me outta this point.

Anyway I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: None

Water fills his lungs are he struggles against the still waters. This was the price to pay for his abilities. the ocean consuming him, weighing him down, pulling him into her cold embrace. It burns his nose and throat as he cough the last of his air into bubbles.

His eyes are begingin to close as he falls unconscious, flashes of light swirl around him. Though muffled from the water, he can hear what sounds like metal pieces clinking quietly. Warmth envelops him, arms wrapped around his body as he's pulled up.

What was this...Who was this. He forced his eyes open, the water making it a blurry sight but, it was definitely a who. And a very pretty who at that.

They were calm, eyes scanning his rapidly as her webbed fingers and iridescent hands twinkled in the light. She hold his face, his consciousness fading faster then ever, and with a single connection to lips she preaches air into him, swapping the water that filled with lungs for oxygen. Again and again and again, she breathes into him, slowly but surely swimming him up to the surface, to shore.

_____________

You can’t help but trace his face, the sun making his hair look shinier, and his face so much brighter. You try counting the freckles there, its seemingly impossible. He breaths slow, chest rising and falling and you trace the scar there. You’d never been this close to a human before....they're so delicate.

He coughs, the last remnants of water spilling from his lips as you gasp and flinch back. You can hear voices from afar but you don't move, far too worried about the human in front of you to care. You crawl back to him, pushing the wet hair from his face and cupping his cheeks after. He's missing something...

"Who are you?" His voice is raspy, yet concerned.

You shake your head, looking back to the water to see his hat floating. Bingo! You grab it, and set it over his face, leaning close to his ear before letting your name roll off your glossy lips.

He repeats it, a slow mantra of your name drips off his tongue as you slither back to the water.

"That was a mermaid! Luffy got saved by a mermaid!" Usopp gasps, pulling his captain up with a smile.

Of course, Luffy was still a bit delierous form the deamn near death experience, but he made a note to remember than name so he could properly thank the thing that saved his life.

You.

_6.5 months later_

Winter draws in and your tail was shed for a pair of limbs longer than your arms. It wasn't the first time you'd had this happen and it certainly would be the last. Every winter, a mermaid sheds their tail to seek warmth on land during the cold and snowy months. Then, in spring, when the first few flowers bloom and the tempurature rises, you return to sea.

Now, you were sitting in one of this villages many taverns, well, one of which mermaids like yourself have come for shelter for decades. The current owner had given you a nice room and some fresh clothes for the winter months and in return for giving you that you would provide entertainment.

So there you are, hair flowing over your shoulders, voice ringing sweetly across the space as customers, pirate or otherwise, indulge.

You hadn't realized that the table at the far left of the eatery had been occupied, and one of the guest simply couldn't tear his eyes away from you. You were so...familiar.

"Luffy you look like you’re burning holes through her, calm down. " Nami speaks, a smirk forming over he features seeing her Captains current state.

Luffy wasn’t very well versed in just etiquette but then again you didn’t really need that when you were a pirate. The content of his character was far more important than idk maybe not standing on a rich ladies table and requesting a boat from her.

Anyway, he snaps his gaze away from you and back to Nami. There you were, glittering under this mellow spotlight as your voice carried over sweet, diabetes inducing melodies and his heart can’t help but squeeze.

You’d saved his life, that’s something he’ll never let go, somehow feeling a pinch in debt to you. His eyes trail from the top of your head to the shoes on your feet. Usopp might have an answer for that….

“I swear she was a mermaid when she saved me. Usopp, you know a lot about those things, why is it that she has legs now?” He questions, leaning forward with a wide smile.

The man in question stammers for a moment trying to find the words but before he can even get some outlandish explanation out, the waitress just so happened to cut in.

“This has been a rest spot for mermaid for years. They get legs in the winter to stay warm on land among the people. Then, in spring, they return to sea, we’ll if they do choose. The longer they stay on land, the harder it is to go back to their tails.” She explains, setting down drinks, tucking the tray under her arm.

“Some merfolk opt to stay human and they just, unadapt I suppose. They lose their tails forever.”

Luffy draws back to the stage to realize you’re not there and a panic shoots through him. He grabs the waitresses arm, wondering where you’d gone and she only points to an empty staircase. That’s all it takes for him to jump out his seat and leave his crew behind. He needed to see you. He needed to hear your voice. Feel your hands over his face, tracing his freckles and over his lips.

He wanted his heart to feel as if it somehow spring out his chest when you spoke. Is this what a crush feels like???? He did it know anything about you accept that you’d been kind enough to save him, you were a mermaid, and god were you absolutely beautiful. But, he found himself wanting to know you, and when he wants something, he’s determined to get it.

The light creeking of your door makes you flinch but you turn to see that same man you'd though tof nonstop for the past 6 months. The silence is deafening, your heartbeat ringing n your ears and his does the same.

You swallow dryly, trying to think of something to say but...what is there to say? He steps in, pausing for a moment to search your eyes for protest, but you only encourage it with a step forward.

"You look different when you’re not drowning." You joke poorly, seeing him slile.

"So do you when im not busy trying to breathe underwater.” He laughs, seeing you smile in response.

[boobav]

fluff ☁️ with curly

A thousand pretty stars hover above you, below you, all around you. Every inch of infinite darkness embroidered with twinkling lights.

If only there was a window.

A big window, framed ornately with curling silver and sparkling jewels. A planet or two far off, reminding you of home, of the promise of earth. You dream quietly of soil and dirt. Of clouds and pouring rain. Mundanity. It's so overlooked when you have it. When you hold simplicity in your hands, you disregard it. Then, when it's gone, you beg for its return. Never pleased. Never-

"Can't sleep?" A voice comes from behind, cuts through the air and your thoughts with ease as though they were one. Curly.

You hum. "No. Somehow I ended up back here, staring at the screen."

His footsteps sound out loud in the silence as he makes his way to your side, then hovers for a moment, like he doesn't know what to do with himself. He motions to the spot beside you on the couch.

"May I?"

"'Course. You're the captain, after all."

"Well," he sits down with a huff. Your knees touch, and the two of you flinch away on instinct. A glance is shared as an apology, but you both run from it. "I wouldn't want to be an intrusive captain. I don't think anyone would appreciate that."

"How responsible." Your eyes remain trained on the fake night sky, the screen that works only to make your yearning harsher. The room seems infinitely warmer with the captain here. There's space between you, but clearly not enough. "I'm sure Pony Express is... proud."

The shift of his hips draws your attention. He leans back, puts his hands up on the couch in an attempt to get comfortable. He looks anything but.

"I don't think the word proud has ever crossed their mind, to be honest."

There's a pause, a jittery quiet, and then he looks to you. His face illuminated by the ships nighttime blue and the fake moon. You hate how quickly your insides melt.

"And do you- does that bother you?"

His eyes dart down, and away.

"What? If Polle's proud of me or not?" Curly tries to laugh, but seems too tired for it.

"No, I mean," you struggle to grasp the right words, the right way of approaching what you really want to talk about. "Does it bother you that no one's proud? That nobody really... cares, or even knows that we're out here?"

His gaze returns to you. From the corner of your vision you can see, see how he watches your every twitch with unearthly interest, see how he takes his time to commit even the curve of your nose to memory. At least, it makes you feel better to imagine he's doing such.

"I don't know. Sometimes. But you should keep your head up, right? Think about the people who do care, like me- the crew." He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but it leaves quickly, too warm, too out of place.

"I really don't think Swansea would think twice if I disappeared off this ship, captain."

He laughs properly this time. The sound alone almost shatters the walls you've built, the high inhibitions your position calls for. You find yourself shuffling just an inch closer to his warmth regardless. The sun, smothered and hidden by metal, yet visible just for you.

"Well, maybe. But I would. More than twice, actually, I'd probably..." he clears his throat, "probably think a few times. You know, think about where you've gone."

Now comes your turn to stare. The gentle blue light on his warm features, the red creeping up his thick neck, his hair falling perfectly over his face. Every movement you make now is deliberate, awfully so, each inching move towards him a desperate crawl through dirt. Your knee nudges his again. This time, neither of you move.

"When we're back on earth, what do you wanna do?" You ask. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Get a nice dinner somewhere, maybe. There's this one place I used to love but... I haven't been there in ages. I'm sure they've forgotten me by now. You?"

"Go on a hike in the rain. Breath in some fresh air. Pet a dog, buy groceries. Everything I can't do up here I guess."

He fixes his eyes on you now, clenches the fist that's fallen to his lap.

"Would you..." he pauses, "would you, by any chance, need some help with that?"

"With... breathing?"

He blinks. "No, I meant- would you-"

"Like to go on a date when we're back?" The words spill from your lips, molten and hot. You regret them instantly, curse yourself for pushing so far, but the look in his eye changes your mind. A gentle glimmer of hope, of surprise, of hesitation.

"Uh, yeah. I'd take you on one now if I could but we're in the middle of space and I'm, well- I'm your captain. I don't want you to... feel pressured."

You smile. His expression is uncharacteristically timid. It fits strangely onto his strong features, runs along his nose to leave muddy footprints. With another push against the tides of your hesitation, you reach over, pull his clenched hand into yours. He sighs from the contact, sighs again when you run your thumb along his knuckles.

"Good thing we're getting fired after this, I guess. You won't have to worry about the captain thing anymore."

He leans his head against your shoulder. Your other hand wraps around him, kneads through his hair as if you'd done this a thousand times before. Maybe you have in some other, distant life. But with how fast your heart is beating now, how hot your skin feels at every touch, that life must have been centuries ago.

"What then? I take lead of another ship? The pays good, but... there's so many things I wanted to do before I put myself in this loop. Now, they're just empty boxes on a bucket list." He looks up through his lashes, embarrassed yet emboldened by his vulnerability. By your acceptance of his vulnerability. "Sorry. I shouldn't just dump that on you."

"It's okay. You're in a difficult position. We all are." You weave your fingers through his thick hair, crumble at every small noise that leaves his throat. The bags under his eyes are getting darker, you notice. "We'll do one thing at a time."

"Right. Yeah," Curly sits up, "but the first thing's dinner, alright?"

His smile is contagious. The sweetest disease in the galaxy.

"Alright."

[pumpkin-piiee]

I've seen people making up different story arcs on what will happen after the Noroshi War so here's mine.

*Manga spoilers ahead*

Maybe in the future, Nii Satoru-sensei might create a story arc about a sukeban*.

*A sukeban is a delinquent girl gang that emerged in Japan from the 1960s to 1970s.

History

Credits: yaz1ska on Instagram

Sukebans were formed due to bōsōzoku a.k.a. male biker gangs or the yakuza not accepting female members. The rise of sukebans has a huge impact on the feminist movement in Japan. Each gang has their own rules, hierarchy, and ways of punishment. E.g. Cigarette burns were considered a minor punishment if a gang member was disrespecting a senior member or stealing a boyfriend.

My thoughts if it were to come true

If the author included a story arc about a girl gang, I would have faith in him. I mean look at how well-written & well-designed the ladies in wind breaker are.

Credits: Pinterest

Credits: Mangapill

*I love how the author would draw sketches of Kotoha with major characters such as Tsubakino and Sakura. This means that Kotoha is more important than we have initially thought. Moreover, kudos to Nii Satoru-sensei for not sexualising Kotoha. I am sick and tired of mangakas sexualising female characters for no reason.*

Credits: Nii Satoru on X

Not to mention many of us know that Nii Satoru-sensei is good at writing complex characters such as Tsubakino.

Credits: MyFigureCollection

Story Arc, Characters & Operation

As for how this story arc will be executed, I believe it will cover topics such as feminism, struggles of womanhood and mistreatment of women.

Moving on to how this sukeban operates, here's my input. I believe everything they do is the complete opposite of Bofurin. E.g. instead of protecting their own town, they protect themselves. This is because the town they live in is also the complete opposite of Makochi, hostile and narrow-minded.

*I just thought of making this sukeban the complete opposite of Bofurin because I think it's interesting to see their reactions. It's also hilarious because the opposite of a boy gang is a girl gang. Get it? Okay, I'll stop.*

I also believe maybe this sukeban and its base can act as a sanctuary for women of its town who were mistreated by men such as giving them food, shelter etc.

I believe the overall vibe that they give is going to be like the military instead of high school.

As for their leader, maybe she'll be the opposite of Umemiya, stoic and serious. However, it is interesting if she was a good leader like Umemiya because so far we've only seen bad leaders in Wind Breaker.

As for their gang name, maybe it will be associated with elements such as water or space. This is because the other gangs e.g. Bofurin 防風鈴 is named after the wind element, Noroshi 狼煙 is named after the fire element, Gravel and Shishitoren 獅子頭連 are named after the earth element along with KEEL is named after or related to the metal element.

*I know that Shishitoren are named after animals but animals are also related to Earth sooo*

Final Thoughts

Overall, this is just a random thought of mine that I just want to share. If Nii Satoru-sensei doesn't include a story arc that talks about girl gangs, I won't be disappointed or upset as long as he writes a good story.

*P.S.. this is my first time ranting about an anime so feel free to critique or educate me if I've made a mistake. Also, I still have some opinions regarding this sukeban idea so should I create a part 2?*