#who needs sleeves when you have an aesthetic

[melosliving]

kelvin Harrison jr x neighbor!reader

neighbor!reader who is so so happy to move in her new apartment, happily going boxes after boxes, even though they’re heavy as hell.

neighbor!kelvin who actually wakes up from his afternoon nap and sees you going to your car every 10 minutes, wondering who you were. But then he thinks about actually helping you since you seemed to be alone.

neighbour!kelvin who opens his door only to find you trying to juggle your keys and the voluminous box you had in your hands. You looked ridiculous girl.

"Do you need help with this ?" he would ask you, leaning against the door. He looked at you trying to enter the key in your front door.

"actually no thanks, let me handle this. I’m a big girl." You would answer, struggle audible in your voice. He would only chuckle but let you and your big girl business alone.

neigbour!kelvin who opens his door again only to come face to face with you, who has a big smile on your face.

"Actually neighbor, I could use the help. Please." You say, pinching your lips together. Raising his eyebrows, kelvin looked at you, finally taking in your appearance. Dressed comfortably like a person that was moving, you wore grey sweats and a matching grey top.

you were really pretty.

"Sure, neighbor." He would say, waiting for you to lead the way to you car.

neighbor!kelvin who is your knight in shining armor, carrying boxes like it was nothing to him. You were so grateful he had accepted to help you even despite refusing.

neighbor!kelvin who can’t help but look around your apartment, taking in how you’ve already decorated it a bit. And it matched your aesthetic.

neighbor!reader who looks at how he carries the boxes, letting warmth creeping in her cheeks as she pays attention to his muscles flexing.

"I still don’t know your name, neighbor." You would say, after carrying the last box of yours in the kitchen. "Oh, it’s kelvin, and you are, pretty neighbor ?" He would ask.

"❁."

neighbor!kelvin who smiles at the sound of your name between your lips, making sure not to forget it. Pretty, just like you.

neighbor!kelvin who has to go after some time but makes you promise to always come to him if you needed something.

neighbor!kelvin who cannot stop thinking about you. From your glistening skin, your faint perfume to your real pretty face. You just couldn’t escape his mind.

"she’s really hot." he would explain to one of his close relatives.

"Not you crushing on your new neighbor."

"fuck that, I think I’m in love, cousin."

neighbor!kelvin who smiles at you each time you would bump into him, wanting to help anytime you would have groceries.

neighbor!kelvin who after some weeks gets closer to you and actually becomes your friend.

"Actually, come over tonight, please." You say, looking at him.

"What ?" He would frown. He knew you were quite spontaneous but this was forward.

"I want to do something nice to thank you for everything you’ve been doing for me." You explain, hands behind your back.

"Ok, so you basically want me in your bed, ❁. You just could have said that." He would joke.

"Boy, you need to redo your braids, and I can braid it for you if you want."

neighbor!kelvin who find you so cute and thoughtful. He then finds himself in your pretty apartment, sitting on your floor and between your legs, letting you brush his hair.

"Your hair is so beautiful, kel" You would mumble, starting to braid his hair. And if at first he was scared it would hurt, your hand was actually so gentle with him.

"Do you have other skills up your sleeve, pretty ?"

"You’ll have to find them." You would answer, smiling softly at him.

neighbor!kelvin who falls asleep on your thigh while you finish braiding his hair, his arm circling your leg. When finishing you would put on his green durag on for him, not before taking a quick picture of his sleepy frown.

neighbor!reader who gently shakes kelvin awake, softly smiling at him as he emerges. he looked troubled as to where he was but when he looked back at you he was relieved.

neighbor!kelvin who thanks you a hundred times but never lift himself up the floor, wanting to remain close to you as possible.

neighbor!reader who stands up to go in the kitchen only to come back with a glass of water for him.

neighbor!kelvin who can’t help himself but follow your sight, observing the way your pyjamas were clinging to your body.

"you can sleep here if you want, you seem really tired." You say, playing with your nails.

neighbor!kelvin who finds himself on your couch, your back to his front and watching tv with you since he swore he wasn’t tired, but really he just wanted to be able to witness your face getting sleepy.

"❁, I know you’re sleeping." He would say after you swore he would be the first to fall asleep.

"M’ not," you would answer, but actually betray yourself when you turned in his arms, putting your face in his neck and making yourself comfortable.

neighbor!kelvin who would hold you in his arms, feeling you falling asleep. It was the most precious sight ever.

neighbor!kelvin who after this swore he would not let you go.

@ melosliving 2025

[jarofstyles]

Cabernet

This can be read as a standalone I think, but! Here is a second part of Merlot! It's spicy and sweet so I hope you guys like it. Unsure if there will be any more parts (I’m open if you guys have more ideas!) but I do love a good dilfrry.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 200+ exclusive writings!

WC- 4.1k

Warnings- smut, age gap relationship, anal (for those who asked ur welcome!), unprotected sex, cumplay, Dom/sub elements

-------

Harry was by far the best man she had ever dated. 

Their age gap was evident at times, but not in a bad way. It was rather cute when he had been confused about videos she sent or his own excitement to show her the movies or books he was referencing. The added element of their dynamic was learning from one another. Harry had been teaching her about publishing and helping her flesh out the first draft of her book while she sat in his office some days, helping him out in return by getting him coffee or lunch or an occasional shoulder massage when he got particularly stressed. An unofficial assistant of sorts. 

“I feel like if I have to write the word ‘said’ one more time, my brain is going to explode.” She grumbled, pushing her laptop across the couch and leaning back on it. The leather seat in his office was by far the most comfortable one she had sat on and he happily invited her to come into the office to see him as often as she wanted. It was both practical and selfish on both ends.It was easier to work in a space like this and with the understanding that Harry really did have work he was doing, she focused on her own stuff. A quiet pair of people working in each other’s company. 

Add in the fact that he was the boss man, it made it much easier for her to come and go as she pleased. 

“Mm, sometimes authors get stuck with words in their novels. They’ll have phrases they repeat a few too many times, usually gets called out in editing and fixed. It’s not a bad thing. But with words that are action words like that, there are options. Y’know, depending on the scene and tone. Murmured, muttered, peeped, whispered, whined, moaned, huffed, grumbled. Those sorts of words.” He tapped his pen against the desk as he lifted his eyes to her. 

It didn’t get old. Seeing her pretty face sitting in his office looking the way she did, much more comfortable than the night they’d first met, but still appropriate for an office setting.

Sometimes he did let his mind wander into the roleplay aspect, wondering if she had been his real assistant if he would have made a move. If Y/N was the Y/N he knew now? Probably. Scandalous. 

Today she wore a pair of black flowy pants and a matching turtleneck, but on top she had a chunky knit cardigan that was utterly adorable. It had yellow moons and stars, a deep purple color with sleeves she had to push up so they didn’t hide her hands. His girl leaned into the office aesthetic when she came in so she didn’t stick out too much but with him or when they were at his place or out together, he loved seeing her dressed in her normal clothing. She looked soft, whimsical almost. Like a little fairy. 

“Hm. Good point. I need to write down all the synonyms in my notes app and defer to that because if I’m getting tired of writing it, I know whoever ends up reading it will get tired of seeing it too.” Her lips puffed to blow a strand of hair that had fallen from her bun, brows furrowed as she failed and made her hand ready up to tuck it behind her ear instead. 

Again, cute.

“Not necessarily.” He replied, leaning back in his chair. “We’re our own harshest critics. I doubt they’re paying that much attention to that. The majority of people will be paying attention to world building, character development, plot, sex scenes, all that fun stuff. The exact wording isn’t always the most important thing. But it shows that you care about quality.” He shot her a grin. “So you will be successful.”

“Mmm… and not because I’m fucking the publishing head?” She grinned as she stood up, stretching her arms out. 

“Well. That helps.” He wouldn’t deny it. She had a leg up, but he wouldn’t publish just anything. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t publish shit work. It isn’t worth the reputation of my company. Your writing is genuinely good, my sweet.” He knew the drill by now. Her heeled boots were kicked off by the couch and she made her way over to him, the tiredness starting to hit her as she happily perched herself on his lap. 

“Good to know.” She snorted before pressing a kiss to his scruffy cheek. The facial hair had grown but he was shaping it currently. She promised she’d be okay with whatever he did to it but didn’t want anything to happen to the mustache. That wasn’t allowed to go. “What are you working on? Anything fun?” 

“No, nothing incredibly interesting I’m afraid.” His hand squeezed her hip underneath the cardigan. “I was working on some contracts earlier but every so often I pick up some submissions and read through them myself. This one is very bland, unfortunately. There’s potential, absolutely. Their writing style is lovely, but the plot falls flat and the characters are one dimensional. S’like they chose a specific stereotype and did nothing to differentiate them.” It was unfortunate.” It was a shame he came across all too often.

“It’s obvious this person is trying but they’ve never observed or met someone with these traits. I don’t think you absolutely have to follow the rule ‘write what you know’, but I think a lot of the best works come from drawing from our own experiences. Romance, for them, doesn’t seem to be a passion. They’d do better with mystery with their writing style as it is, but they have to improve on other aspects first.” 

“Is it hard for you to see stuff like that?” She asked curiously, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I can tell you’re a little disappointed with it, so I have to wonder if it happens a lot.”

“It does. And it is hard when you see someone with potential not living up to it but I have faith that if we send them some constructive criticism notes that maybe they won’t see it as an attack but as a place of genuine care. I’m going to have someone meet with them I think, give them my notes and have them explain it in nicer terms than the plain ones I used. Maybe they can work on it again and add more and we’d have a best seller.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can see they care about it in the way they put details in, but it needs more.”

There was something incredibly attractive about listening to him talk about it. It was always attractive to see someone care and talk about their passions; but Harry was on another level. She could see it on his face that he was disappointed and knew the person could do better. While it made it all the more nerve wracking for her own novel, she had him working with her along the way.

He never told her where to go with her story in terms of ideas, but how to improve the mechanics. Reading over bits and telling her to take away a certain detail and add more in other places, or giving suggestions about how things could flow smoother. He’d listened to her storyboard, after showing her the author equivalent of it, and gave his honest feedback from a publisher's point of view and then from a boyfriend’s point of view.

Sometimes it was more obvious that he was the one with miles more life experience in these instances but she couldn’t be upset about it when it only aided in strengthening their relationship. 

“I see.” She looked at the manuscript on the desk with the red pen of doom. “Oof. The red pen is out… and you’ve used it a lot.” 

“Well, there are errors.” He chuffed, kissing her cheek in return. “Did you get enough done?” The word count goal had been 3,000 for today, but he didn’t make it for her. It was all on her. He simply helped keep her accountable.

“I did more. I think… 4.5?” She tilted her head trying to remember. “Now my head feels like soup.” It did feel like mush right now. That was why the laptop was closed and abandoned and she was finding comfort in the man. It was like a reward. 

“That’s ace, my dove. Amazing.” He praised. The pride he felt for her was earned fair and square. She had been applying herself more now than ever. Since their first night together they hadn’t really separated, seeing each other at least a few times a week. Her work ethic was there as she had zeroed in on what she wanted. “Why don’t we finish this up and go back to mine, mm?” 

Harry had been holding off all week. He’d gone a bit rough one night and even though she said she was fine, he wanted to give her body time to relax. As much as he loved sex, he had wanted her body to enjoy it more than anything else. Not be overly swollen and sore the next day. 

Today was going to be the day to break that. A full week of nothing but heated kisses, and she was as needy as needy could get. He felt her perk up at the mention, sitting up straighter in his lap. 

“Please! Let’s go. We can get food on the way home but I think we have some pressing matters to attend to.” She sniffed, standing from him and offering a hand to help him up. “Chop chop. Get a move on, mister.”

——-

Two rounds in and he knew she could take it. Her poor cunt was a mess and he knew that as pretty as it was all drippy and swollen, she had been aching for him to get a try into her other hole. They’d had a proper discussion about it, and he had effectively been edging her the entire night. Fair? No, but she knew how he rolled. The promised pleasure first, experiments after. Just in case she wanted to stop, she got something out of the night. 

She’d been warming his cock for a bit as he held her in his arms, cooing soft praises about how good of a girl she was, how brave she had been to ask for something new tonight when he felt her get impatient. She didn’t need to say it. He knew her well enough now to understand what she wanted. Pulling his cock out and rubbing the tip against her asshole, pressing against it and spreading the sticky cum over the rim.  “Want me t’fuck this tight little ass too?  Fill you from both ends."

“Wanna try.” She nodded, panting as her cunt contracted and his cum dribbled out of her pussy. “You’re so big I… I dunno if I can take it. Go slow.” Y/N knew she was slightly cock drunk but she also trusted him. He’d made her feel good already, took his time with everything else why wouldn’t she want to test this with him?

“Okay, my sweet. Just relax.” Harry wasn’t nervous, but he was cautious. His girl was precious cargo, and he wanted to make sure it felt as good as it could. He’d done the work of stretching her with his fingers, but it was going to be a challenge to get him in there regardless. He slowly pushed his thick head past the tight rim of her back hole. Watching her face intently, his own contorted with pleasure. "You're doing so good, doll," he encouraged softly. "Just relax and let me in. You can take it."

The pressure was intense, and she hissed out a breath as he slowly pushed more and more of himself into her. His thick head stretched her wide, and he paused, letting her adjust to the new sensation. "Breathe." The reminder was whispered as he realized she was holding her breath, his hand carding through her hair tenderly.

"That's it, baby. You're taking it so well. Always do so good f’me." He praised, his voice low and soothing. He slowly pushed more of himself into her, inch by inch, his thick prick spreading her wide. She could feel every vein, every ridge, as he slowly filled her up.

As he slid deeper, Harry could feel the intense pressure and stretch around his girth. Her tight little hole was gripped tightly around his shaft, the muscles fluttering and contracting as he pushed his way inside. She felt like she was being split in two, her body struggling to accommodate his bigger size- but she was. Slowly but surely, he sunk into her fully.

She had done it. 

“Fuck.” She sobbed out, clinging to him as he got down to the base. Never in her life had she felt so full that way, so stretched. Only Harry could make her feel this way. It wasn’t just the physical feeling, but the emotional one too. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone else. His guidance was priceless.

"You're doing so good, You’ve got it all in. Jus’ gotta let it adjust." he soothed, his voice strained as he fought to keep control. Giving her a moment to adjust, his hands stroking her hair and her cheeks, his thumb brushing away her tears. "You feel so hot around me, doll. So tight. Knew y’would be."

“I wanna be… I want you to feel good.” She whispered, looking at him with wet eyes. “It’s just so big. I’m tryin’ to take it.” It surely wasn't a beginner cock but she wasn’t known for taking the easy way.

"You're doing so well, baby," he reassured her, his hands never leaving her. He slowly pulled out halfway before sinking in again, a little faster this time. "That's it... take me all the way in."

It was the fourth time he did it that she felt the pleasure. Both from the action and the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against her swollen clit, making her gasp. Her eyes fell shut as she leaned her head back, slowly relaxing into the bed.

He watched her face contorted in pleasure, his heart swelling with pride. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough. As she opened her eyes, he began to pick up the pace, his hips pressing against hers. "M’so proud of you. Look at you, taking every bit of me.”

Y/N sent him a blissed out smile as her hand slipped between them, rubbing her own clit slowly as he fucked into her ass. There was nothing rushed about it, nothing frantic, and it felt good just to be. Her muscles relaxed, making it feel even better as his cock filled her hole. Soft moans left her mouth as she curled her other hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down so he was close. “Are they the best holes you’ve had?”

Harry’s face was lax in his own pleasure as he felt her tight ass clench around his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his breath hot against her lips. “They are. So fucking tight, so perfect. Can’t compare them t’anything else.” He kept up his steady rhythm, loving how her body moved with his. “You feel so good. Can never get enough of you.” He whispered, brushing a stray hair out of her face before stroking her puffy lip. They were so pretty. Kissing wasn’t something he’d thought much of before, but he hadn’t kissed Y/N. She had changed everything for him. 

“Better than that silly ex wife?” She prodded, watching with a little smirk as she watched him think it over. Y/N had a feeling she was by the way be was acting,  but she wanted to hear it.

"Way better." he grunted, his hips snapping forward. "Little minx, y’just need to ask that, hm? No need to be jealous. She never gets t’have me again. Only y-you." He stuttered as her hand moved around his neck and she squeezed down hard on him. "Her holes were nothing compared to yours, doll. Nothing."

Y/N giggled as she choked him a little bit, watching his eyes widen before pulling. It was obvious that while he was the big man in charge- she could have fun too. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll tell you a secret, Harry.” Her lips brushed his as she kept the grip on his throat. Her lips were swollen and sensitive, the coarse facial hair brushing it and making her want to moan. “None of the boys my age have ever made me cum. They never fucked my ass. Never fucked me raw. And you did it all.”

"And I'm gonna keep doing it," he rumbled, eyes burning with lust as she kissed him. His hand tightened in her hair, tugging gently and pulling her deeper into the kiss. “You’ve got a man now, no need to think of those boys.You want me t’keep being nice to you? Keep making you cum?”

“If you keep fucking me like this, I do. Want my man to be so, so nice to me.” She gasped as he pushed all the way in, balls rested snug against her ass as he slowly humped into her, the comfort of the fullness making her fingers work harder on her clit. “Gotta- Gotta prove you can keep up with me, old man. That you c-can live up to the hype. I like the bit of silver at your temples but…” Her moan was broken as he pulled out and pushed back in, jostling her. “Gotta prove why older guys are b-better for pretty little things like me.”

"Oh, I'll prove it to you," he growled, picking up pace as he pounded into her tight ass. She had no idea just how badly he’d needed her to walk into his life. Thank god she had. This was everything he had ever wanted. "And right now, you need me to wreck this little hole until you can't walk straight. You need me to show you how a real man handles his woman. I'll give you everything you crave, everything you need. You just have to let go and trust me.” The man had every intention of proving how much better he could be for her than she could ever imagine.

"Fuck, look at this cunt." He muttered, reaching down to spread her dripping pussy apart. "It's absolutely soaked, just dripping down. Love it, hm?” The smugness in his tone would usually make her scowl but there was no denying it. The proof was right there. It was undeniable. “You're so turned on, baby. It's making it easier for me to fuck this tight little ass of yours." The glossy, hard flesh glistened with slick, dripping down onto the bed beneath her. His own cum intermingled with her own, making his movements smoother as he pushed in and out of her, coating her holes with their combined essence.

Her face was a mask of pure ecstasy, her eyes rolled back in her head as she whimpered in pleasure, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. Her asshole clenching and unclenching around his thick cock with each thrust, trying to milk him for all he was worth. Her body was feeling tingly, her legs trembling as he fucking into her ass, the sound of her arousal and his hips hitting her skin filling the room. She was completely lost in the pleasure, her mind clouded by the overwhelming sensation of being thoroughly fucked.

As she reached the peak of her orgasm, he took over and began rubbing her clit with his own thumb, the sensation sending waves of pleasure cascading through her body. She cried out, her pussy gushing as she came harder than she would have imagined being fucked like this. She was so overwhelmed that she could only hold limply onto his arms as he continued to pound into her, his thick cock stretching her hole as it thrust through the waves of her intense orgasm.

His face contorted, vein bulging in his neck as he struggled to hold back. "You feel too good, baby. I can't... I can't hold back any longer." His heavy balls drew up close to his body, ready to unleash another load inside of her. The feeling of her taut muscles milking him, the way she clung to him with every fiber of her being, it was too much. He was sensitive himself, but he wanted to deliver everything she wanted.

"Please, Harry...Please,come inside me... I wanna feel you fill me up. Want it everywhere." She panted, her voice desperate with need. Half of the fun of sex was seeing him lose that control he so easily held in all other scenarios. She wanted to make him feel just as good as he made her feel. He deserved it.

His restraint shattered at her words.  "Fuck, you're gonna get what you asked for."

With a guttural groan, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and let go, his hot load pulsing into her hole in thick ropes. She felt each ribbon scalding her , marking her as his. "That's it, take it all... That’s m’girl.” He kept cumming, his cock twitching as he filled her. Ribbon after ribbon filled her up until she was overflowing with his load, almost overwhelmingly so. He finally slowed, his chest heaving, before gently pulling out of her ass, his cock glistening with the evidence of their fuck.

With a sense of possessive pride, he watched as his cum began to leak out of her stretched hole, dripping down her thighs. It was satisfying in the filthiest way. Primal and caveman in every sense of the word, he loved knowing that he had done it. He’d taken every one of her holes and made her his in the dirtiest type of way. He gently spread her cheeks apart, admiring the sight of his mark leaking from her. "Look at that... You're so full of me, S’that what you wanted?”

“Mhm.” She smiled, slightly drunk on the orgasm and the fact that he had pushed her further than anyone else had before. it was a good feeling in her body, the beginnings of soreness and the calming heat of his hands as he caressed her the way he wanted. “Exactly what I wanted. Think M’gonna have to keep you around so we can do that again.”

“I’d hope so.” He laughed tiredly, pushing back down to take her mouth for another kiss. “I’m far from finished with you, sweet little thing. But I think I’ve ravaged your body enough. Think you need a bath and some tea, get you ready to sleep.” 

Aftercare wasn’t something she’d experienced in any other relationship either, but she realized now it was probably a Harry exclusive thing. He was phenomenal at it. A lot of things, honestly. He experimented with her responsibly, took care of her after every round of sex, checked in on her, made sure she was eating proper meals, and helped her with her career. She’d lucked out with him. Whatever his ex wife was thinking, she had no clue- but she wasn’t about to waste a single bit of him.

“Do you have chamomile?” She asked softly, pecking his lips in return. 

“What do you take me for? Course I’ve got it.” He scoffed, pinching her chin. “But if I didn’t, I’d find some for you. Know it’s your favorite. Added it to the grocery list, along with your cereal, your rancid battery acid energy drinks, and the sweet and salty popcorn.” 

“It’s good battery acid, I’ll have you know.” She giggled, carding her fingers through his hair. He did have a bit of gray going on the temples but it was sexy. Just hearing how much he cared and put effort into the tiny things made her giddy. 

“Yeah, yeah. We can talk about your poison in the morning. It’s time to get clean and go t’sleep. Tomorrow may be the day you write five thousand words. You never know.”

[vivwritesfics]

10 Things I Hate About You

Sirius Black x Evans!Reader

Lily Evans isn't allowed to date. Not until her big sister does. At least, James Potter thinks so. What better way to rectify this than to get Sirius to date her. That shouldn't be hard, right?

3.1K

Lily Evans was not allowed to date. At least that was what James believed. He believed the reason she wouldn't date him was because of her sister.

Her crazy twin sister who was a loner freak. She was pretty, sure. Just as pretty as Lily. But she was abrupt, aggressive and, quite frankly, scared most people off. She was unashamed in voicing her opinions, not giving a crap on what anybody thought.

Lily Evans wasn't allowed to date because Y/N Evans wasn't dating. It wasn't a jealousy thing, it was a protective older sister thing.

"You don't need to waste you time on the guys at this school, Lils. You should just be focusing on your studies and getting the best grades you can," she said as she sat, stretched out on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, book open in her lap.

Lily let out a huff and returned to her homework. She knew there was no point arguing with her sister. And, it wasn't even like she wanted to date anybody, it just would have been nice to have the option. Especially when James Potter ramped up the flirting.

James Potter. He stared at her across any room they were both in. Pranks had gone wrong because he was too busy staring at Lily.

He'd asked her out several times. But her answer was always the same. She always turned him down and blamed Y/N.

So, James had to come up with a solution. He liked Evans, so damn much, he just had to get her sister out of the way.

Moony would never go for it. He was already sort of friends with Y/N. Academic rivals who had found friendship. They compared homework, attempting to correct each other. Which worked out great for James, Sirius and Peter.

Peter. Y/N would never go for him. Especially not after she'd caught him peaking into the girls hanging room after quidditch practice.

That left James with one last friend: Sirius. And might have well as been perfect for the job.

Sirius accepted. If it finally got James with Evans, he'd do it. Plus, Y/N was a challenge. If he managed to date her, he'd hate dated the biggest bitch in Hogwarts.

Of course, Sirius had the impossible task of getting her to agree to go on a date with him first.

On Sirius' first attempt, he waited leaned against the wall beside the doorway into charms. It wasn't a class they shared, and Sirius only knew where she was because he'd asked Lily.

So, he'd skipped his own class and waited outside of hers.

The girls in Y/Ns year giggled and batted their eyelashes at Sirius as the walked past. He flashed that ever charming smile, but that was the only attention he was going to give them. They weren't the one he was looking for.

"Hey," Sirius said as Y/N walked past.

She spared him a single glance and kept walked, not answering him.

It was a good thing thing Sirius was a persistent person. He followed Y/N away from her classroom, towards Muggle studies. "You got muggle studies?" He asked.

Y/N snorted. "What do you think?" She mumbled. "Haven't you got any classes whatsoever?"

"I might," he replied, leaning against the wall.

Y/N finally turned to look at him. She wouldn't admit it, but she noticed it, noticed his rolled up sleeves, his loose tie, the way he wasn't wearing his robes.

Sirius Black was undeniably attractive, sure, but Y/N wasn't looking to date. And good facial features weren't the only thing that mattered to her. So far, Sirius was all aesthetically pleasing facial features.

"I might want to stay here and walk to you."

Y/N scoffed and walked into Muggle Studies, leaving Sirius where he was.

***

"I'm telling you, James, she doesn't want me. She wants nothing to do with me," Sirius said as they lounged around in the common room.

James shook his head. "Come one, Padfoot. Every girl wants you, so why doesn't she?"

Before this whole ordeal, Sirius had wanted Y/N, but it was in the same way he wanted every girl. It meant nothing and the feeling would pass as soon as something had happened between them. But the more she rejected him, the more he wanted her.

So, with the help of Remus, the boys devised a plan. They were going to throw a party in the common room. And if Y/N and Lily came, and Lily saw Y/N with Sirius, maybe James might have a chance.

They spent the afternoon preparing everything, getting records together and sneaking alcohol into the grounds. Using the tunnel that led to the shrieking shack, Sirius and Remus managed to get to Hogsmeade. From there it was easy enough to by something to drink and get it back to the castle.

By the time the Gryffindors got back from dinner, the boys had the party in full swing. All that was missing was people.

It didn't take much to convince people to join their party. First, second, third and fourth years were ushered up to bed, since the marauders didn't want to be responsible for a bunch of drunk Fourteen year olds.

It was Peters job to make sure they stayed upstairs while everybody else partied. Sirius' job was handing out the drinks and Remus' job was to keep things rolling while James flirted with Lily.

Y/N was one of the last to make it back from dinner. Her sister had gotten to the common room first, and was already sat on the couch beside Marlene McKinnon, drink in hand.

Once Y/N walked into the common room, she scoffed and went to make her way up to her bedroom.

But Sirius caught her, getting in her way and handing her a drink. "Stay for a while," he said over the music and the chatter. "Have some fun with your housemates."

"I'm busy," said Y/N as she stared at him.

Sirius insisted, pushing the drink into her hand. "One drink, that's all I ask," he said. "Just one drink."

Reluctantly, Y/N took it. But one drink turned onto two, and two drinks turned into three. Soon Y/N was dancing on the table to the Queen records Sirius had put on.

Other students gathered around, laughing and watching as she danced. But Sirius could see it, see her slipping and falling from the table. So, he strode over, pushing his way passed the other Gryffindors, who let him pass without protest, and grabbed a hold of Y/Ns hands.

"Let's get you some air," he called over the noise.

"But I'm having fun!" Y/N shouted back, throwing her head back as she swayed from side to side. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Sirius practically pulled her from the table. He wrapped his arms around her, leading her out of the common room.

Sneaking through the halls of the castle was hard enough on a full moon. But, with a drunk Y/N Evans clutching onto his arm, it was damn near impossible.

Sirius hid her in an alcove with him, holding his fingers to her lips as Slughorn came past. Y/N let out a giggle and licked Sirius's finger, but he quickly placed his hand over her mouth.

Once Slughorn was gone, it was easy enough to get Y/N outside. Sirius walked her down to the Black Lake, sitting her down against a tree. "How are you feeling?" He asked, sitting down beside her.

Y/N let her head fall against his shoulder. "My head feels fuzzy," she complained, shutting her eyes.

"That's because you've had too much to drink." Sirius pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pocket and pulled one out. He put one between his lips and lit it.

As soon as Sirius took the first puff, Y/N reached for the cancer stick. He gently batted her hand away, wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "You'll throw up if you smoke this," he said and Y/N just nodded his head.

***

She didn't want to talk about it.

Some Gryffindors laughed as they passed her in the hall, but Y/N's harsh glare was enough to shut them up.

She hid herself away in the library, in the darkest corner as she read through books. For one she wasn't studying, reading for the pleasure of it.

When somebody walked towards her, Y/N turned away.

When Sirius Black walked towards her, Y/N scoffed and shoved her nose deeper into her book. If there was one person she didn't want to talk to, it was the person that got her drunk.

He sat opposite her, drumming his black nails against the desk. "How you feeling today?" He asked, using his finger to lower Y/N's book.

She glared and lifted it back up. "Go away, Sirius."

"I'll go away," Sirius replied, "If you go to Hogsmeade with me."

Again, Y/N scoffed. But this time she stood up and walked away from him. She checked her book out of the library and strode out, all while Sirius watched her go.

Goddamn he wanted her.

He needed Remus's help.

Sirius met his friend in the Gryffindor common room. "We need to do something," he said as he paced in front of the fire place.

Remus was sat back, looking cool, calm and collected. Of course he was, he had virtually no part in this whole Lily and Y/N plan. "Do you think it's really fair that you're chasing her just so that James can date her sister?"

Stopping his pacing, Sirius stared at his friend. He wanted Y/N Evans and he wanted her bad.

Remus let out a sigh. "Have you ever noticed that she's always reading these romance novels?"

"So?"

"You'll need to do some sort of gesture, something big and romantic," Remus replied, running his hands through his hair.

Some big, romantic gesture, huh? Sirius could do that.

***

Y/N had never received a howler before. Never, not in her entire life. With her parents being Muggles, they didn't know how to send them. So, when the owl dropped the red envelope into Y/N's lap, her sister stared at her. "Who on earth sent you that?" Asked Lily as Y/N picked it up.

She shrugged her shoulders and unsealed it. Immediately, the red envelope and letter inside became a mouth. A mouth that started singing. "Oh my god," Y/N mumbled, hiding her face from everybody else in the great hall, eating their breakfasts. She'd never been this embarrassed in her life, not even when she'd gotten incredibly drunk last week.

The Howler sang Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen as Sirius came and sat opposite her, smirking with his ring covered hands clasped together. "This is from you, isn't it?" Y/N asked over the singing.

Instead of answering, Sirius climbed up onto the table. He sang along with the howler, kicking dishes of food away from the table. And, when the song was over, he held out his hands towards her. "Y/N Evans, will you go out with me?"

The embarrassment had turned into laughter. As embarrassing as it was, Y/N loved it. It was amazing. It was the most Sirius Black thing in the world.

But Y/N didn't get to answer him, not when Professor McGonagall came striding towards him and pulled him from the table. He waved at Y/N as he was dragged away to detention.

"What on earth," Lily muttered, shaking her head as Y/N stood up from the table.

"I don't know, Lils," Y/N said and ran office.

She knew exactly where to find Sirius. McGonagall had him in her office, writing line while she watched over him.

Y/N knocked on the door and waited for McGonagall to let her in. When she shouted, Y/N strode into the office. "Hey, Professor. As a Muggleborn student, I have some questions," she said and walked over to the window, pulling McGonagall's attention away from Sirius.

It took Sirius a moment to catch on. So, Y/N kept talking, kept holding McGonagall questions. "So, do how do Muggleborn students come to be?" She asked.

Sirius's eyes went wide. He stood carefully pushing his chair back while McGonagall was turned around.

But she went to turn back. "Like, do I have a magical family member from a few generations ago?" She asked as Sirius tiptoed towards the door. "And, how come Lily and I are both magic but our sister isn't?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Evans," McGonagall said, keeping her eyes on her as Sirius made it out of the door. Y/N got herself ready to run. "But I don't have time for this right now. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"You're right, Professor. I'm sorry," Y/N said and swiftly walked out of the office.

She got away quickly, before McGonagall could call her back and ask about Sirius's whereabouts. Y/N wasn't sure, anyway. Sirius was long gone by the time she got out of the office.

Suddenly, Sirius appeared out of nowhere. He strode forward and tapped Y/N on the shoulder. She turned quickly, ready to tackle her attacker, but when she saw Sirius, she relaxed. She went to say something, but he beat her to it. "Meet me on the astronomy tower later," he said and walked off again.

***

James walked towards Lily and placed his arms around her shoulders. "Word on the street is your sister is seeing Sirius," he said as they walked.

Lily didn't remove his arm, but she didn't give him the time of day, either. She just kept walking, as though James wasn't there. "So, now that your sister is dating, how about I take you on a date?"

"A date, James, really?" Lily asked, finally pushing his hand away.

James nodded his head. "If Y/N is dating, why can't you?"

Letting out a huff, Lily turned to face him. "Okay, if I go on one date with you, will you finally leave me alone?" She asked and James nodded.

One date. All he needed was one date.

***

Y/N made her way up to the astronomy tower. She was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a knitted sweater, keeping herself warm as she walked through the castle.

Sirius was already up the astronomy tower, a picnic set up in front of him. He had the blanket, the basket, a candle surrounded by food. It was simple food, sandwiches and snacks.

"Wow," Y/N whispered as she walked over to him.

Sirius grinned and spread his arms. "Surprise," he said and sat on one side of the blanket, gesturing for Y/N to sit opposite him.

She took her seat and Sirius passed her a biscuit. "So, what is the deal with James and my sister?" She asked as she leaned back, looking across the castle grounds.

Sirius shook his head. "He really likes her," he said and ran his fingers through his hair.

Y/N let out a snort. "I think the whole school knows that."

"No, I think the whole school knows that I like you," Sirius muttered with a smirk.

They spoke the whole evening long. Even once the food had been eaten and they were comfortably full, Y/N and Sirius stayed where they were, talking about their lives. Y/N learned about his home life and just how shitty it was. She told him about being Muggleborn and how spiteful her sister was.

They were sat beside each other, Y/N leaning against him as he watched the stars. "So, why don't you date?" Sirius asked her. "You're gorgeous, I know so many guys that would be so happy to be in my position right now, so why am I the lucky guy?"

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. "I've just always wanted to be more focused on my studies," she said.

Suddenly Sirius placed his finger under chin and tipped her towards him. He kissed her, slowly gently, eyes closed as his lips moved against hers. He tasted of smoke and mint, the taste intoxicating. Y/N couldn't get enough.

She ran his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. Sirius let out a whine and pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. He couldn't stop the smile crossing his face as they just sat there.

There were footsteps, making their way up towards them. Y/N and Sirius pulled away to look at who was approaching.

"Lily," Y/N said as she stood, moving away from Sirius. "What're you doing up here?"

And then James appeared behind her. He grinned when he saw the two of them, both of them breathless. "Thanks, mate," he said as he and Lily came up the stairs.

Y/N stared at Sirius. "What does he mean?" She asked, picking up her things. "Sirius, what does he mean by that?"

"Y/N, listen, you've got to understand-"

But that was enough for her. Y/N turned on her heel and walked away from him, running down the steps and back to the common room.

Sirius spent the next few weeks trying to speak to her. He waited outside of her classrooms and tried to corner her in the common room, but Y/N marched away from him, a furious look on her face.

She was furious. Furious that Sirius had just asked her out for James' benefit, furious that she had fallen for him.

She was hurt, incredibly hurt.

She hated the way she felt around, the way he made her heart flutter. She hated the way his gaze heated her cheeks, hated the way her hand felt in his. She hated the way he smelt like cigarettes, hated the way he tasted of smoke and mint, and hated the way she loved it. She hated that he'd taken her on her first ever date and hated the way she loved it. But, most of all, she hated the way she didn't hate him.

Y/N sat in the common room, reading her book. She was constantly looking around, making sure Sirius didn't appear in front of her.

Suddenly, a couple of books appeared on the table in front of her. They were held together by a piece of twine, held together in a neat bow. Beneath the bow was a small note, her name written on it. Y/N grabbed a hold of it and turned it around.

'Forgive me? - S'

Y/N looked across the common room, meeting his gave. She gave him a quick nod and went back to her book, a grin splitting across her face.

[mind-intheclouds342]

A new ladder - Reader x Curly

Previous - Part 5 - Next

"This looks like a funeral home!"

You said, clapping, alarming Curly who had barely woken up about ten minutes ago. 

You started to open the curtains to let some light in and turned on the television, looking for a channel that plays music instead of news. 

You smiled when you found one with music you like and were ready to go prepare breakfast, but you almost fell from the shock when you saw Curly. 

"Hey-!... You got up on your own..." you mentioned, holding your chest. 

Curly: "Ah... Yes, I made coffee but... I couldn't serve it, it's still in the coffee maker... Do you do that every day?"

"...You have a very, very deep sleep, in case you didn't know..." 

You kept staring at him, not taking your eyes off him as you slowly walked to grab the coffee pot to pour the coffee into two cups. 

Curly: "What do you want to do today?"

You raised an eyebrow as you thought of a response. 

"There's an amusement park in the city, how does that sound?"

Curly: "Sounds good" he nodded. 

You gave him a smile and pushed him a little, making him lose his balance and have to hold onto the table to avoid falling. 

"Impossible, you're going to fall apart if we go there. We need to practice your walking and how to use your new limbs."

Curly: "What do you recommend then?" he asked, finally standing up with some difficulty. 

"Let's go for a jog!" She patted his back, ready to prepare something to add to breakfast. 

After eating, they both changed into clothes, some for training. 

Curly noticed how loose his clothes had become due to the loss of muscle. 

"Later I can adjust it if you like, is it very uncomfortable for you?" 

You approached him to check it. 

Curly: "I'm worried that my pants will fall down."

"Look how easy that is to fix" 

You went to get thread and a needle to make a hem on the waistband of the pants and you put a few stitches in the hem to make it snug. 

"Done, I'll adjust it properly another day, now let's go, let's go"

First, you took a drive to a less busy area; you didn't want him to feel uncomfortable with the attention of people passing by on the road. 

"It's great that you can stand up and walk, do you think it's okay to try climbing up to that sign?" 

Curly: "Or course. I can do it" 

"Oh, someone is enthusiastic?" 

You laughed and got ready next to him to start jogging, he lagged behind for a few seconds but then took a few steps. 

You quickly returned when you heard he had fallen to help him get back on his feet. 

You repeated that action several times, but you got worried when he fell and his face hit the ground directly. 

"Hey, maybe jogging was too ambitious, we can walk through the forest here." 

He stood up with your help, head down, annoyed for not being able to do something he used to do every day a while ago. 

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you? "Let me see" 

You slowly removed the mask he was wearing to check it, and they were startled by the scream of a child, just as a mother with her child was passing by. 

Curly immediately turned to the other side so the child wouldn't have to see it while the woman gestured apologetically, carrying her son and quickly leaving the place. 

"They're gone now" you said, patting his shoulder. 

Curly: "I know... That i must look really bad... "

"Hey, don't think too much about it, come on, let's take a walk to clear your mind, okay?"

You took the sleeve of his jacket to pull him with you, delving into the forest and walking along the already marked path. 

He stood there watching as you held onto his clothes, and saw the prosthesis, how crude it was in shape, being made only to be functional and not aesthetic. 

I would like to hold her hand... 

He thought while still focused on your hand, and you turned to look at him when his prosthetic touched your forearm, strangely it felt like a caress. 

When he realized what he had done, he got nervous. 

Curly: "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to scare you." 

"No, no, no problem, I should have let you go. You must have felt really bad being pulled."

You said, smiling as you let go of his clothes, but that made him even more depressed. 

You continued walking until you felt a tug on your jacket, looking at the man in confusion. 

Curly: "...I have better balance if I hold onto you"

"Mm? Do you think you can keep up with me?"

You smiled with a hint of mischief as you walked slowly at first, and with each step, you increased your speed, making Curly follow you at the same pace, without letting go of your jacket. 

And within a few minutes, both were jogging in sync, your legs even moving in perfect harmony. 

You ran the entire forest trail until you returned to the starting point, both laughing, very excited about Curly's rapid progress. 

They took a break to drink some water and rest a bit, sitting on the hood of the car. 

Curly: "I missed this..." 

"Did you use to exercise a lot?"

Curly: "Yes, it was one of my hobbies, exercising, lifting weights, jogging, I had my own routine, it was nice."

"You were athletic too, mm, you sounded like the perfect man," you stretched before getting up.

He remained thinking about your words, sighing as he remembered that he would never be that man again.

Curly: "Yeah... someone cool, right?"

"Not for me. Routines aren't bad, but ugh they make me sick, perfect people, they seem like robots programmed to do the same thing until they die. Everything they do seems so good, they eat healthy, exercise, work, study, but it just ends up being a cycle because... they don't aspire to anything else, you know?" 

You shrugged as you opened the door of your car. 

"Because... what's the point of reaching the top if you're not going to keep climbing something higher?"

He felt that for a moment, his entire world had stopped; he could only hear the beating of his heart, and everything else was just silence. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but only a sigh escaped, lost in your silhouette before him, who only hoped you would get in the car so you could go home together. 

When you honked the horn, you brought him out of his trance. 

"Are you going to get in or are you going to run to home?" you asked, smiling. 

I knew well that you were capable of leaving it there, so he quickly climbed up next to your seat.

[wannaeatramyeon]

The Crew Heads with Reader: Suits

G/N. Silly. You wonder about their outfits. (Jake Kim, Eli Jang, Johan Seong, Samuel Seo). Non plot panel spoilers for 505 under cut!

Bro Code | Dinner | Shopping | Television | Gacha | Board Games | Suits

"Why do you always wear suits to fight?" You ask the four men lounging in your living room.

You hold up their dry cleaning. "A. It's costing a fortune to clean and B. Aren't, I dunno, track pants comfier?"

"I don't." Johan pipes up and you get the urge to pat him on the head. His custom God Dog designs are frankly adorable.

It is utterly charming having him show you the latest outfit he has drawn. With a logo and everything. He never explicitly asks what you think, but you know he seeks your approval anyway.

"Not you," you agree, giving Johan a warm smile that makes him avert his eyes and his ears turn pink.

The rest of the guys, Samuel, Jake and Eli exchange shifty glances at your questions.

"And there's no way-" You hold up a rag. You assume it must have been a Big Deal jacket at some point before it was torn up, "-They said they can repair this. They said I was out of my mind."

Jake had surmised it was a long shot. It was technically missing the lapels. And sleeves. And had long gashes down the back so most of it was ripped off and in tatters.

You're not wrong that it's costing a lot and he thought he would chance a repair instead of having to get a new jacket for Lineman.

You're right, unfortunately. He's going to have to look into some tracksuits instead.

"Thanks for trying," he says with a shrug.

The thing is, the Big Deal uniform just looks cool. Men in suits, who doesn't like that?

Samuel pre-Workers and pre-Big Deal also favoured suits because of how it looked. Authoritative. Like he means business. He wasn't a huge fan of the Workers white but the status that came along with it more than compensated for the colour.

Eli was convinced during the Fifth Affiliates when he was provided made-to-measure Workers suits to represent the crew. Warren and Max and Derrick didn't need much convincing after the girls oohed and aahed over it.

Except the Hostel budget didn't stretch to nice tailored suits, so they had to settle for black shirts and pants.

Still. That was cool enough.

But they can't admit that.

It's embarrassing to let you know they base their whole outfit on what looks good because truth be told, they can barely stretch in those things.

The material isn't made for high kicks and full body slams and sudden movements.  One lunge and they risk a split along the asscrack.

It's why their clothes end up torn off so often.

And yes, there has been awkward popped buttons or ripped seams during inopportune moments mid fight when even Gun Park's eyes momentarily flickered down to exposed underwear or an ass cheek hanging out.

But goddamn, the aesthetics.

"It's comfortable," Eli says unconvincingly, as you raise an eyebrow at his answer.

Somewhere to your right, you hear Johan mutter, "Liar."

[tojisth3rdwife]

JJK men as content creators

Toji: very unserious fitness vlogger/foodie

Toji was no stranger to exploitation for financial gain. Nor did he have any shame over it. The idea to start making content stemmed from people approaching him in the gym for advice after seeing his impressive physique.

He wasn't much of a talker, although his dry sense of humor became his trademark along with his abs, so the majority of Toji’s content consisted of workout and nutrition advice. None of it he recommended anyone do since he wasn't a professional, stating that if it didn't work for you, don't go blaming him for it. One of his most popular segments was when he went to different restaurants in the area for food reviews on his cheat days. When owners noticed how a position review from him brought in a lot of business, they stopped charging him meals if he ever returned. And we all know how much Toji loved that.

"Alright, listen up. You want results? It’s not about fancy machines or trendy diets. It’s about putting in the work and pushing your limits. No shortcuts. Just grit and grind. Today, we’re hitting those weights hard and showing those excuses the door. Let’s get it."

Nanami : cooking/ASMR

Upon first impressions, one would think Kento wasn't the type of person who uses social media. He had Facebook like most millennials and has an Instagram but barely uses it. He wasn't the type to share his life with the world in that way and found the concept too invasive and troublesome for him to be bothered with. “What the point of telling strangers what I'm doing? I have no interest in what anyone else does.” he’d say.

But one day after allowing one of the teachers at Jujutsu High to try one of his homemade baked creations, it was suggested that he had his cooking show. Noting that he has the wholesome ‘husband/boyfriend’ aesthetic going for him, as well as a voice that sounded like a hug from behind after a long day at work. Kento started his channel slowly walking viewers through his favorite recipes , as well as some new ones he’d been meaning to try, while speaking gently into a highly sensitive mic that added an ASMR element to every video.

He doesn't show his face, feeling the anonymity made him most comfortable to be himself, but the way his audience swooned over the fixed view of him in his button-up and apron with the sleeves rolled up his veiny forearms, or his deft hands/fingers as he used a knife or kneaded dough.

Kento earned himself a whopping 400k subscribers in less than a year.

"Welcome back, everyone. Today, we're going to create something simple yet satisfying. Just listen to the gentle sound of the flour as it sifts through my fingers... The perfect blend of precision and comfort. Let’s start our journey into baking together, one soft whisper at a time."

Geto - podcast bro , the toxic kind

We all know with the global pandemic came the need for creative streams of income. Especially via social media. With somewhat of a platform of his own, being a cult leader and all, Suguru was approached by his daughters with the idea to reach more people by starting a podcast. Skeptical at first, Geto wasn't very enthusiastic about the idea of getting in front of a camera just to talk for an hour.

But with his dashing good looks, easygoing personality, and controversial views, it was no surprise that he amassed such a fanbase overnight. His show consisted of him tackling hard subjects, discussing world news, and hot topics, reading fan mail, and offering his candor, as well as having the occasional guest that may or may not know what they got themselves into.

"Welcome back to the show, everyone. Today, we’re diving deep into the topics no one wants to touch..the uncomfortable truths and the gray areas that challenge our perceptions. Let’s be real: society loves to paint everything in black and white, but the reality is far more complex. So, buckle up as we unpack some hard-hitting ideas that might just make you rethink everything. And remember, if you can’t handle the heat, youre probably a monkey."

Gojo- vlogger, travel, fashion, aesthetic, hauls.

Being someone who comes from money, old money at that, Satoru has access to more cash than he knows what to do with. So it's no surprise that outside of work( and sometimes for work), he spends his days traveling and shopping.

Vlogging came easily for him since he enjoyed talking about himself so much anyway, and with an audience so invested in his daily life, Satoru recorded everything. Him waking up. His skin/hair routine. What he ate in a day. Going on missions. Comedic skits with some of the first years who would participate. Travel vlogs and clothing hauls. There was a little bit of something for everyone on his page.

“Whats good my faves, its ya boy Satoru..back at again with another clothing haul. Im fresh off the plane from when I was Paris for fashion week, link to that vlog in the top right hand corner, and man am I jet lagged. But I wanted to show you all what I brought back while I have the time..”

Megumi- gamer/streamer on twitch.

After a talk with Gojo about him needing to find things to do outside of trying to advance as a sorcerer, Megumi picked up video games as a hobby. He was gifted a gaming PC and a PS5 by his mentor and began playing to blow off some steam after training. When he was injured after a mission, Megumi had not much else to do. Yuji was the one who suggested he stream on Twitch after watching him beat an entire game that took most people days in one night, praising him on his skills and suggesting letting others watch him play too.

After a while, his obsessive need to be good at everything he tries turned into him becoming one of the top-watched gamers. His dry personality and snide comments made for entertaining dialogue during game play and he often would give his critique on the game once he’d beaten them. He’d even get chances to be a beta player for unreleased game demos.

“The graphics were ok. Combat mode is a little glitchy but overall it’s a decent game. If this is just the demo, I’m interested in what they’ll do for the full game release. Otherwise I gave it a 7 out of 10.”

Sukuna- reactions

This started as a joke when his nephew wanted him to react to some viral trend and while the king of curses was rarely impressed, his archaic way of expressing himself was what made people most interested in his opinions.

Sukuna began a series of reactions where he sat upon his throne, gazing at the camera with all four eyes blazing with contempt and boredom as he watched viewer recommendations. Those ‘try not to laugh’ challenges were his most viewed.

If something managed to make him smirk or even chuckle, he gave it 4 thumbs up and would congratulate the OP for their talents in entertainment. Majority of his audience was comprised of women between the ages of 25 and 40. He acts like he has no clue why.

"This is, without a doubt, the most extravagant display of foolishness I've ever witnessed in my life. Yet, I recognize that many humans find cats charming and entertaining, so I suppose this video could be seen that way. Regardless, it's utterly pathetic. On to the next video..."

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Sky Pirates

Some of you may have noticed that I love to re-imagine concepts and adapt them into different settings. So, today, I present you with yet another dpxdc fantasy AU, and this time, it's Pirates.

Only just 'pirates' seemed not exciting enough, so I have Sky Pirates.

Amity Port, a place on the outskirts of Gotham - a floating continent under the rule of Waynes. A town on the edge of the world, with only the Vast Skies beyond its piers. Flying ships moored in the docks, sails of all the colors you can imagine, taverns, inns, and shops run by all the people you know: Old Kinght Fright, Jinnee Desiree, and Lady Lunch, to name some.

Royal Guard Valerie Gray, who left Amity nearly a decade ago, is now back, and she brought guests with her. Two Princes of Gotham, straight from Bristol: Tim and Jason. Only they are not here for a simple visit.

A Sky Curse over both of them, with feathers piercing their skin from inside, causes them to seek the help of a skies witch since none of the mages, witches, or warlocks all throughout Gotham could help them. But sailing the Vast Skies with no clear destination is a task for no battleship.

They need something else.

A crew of pirates who never back down from adventure when offered a fair price. A ship that had sailed far beyond any trade would go. A captain that their Royal Guard can trust, even if begrudgingly.

And, maybe, a new friend that also has feathers under his sleeves.

Is this an advertising post for my new fic? Yes, yes, it is. 'Free as the Wind' by corkinavoid, here is a link, enjoy.

What I did was I took the concept of 'Danny has Wings' and the idea of space pirates from 'Treasure Planet', mixed it with some 'Pirates of the Caribbean' aesthetic, threw in some magic, added a generous amount of fantastic skyscape worlds and a dash of adventures that end in love, and winged it.

Also, have some art I shamelessly found on Pinterest to set the mood:

P.S. The fic has soundtrack links included

[sillylilreader]

do you suppose we could have a oneshot of Iida running into an old friend who goes to a different school and introducing them to his friends? the surprising part is how different he and the reader are, but they get along so well (bonus if the reader has tattoos)

please, and thank you 🙏🏽

omg ofc id love to write this

not sure if you wanted it to be romantic or not so i made them friends :3

pls forgive me if iida's ooc, ill try my best

Class 3A, recently graduated, in their rambunctious entirety, were spending the day grouped together at the mall. As per usual, Tenya Iida found himself keeping the group together and organized. Between Kaminari and Mina, he found himself with a handful of trouble.

Iida followed the group of twenty, closely behind. Being sure to keep an eye on each of them. He was prepared for a long day, sure, but what he wasn't prepared for was your bright smile blinding him all the way from the food court.

Iida found his gaze drug to you as if naturally, and when your gaze met, your eyes lit up to match your smile.

"Ten!!" you yelled, across the mall, rushing to meet your friend. Iida was grateful to meet your embrace, taking in your new aesthetic. Sure, you were bright and airy inside, but on the outside you looked hardened, with your piercings and tatted up sleeves.

You couldn't help but feel subconscious under his watchful gaze. He seemed to take in every part of your being, picking it apart in seconds.

Finally, he spoke your name, in a quiet whisper, before quickly matching your energy. "It is wonderful to see you! It has been ages since our last meeting!"

Iida clapped his hands together, excitement making it's way through his body. He quickly began asking questions about your tattoos and their meanings, alongside the age of your piercings and their healing process.

All the while, the remainder of class 3A stared the two of you down, muttering amongst themselves.

"Who are they?"

"Why is he so excited?"

"They're so different from each other!"

It wasn't long before Iida turned around to introduce you to the group, explaining the background between the two of you.

You had met during primary school, being close friends all up till high school. Your quirk was lack luster, meaning you had no chance of getting into UA. Not that that was necessarily your calling.

Kaminari was the first to say anything, speaking what they all thought, "How did you two ever get along?" He was met with a slap to the bag of the head by Kirishima, who was muttering something about your manliness, and bravery for having such strength to endure all the piercings and tattoos.

You simply laughed it off, "Oh, you know a nerd like Iida would need a protector!"

Iida's face flushed as he raised his arms in a crossing motion, as if making an X with his body. "I could handle myself perfectly well! And I was no such nerd,"

This was met by giggles amongst the group.

After more questions, and some jokes amongst the lot, you found yourself spending the day with them on their outing.

"You know, Im glad you accompanied us today. It's nice seeing you all grown up." Iida found himself muttering to you, from the back of the group.

You nodded excitedly, "Let's do it again, yeah?"

SORRY ITS SHORT IDK HOW TO WRITE IIDA AT ALL AND ALSO WASNT SURE WHERE TO TAKE IT HAPPY TO KEEP IT GOING IF YOU WANT IT JUST LMK

[stairs-feooff]

An Open Letter to White Emo Kids

When I was thirteen years old, I googled ‘how to be emo.’ The music, the aesthetics, the darkness of it all captivated me. There was transgression there, with boys in makeup and girls who weren’t ashamed to be bisexual. The online emo community on google plus (anyone else remember google plus? Just me?) took me in with open arms. I was allowed to be depressed, I didn’t have to hide my burgeoning sexuality or the starts of my struggle with depression, something I now know was caused by intense amounts of dysphoria and life in an abusive and queerphobic household.

Only, there was one problem. I wasn’t white. 

Certainly, nobody would say they had an issue with me being Latino to my face. Most people in the scene genuinely believed they were not racist. After all, they loved Latino people, they thought the guys in Pierce the Veil were so hot. They appreciated the culture too, sombreros and maracas were the full extent of Mexican culture, right? 

But to be emo, you had to be pale. I remember Onision saying that Black people couldn’t pull off emo, and while everyone I knew talked about how horrible he was for saying that, they all secretly believed it. The emo kids I knew stayed out of the sun, they wore long sleeves to stay whiter and some on the more goth side carried around parasols. It was just part of the gothic, to stay white and dead looking. I hid myself from the sun, my skin tanned quickly and well, we couldn’t have that. 

Every guide on emo aesthetics emphasized stick straight hair. Every emo kid I knew reinforced that idea. I begged my mom for a relaxer, she refused. It was alright, I figured out how to damage my hair well enough on my own. Pete Wentz kept his hair straight, spent his time with a flat iron to press down the curls that made him inpalatable to white suburban teenagers. I could too. The burns, the split ends, the fact that my hair didn’t start to return to its natural texture until I cut several inches off this year, that was the sacrifice kids like me needed to take to come into the scene. If not, you would be made fun of. You’d be compared to Ray Toro, everyone’s favorite ‘princess fro fro.’ He was Puerto Rican, just like me. No one talked about that, beyond whispering it around like a dirty secret. No one acknowledged his pride in his country, mirrored by my own pride instilled in me from my mother. Every piece of him, every feature identifiable as nonwhite was sneered at. His hair, his nose, his lips, the white kids said he was the ugly one because of them. I was too, I suppose. 

That was back in 2014. I remember it vividly, still.

Turn back the clock to the early 1980s. Dischord records has just signed seminal emo group, Rites of Spring. There is change in the humid Washington DC Summer air. A new genre would be born from it, branching from the existing hardcore movement. To say Dischord records created emo would be no exaggeration. Without them, the music all of us in the scene know and love would be nonexistent. Dischord was seminal in the scene, Dischord was also founded by Ian MacKeye, vocalist for Minor Threat and later, Fugazi. 

Minor Threat is not emo in the tradional sense. Musically, it’s similar to punk and hardcore groups of the time, lacking the distinct musical flourishes of MacKeye’s later emo group, Fugazi. Still, Minor Threat helped shape the hardcore scene emo was born from and created the record label that signed Rites of Spring, the first emo band. Fugazi is legendary in first and second wave emo circles, influencing bands like Thursday. MacKeye’s stamp on emo is inescapable, even in the third wave. MacKeye also penned the song: Guilty of Being White. 

Guilty of Being White is a minute of MacKeye complaining about systemic racism - or rather, being blamed for systemic racism. He’s sorry for being white, he’s so so sorry, don’t you feel sorry for him, a white man in the 1980s? Isn’t it horrible that white people are blamed for systemic inequality? Isn’t it horrible that he actually has to put work into allyship with people of color? 

MacKeye says he never meant for the song to seem racist. Surely, the fact that it’s become a favorite of white power groups is a coincidence. 

All that is to say, racism was baked into emo from the very beginning. The label that created the genre was founded by white men with very clear issues with racism, even if they did not see it that way. Pete Wentz flat ironing his Black hair and Tyler Joseph refusing to say he’s influenced by rap aren’t bugs unique to the third wave. Instead, they’re features of the genre. 

Now, I’m not writing this to ‘cancel’ emo. I love emo dearly, I still consider myself emo. It, in every wave, is my favorite genre of music. Rites of Spring, Jawbreaker, My Chemical Romance, these bands have shaped my life like no other. Through emo I have met some of my best friends, white and nonwhite alike. Emo allowed me to express my gender and sexuality freely. Emo changed my life for the better, and it continues to do so. No, I am not writing this to cancel emo, whatever that means. Instead, it is because I love the genre so much that I feel the need to point out its flaws, its shielding and harboring of racism since Dischord herself began. 

They say you should end essays like this with a call to action. Personally, I don’t know what I can say that hasn’t been reiterated a thousand times. Really, what am I supposed to say here? Stop being racist? I, like so many other people of color both in and out of the scene are tired of telling white people to do just that over and over. We are tired of seeing white people stop saying what isn’t acceptable anymore, not due to any sort of active unpacking of white supremacy on their part but simply out of a wish to not be ostracized. I am tired of going to emo spaces outside my friend groups and explaining to white thirty year olds what racism is, over and over and over again ad infinitum. I am tired of seeing white people try and take the lead on discussions of racism, whether it is to rapidly assert ‘im not racist but-‘ or to be on the opposite extreme, to jump the gun and form a dog-eat-dog circus, where the end goal is not to actually form a safe place for people of color but to prove how not racist they are. I am tired of watching white people jump on whatever they can to demonize people of color in the scene. I am tired of watching nuanced conversations about racism and complicitness in racism be overshadowed by people upset their pet white man isn’t going to kiss their other pet white man anymore. I am tired of watching children be called slurs. 

Perhaps my frustration is coming loose. It’s hard to be in the middle of all this and not be frustrated. At this point, I am disillusioned. These conversations are seemingly brought up every month, and yet, there is no systemic change. All I can say is I hope that one day, emo becomes actively hostile to racism and racists. Perhaps being aware that racism has been integral to the scene since the beginning is a good place to start. 

[propheticclown]

I need you all to understand. I've seen so many people talk about how Eridan would be slaying the fashion scene. How his fashion sense is awesome and epic, or whatever. NO! Firstly, I wanna preface this by saying that Pesterquest falls under the category of "Dubiously Canon." so his massive closet isn't actually canon. But secondly, LOOK AT HIS FUCKING FIT, MY GUY!

THE DEEP BLUE WITH THE PURPLE??? THE CAPE??? THE HAIR??? BROOOOOTHER!!! THEY EVEN CHANGED THE COLORS OF HIS SCARF AND PANTS TO LOOK BETTER IN PESTERQUEST!

It's subtle but the color shifts towards indigo/cobalt rather than royal blue. "B-But what about March Eridan? March Eridan looks good and is canon!" I don't know how brainrotted you are from buying all your clothes from shien (derogatory) and temu (derogatory) to think that March Eridan looks good, but let me just show you what it looks like again to refresh your memory.

Ignoring the insanity that's even happening with this image in the first place, this IS the Original March Eridan image. Now let me tell you why this fit is more atrocious than Kankri Vantas' takes on feminism. 1. THE COLORS DO NOT WORK!!! His VIOLET symbol combined with MAGENTA arm warmers and thigh highs and a RED SKIRT???? AUUHHG NONE OF THESE COLORS LOOK AESTHETICALLY PLEASING TOGETHER IN A FASHION SENSE!!! NAME ONE TIME RED AND PURPLE HAVE EVER LOOKED GOOD TOGETHER IN TERMS OF FASHION??? 2. STRIPES AND FUCKING PLAID??? WHAT??? IN CARTOONS, MUSIC, BOOKS, AND EVEN FUCKING GAMES, DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH "Ew stripes and plaid." IS SAID??? THAT IS LIKE THE NUMBER 1 NONO IN ANY FASHION WORLD!!! 3. AND WHILE THIS ONE IS A BIT OF A STRETCH, THERE IS NO CONVINCING ME THAT ERIDAN AMPORA WOULD WILLINGLY WEAR THIS SHIT! IT JUST DOES NOT MAKE SENSE FOR HIS CHARACTER TO WEAR THIS OUTFIT! FASHION IS A WAY OF EXPRESSING ONESELVES! FASHION, AS A MEDIUM OF ART, IS A WAY A PERSON CAN EXPRESS HOW THEY FEEL ON THE INSIDE! March Eridan as an outfit, artistically expresses confidence, empowerment and a general "I'm a bad bitch you can't kill me" energy. Here's the problem. Eridan at his base components is envious, closed off, emotionally volatile, and a massive fucking nerd, which the old outfit actually does express.

His clothes are long-sleeved, showing the least possible amount of skin he can, which usually can represent being closed off. His cape is large and grandiose, showing that he likes to be exaggerated and theatrical. His scarf indicates his nerdiness, with it being a reference to Harry Potter and how it could be a tie-back to his nerdy love of wizards. The only other outfit he's shown wearing is with a flashback to when he and Vriska were a kismesis.

Here the outfit, even with as little as we see of it, is big and intense. Unlike Vriska, who essentially doesn't change outfits, Eridan puts time and effort into each theatrical performance he considers himself to be a part of. He adores intricate and exaggerated outfits. Things that are fancy, complex, and over-the-top. So that even though he doesn't feel great on the inside, even though he feels as though he's "wworse than evverybody. all the bodies." He can still look well put together. And that's WHY I don't think March Eridan as an outfit works. It's too casual for him. It's not big or flashy in a way he likes. There's not enough for him. It doesn't cover him up and because of that, he'd feel exposed. He's not closed off anymore. It doesn't exude "Eridan Ampora". Who's "most casual" piece of apparel is probably a sweater vest.

Even in the original image, he looks uncomfortable, like he doesn't actually LIKE wearing it. The only way I can find this artistically working from a writing standpoint is if Kanaya made it for him because, in the story, it is shown time and time again that Kanaya doesn't understand Eridan, so by making him this outfit, she'd take it a step further by not even understanding what he likes. Kanaya doesn't understand that Eridan is terrified of being culled, because Kanaya doesn't have to worry about that. Kanaya doesn't understand the pressures Alternian society is forcing upon him, as an Orphaner. Because Kanaya's only societal expectation is raising the new mother grub. Kanaya doesn't think about how he's most likely going to live the longest out of all his friends. Eridan has the second highest lifespan out of every troll blood color, but even then with Feferi, she's most likely going to get culled by the Condense when she's the proper age to inherit the throne. So in Eridan's mind, he's going to be alone, expected to be an Orphaner until the day he dies, utterly alone to feed Feferi's lusus until he eventually succumbs to old age or dies in war. That's why he's so closed off, yet so emotionally grand. That's why March Eridan doesn't suit him from a fashion-artistic standpoint. It's not what Eridan Ampora embodies as a character. Envy.

[wnderkoo]

WATCH | JJK

୨୧ see what you want to see, but all i see is him right now

this is a part of my drabble series, read more here!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

You're late.

For once in your college career, you're late.

Blame your friends for dragging you out on a school night and not letting you go home until almost midnight- it took two iced mochas to pump you with enough energy to make it pass your door.

Entering the classroom, you let out a sigh when the professor doesn't berate you in front of the entire class. Instead, he looks at you with passive indifference, silently beckoning you to find a seat.

The Visual Arts course required a more practical classroom rather than an auditorium, organised with high tables that sat two people- it had the messy kind of aesthetic you would expect in a K-Drama.

When you look to your usual table, you cry a little inside seeing blocks of clay and newspaper scattered on top of it. Though, given how late you were, you felt that it had been deserved.

Scanning the classroom, you're mortified to find that the only spare seat in the class is next to him.

Tattoos, piercings, the hint of muscles beneath his shirt- Jeon Jungkook is everything you should stay away from.

You had walked in on your first day, surprised to say the least when you saw him at a table. He was the last person you expected to take an arts course but Jungkook had surprised you, becoming one of the top students in the class with his unique art style which blew you away every time.

As if feeling you glaring into the side of his head, he lifts his eyes, meeting yours almost immediately. He gives you a smile that hits you right in the stomach- damn him.

You hear the professor cough awkwardly, signalling to you that you need to find a seat.

Reluctantly, you make your way to his table and sit down beside Jungkook, avoiding his curious gaze as you try to listen in to the rest of the lesson.

Today was theory, and since you'd done the pre-reading, there wasn't much to be missed.

Maybe it's your lack of sleep, or the certain distraction beside you, but you can't seem to find it in you to pay attention to the words of your professor.

No matter how straight you sit up and act like the principles of clay are the most interesting topic on the planet, your mind wanders off.

When you hear a chuckle from beside you, your head snaps towards Jungkook.

"What?" you ask in a whisper, not trying to get called on to answer a question for talking, knowing you wouldn't have the first clue to the answer.

"You're on the edge of your seat," he comments, grinning down at you like it's hilarious.

"If you sit anymore forward, you'll fall right off."

Rolling your eyes, you take in his own posture. Jungook was leaning back in his chair, looking more relaxed than you've been in your entire life. Yet, something told you he was still paying attention.

You knew he did well in school, no matter how shocking it was that the boy who partied and slacked off in class got straight As.

"C'mon babe, you can relax."

Your head snaps back to the front of the room, hoping Jungkook can only see the back of your head and not the heat creeping onto your cheeks.

It's five minutes later, with your professor still rambling on, that his words really win you over.

Scooting back, you let yourself relax into your seat.

From beside you, Jungkook gives you a smug smile.

"Better right?"

"Mhm."

Sitting beside Jungkook wasn't as bad as you had thought it would be. He didn't even flirt with you that much, although he did call you 'babe' a few times, each time bringing the same heat to rise on your cheeks.

He had even offered you his notes to help answer the questions from today's theory work.

The second part of the lesson was always practical, and today you were experimenting with sculpting. Discarding your chairs, you roll up your sleeves and get straight down to business.

While you're fighting hard not to break a sweat as you battle the stiff clay, Jungkook hardly blinks as he start kneading the clay and moulding it into shapes.

After some huffing and puffing, you suddenly feel his eyes on you.

"Need some help?" he asks.

"Nope. Doing. Just. Fine."

His laugh is the first thing you hear before you feel his presence unnervingly close to you.

You almost gasp when he slips one hand beneath each of yours, lacing your fingers together.

"There's your problem, your hands aren't warm enough. The clay won't be mouldable."

Throughout much of high-school and even some of college, guys overly mansplained things to you as if you couldn't comprehend them, but Jungkook's tone didn't belittle you or make you feel stupid. He was just telling you what you needed to know.

He squeezes your hands in his for a moment before pulling his hand away. He beckons toward the clay, urging you to try moulding it now, and unsurprisingly the clay is much easier to shape in just a few seconds.

You silently wonder why Jungkook didn't just warm the clay up for you, but you were thankful that he didn't try to peg you as the damsel in distress.

Before you know it, an hour and a half has passed and your clay elephant and Jungkook's mushroom are standing proudly on the desk.

The hallway is crowded as you make your way to your next class, the chatter almost too loud for you to hear your name being called. Looking over your shoulder, you see none other than Jungkook jogging to catch up to you.

"Hey."

"Hey?"

You almost look around wondering if he was calling someone with the same name as you, but you can't mistake the boyish grin he looks at you with.

"Do you have any plans tonight?" he asks, hooking an arm around your shoulders to usher you to keep walking.

You quickly realise that if you'd stay still just a moment longer, one of the football throwing jocks would have bulldozed right over you.

"Probably just reading class material, why?"

Your confusion must be funny since Jungkook laughs softly.

"Let's get dinner together," he suggests, making your eyes bulge out of your head.

Did Jeon Jungkook really just ask you to dinner?

"You want to go to dinner with me?" you ask, looking up at him.

"I mean yeah, that's why I asked..." his hand comes up to scratch the back of his head, and you realise it's the first time you've ever seen Jungkook look so timid.

Jeon Jungkook. Campus heart-crusher Jeon Jungkook. Has a new girl on his arm every party Jeon Jungkook.

Before you can voice your hesitation, someone calls Jungkook's name from across the hall, tearing both your attention and Jungkook's to a certain brown haired man.

You recognise Kim Taehyung's face through the crowd, waving at you and flashing you his box smile.

"Yo Kook! You still getting the beer for the party tonight?"

While the two communicate through loud shouts, you take the mention of a party as your cue to leave. Jungkook was probably only asking you to dinner because he had nothing better to do. He probably just forgot about the party he was clearly needed at.

You push past the doors and start down the footpath towards the other cluster of buildings across campus when Jungkook is once again calling your name.

"Sorry about that," he says with his boyish smile, falling into step beside you.

"So tonight? Dinner?"

His adamancy about this dinner is throwing you off, especially when you hadn't even interacted with Jungkook enough for him to be practically begging.

"Don't you need to get beer for the party?" you ask.

"I can get that done by 6:30 and still be in time to pick you up at 7," he replies smoothly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"You don't want to go to the party?"

You can't even mask your surprise, looking up at him to see if he's playing a joke on you.

"I'm sure you'd enjoy that way more than dinner with me," you laugh.

"Nah."

One word, so casually, so confident. You actually believe him.

"Okay, fine. Dinner tonight."

Jungkook all but leaps into the air with a fist up, his elation enough to make a passer-by believe he'd just won the lottery.

You finally reach the English department for your next class, but you stop before the door and turn to face Jungkook.

You stare at him fully, trying to grasp what he was playing at. Unable to read him, you sigh and start walking to the door and with one final look over your shoulder, your words are half a demand and a wish.

"Remember, 7 PM. Don't be late!"

He's late.

You'd felt bad earlier for letting his reputation and rumours make you question his intentions, but now he was just living up to them.

You'd spent an hour getting ready, and were horrified to find yourself smiling more than once as you imagined how the night would turn out. You couldn't help it, you were excited.

Every minute is a laugh in your face as you wait on the couch. Maybe he had found someone at the party worth staying for.

You felt stupid for believing you really could be different.

You're just about to give up and wallow in bed while cursing men when your doorbell rings.

You have half a mind to ignore him but you also can't help but be curious to see how he tries to save himself.

The door opens to a guilty looking Jungkook, whose eyes light up just seeing you, as if he had expected you to never talk to him again.

Arms crossed over your chest, you take him in.

His hair is a little disheveled like he run his hand through it one too many times on the drive over here. Wearing a simple white Nike t-shirt and black cargo pants, he was making it a lot harder to stay upset.

It also didn't help that he smelled so fucking good.

"Baby-"

You cut him off, pinning with a look that says 'try again'. He winces at your coldness, though he knows its deserved.

"Yn."

"You're late."

"I know, and I'm so fucking sorry. You don't know how fast I drove to get here," he says, looking genuinely distraught.

A part of you feels petty for not wanting to hear him out. Your pride was wounded and maybe it would be better to stay home.

"It's fine, you can just go back to the party."

You're about to close the door in his face when he steps into the doorway, a hurt expression on his face.

"Please, give me another chance. I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you," he practically begs, looking and sounding close to falling to his knees.

"Fuck, I even got you flowers because I didn't want you to be upset."

You had realised earlier that you never told Jungkook where you lived. You're not sure exactly how he managed to get your number, you think from one of your friends who share a course with him, but he had messaged you earlier and gotten it.

You'd made sure to tell him not to get you flowers (you felt pretentious assuming he would in the first place) because flowers were for dates and this definitely wasn't a date.

Except when he pulls out the bouquet, you almost just forget everything. He could have half assed it and bought supermarket owned flowers, but he went all out. You're not sure where he managed to get such a beautiful arrangement on short notice, but the longer you look at them, the less upset you feel.

"You think you can win me over with flowers?" you chide, except even Jungkook can tell your resolve is crumbling.

"Is it working?" he asks with a smile when he notices your expression is more lighthearted.

"Yes."

You're glad Jungkook took you to eat somewhere casual enough that you didn't feel like you couldn't talk, but fancy enough that you weren't just eating fast food. A good middle ground served for the conversation that came easy between you while you waited for your food to come.

Jungkook explains why he was late, which you assure him he is forgiven for, and he tells you that he'll still spend however long it takes to make it up to you.

After dinner you split the bill because it still definitely isn't a date, much to Jungkook's dismay.

You spend the rest of the night walking along the boardwalk, seeming to never run out of things to talk about.

You steal a photo of Jungkook being scammed into playing a carnival game. You also capture the moment he turns around, grinning at you after he managed to knock down all of the pins.

He snaps a photo of you holding the massive teddy bear that almost takes up half of the frame.

He tells you to keep it as an early birthday present because this definitely isn't a date, even though he says it as he winks at you.

When the end of the night draws near, Jungkook asks if you want to go on the ferris where which you immediately say yes to.

He leaves the teddy bear by the operator and you're too eager to get on that you miss the $10 he slips to the guy to make the wheel stop when you're at the top.

Jungkook gets in beside you, resting his arm along the back of your seat because it's 'more comfortable'.

The wheel starts moving, and your eyes dart every which way trying to capture all the sights as you rise higher and higher.

You point out buildings in the distance and Jungkook smiles

When you reach the top you almost burst out laughing when the ride comes to a stop.

Turning to Jungkook, you roll your eyes at his cheesy smile. You're aware your smile is just as big.

"Of course you did," you tease, even as you find yourself moving just a margin closer.

"What can I say? I'm a romantic," he says playfully.

You can't lie and say you had expected any of this to happen tonight. Some parts were cliche, sure, but some parts were also just so genuine, so Jungkook.

People can see what they want to see and say what they want to say about him, but in this moment all you see is Jungkook.

Jungkook who won you a giant teddy bear even after being scammed $15 for it. Jungkook who paid for your icecream even though this isn't a date. Jungkook who paid the operator of the ferris wheel to stop when you were at the top.

Maybe it's the kind of cliche where the smart girl does fall for the bad boy. He'll drive you home, walk you to your front step and kiss you goodnight.

Maybe it's the kind of cliche where you want him to.

"This still isn't a date."

The words are said as a joke but Jungkook doesn't have time to laugh before you're pressing your lips to his.

His hand immediately cups your cheek, holding you close as he reciprocates.

And boy does he reciprocate.

His lips are soft against yours and when you sigh softly Jungkook slides his tongue into your mouth.

It's the kind of kiss that takes your breath away and leaves you both panting afterwards. Jungkook smiles at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand from when the kiss had turned heated and sloppy.

"Definitely not a date."

wow look at me uploading again HAHAH please let me know if you're enjoying these drabbles! feedback and comments are always welcome :)

🏷️: @moonstar127 @royallyjjk

[bethecliche]

my love mine all mine l vincent renzi x f!original character

summary: after seeing her for the first time, he just fell (deeply) in love word count: 3.7k content: female reader (no description of genitalia), mention of sex, mention of stretch marks, description of hair and eye color (but not texture or skin color), french laws and locations being misinterpreted, use of tv shows and books I didn't watch or read, non canon note: english is not my first langague! I wrote this in portuguese and then translated to english myself, there's a chance you'll find an error or something. I'm sorry sorry! I highly recommend you to listen to the song while reading.

you can check the aesthetic references for this oneshot here but take note that none of the people actual faces on this reflects on the character identity that I wrote, so don't base all of the details on the references for the characters in story.

The first time he noticed her, she was sitting on one of the wooden benches outside the courtrooms. She seemed nervous, shaking her legs and glancing restlessly between the watch on her wrist and the clock on the hallway wall, as if it made much difference. Regardless of her worried expression and furrowed brow, Vincent felt that he had never seen such an attractive woman in his life. From her brown hair to her brown boots, looked like she stepped out of one of those '70s fashion advertisements he'd seen in vintage magazines as a kid. He didn't had time to notice much more than that, as he crossed the hallway and headed to his session. At the end of the day, of course, she was no longer there.

What seemed to have been one of those street crushes that you see when crossing an avenue and never think about again, stayed in Vincent's head for a few days. Every time he passed by the corridor, he waited to see if the brunette would be there. He tried to guess what she was doing there that day and whether there was a possibility of bumping into her again, a question to which the universe answered “yes”.

Two weeks later, this time leaving work, he looked down buttoning his blue coat, distracted in his thoughts when he noticed the same brown boots a few steps in front of him. The stranger held a cigarette between her fingers and had her arms pressed against her body. Although it was snowing lightly, it was extremely cold for an autumn day. Her look was different, probably due to the weather, with a coat with a puffed collar and puffed sleeves, once again looking like she belonged to a previous decade. The wind ruffled her hair a little and the moonlight illuminated her posture, a scene Vincent believed could have come from a movie.

All his past relationships were comfortable. Someone he knew in high school, someone he knew in college, someone who was introduced by friends or someone his friends encouraged him to talk during an outing. He didn't consider himself an introvert, but he never needed to pursue someone who was interested. Things just happened for him. It wasn't his comfort zone just to approach a stranger like that, much less at the door of his work, but something that day said it was the right thing to do.

He took a cigarette out of his pocket and approached the girl asking to borrow a lighter. His sudden plan only went so far.

As soon as she turned to face him, she gave a friendly and inviting smile, taking the object out of her pocket and activating the flame in front of his face. Vincent stood still, staring into her eyes throughout the action, mesmerized by her and her sparkling brown eyes.

“Will I ever meet a lawyer who doesn’t smoke?” She asked as she extinguished the flame, placing the lighter and her free hand back in her pocket. Too cold to let it out.

His response took a few agonizing seconds, as his mind was far away and still lost in her gaze. He composed himself, running a hand through his hair and looking away.

“The day this happens, let me know. I want to be there.” Vincent laughed awkwardly, causing the girl to laugh as well. At that moment, he felt that he wanted to provoke more of this reaction, he wanted to see more of her smile and so the conversation flowed.

His first question was how she guessed he was a lawyer and not a passerby to which she replied, "You stand like a lawyer." He shared how being a lawyer was boring and tedious, but it did have its dramatic moments in court when she asked if the career was challenging like its portrait on TV. He also discovered that she was there to pay a car ticket caused by her younger brother, hence the great nervousness when he first saw her a few weeks ago.

“When my parents told me that my 20th birthday present was a baby brother, I already felt within myself that I would be the best sister in the world. That I would try to make his life as easy as possible. 18 years later, he asks to borrow my car to visit his girlfriend - which I don't hesitate to do, after all I support young love. And the little shit-head makes sure on parking in front of a fire hydrant.” The girl blew smoke to her right side, not taking her eyes off him. “Would you be my lawyer if I try to choke him?”

Vincent could only laugh at her spontaneity, easy way of talking about life and easy way of making conversation.

“Just threaten him, it will be an easier case for me to win.”

They talked about Metz and how her family decided to move to Paris when she was a teenager because they knew the city needed more beautiful people, a fact Vincent agreed with. In order not to dismiss him, in a very charming way, she praised his Parisian accent and said that such a comment did not apply to him and only God knows how Vincent felt inside after that.

The two shared their tastes, such as reading romances and watching Dix pour cent every night before bed. It was as if they knew each other much more than the 1 hour they spent together under the snow. They shared maybe two more cigarettes before realizing it was getting a little too late to chat like that on the street.

He doesn't even know how he got out of that situation alive and managed to get home with her number.

Their first date was at a local cinema on a Friday night for a re-showing of Buffet Froid, a film Anne had never seen.

He didn't remember the last time he felt butterflies in his stomach, although it was guaranteed that nothing could compare to this time. As he got ready and tried to match his best t-shirts with his beige pants (which he eventually changed out of, finding them too tacky), Vincent remained nervous thinking that she might not show up or that this would be the first and last time they would meet in this circumstance.

In the end, all the “first time” flutter went out the window when he saw her smiling and waving on the other side of the street, already with the tickets in her hand. “I'm glad you came.” She said, holding his arm as they walked through the door of the establishment.

“I wouldn't miss it.” he replied.

The two took watching films very seriously, so it was only during the ending credits, after a lot of laughter, small comments and bumping hands on the popcorn bucket, that the two kissed.

He felt the softness of her skin on his hand and her sweet scent of perfume, in addition, of course, to the hot and saccharine kiss. It was slow, serene, just as they both wanted, being able to feel each other in that moment. It was also Anne's desire to slowly run her fingers through his hair and she didn't hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity.

After throwing their trash away, the two walked out of the cinema, now closer to each other, hand in hand. The weather wasn't as cold as when they first met and they were free to enjoy the warmth of their bodies without so many layers covering them.

“For a great 70's mind, you never having watched Buffet Froid is an insult.” He pointed at her with his free hand, wanting to tease her.

Anne rolled her eyes. Even though she liked the film, she didn't want to give a taste. “Obviously you would like action movies like that. It suits you.”

“I’ll make you like it too.” He stated, trying to imply that he wanted them to meet again, to which she responded by kissing his cheek and saying, “Next time, let's watch a romcom.”

Once, twice, three, four and a few more times, all being unusual dates. Sometimes she would call during his workday and say she would pick him up for an adventure. She drove aimlessly, just the two of them talking about their days and observing the city lights. These were Vincent's favorite “dates”, as they all ended with the two of them making out like two teenagers parked in the driveway of his apartment.

The more he got to know about her, the more he wanted to constantly be a part of her life. Anne owned a clothing store downtown, something he never tired of saying was the “most suitable job her”. On the last date they had, she took him to the closed store and put on a fashion montage for him, with improvised note cards on paper left on the counter and all. But she knew that the judge had been bought when he only gave her 10s. She also took the opportunity to get Vincent to do the same, putting him once again out of his comfort zone to find out that bell bottom jeans don't really suit him.

They even got to watch a car race - something that not even Anne had done, she had just decided that it was an experience they needed to have. They both entended up hating it, but the important thing was that the company was great.

That was one of the nights Anne slept at his house.

They ate some junk food from the fridge and watched a silly but captivating show on TV while they chatted more. When she realized she could sleep at any moment, Anne got up to brush her teeth and change her clothes, putting on her uniform for whenever she was there: a Vincent t-shirt.

Vincent found it charming how she captivated his gaze regardless of what she was doing. He loved her unique and sophisticated style, but he also loved seeing her like this, casually wearing his clothes, in his home, as if she were his. And lastly, he loved seeing her with nothing on.

Every detail of her body, her birthmarks on her shoulder and that one next to her beautiful eyes or her stretch marks on her back, everything about her seemed to have been chosen down to the millimeter. When they made love, his hands went everywhere, trying to reach as much of her as he could, to feel the warmth she exuded.

And the best way to love her was by looking into her eyes, admiring her beauty, running his lips up and down her body, being grateful for the privileged position it was to be able to love her.

Mornings were like nights, with him waking up earlier and being able, once again, to admire the woman beside her.

“You are even more beautiful in the morning.”

The two walked through the streets of Paris, both tipsy, looking for an available taxi in the dead of night. With their relationship now more established and their schedules aligned, they made it a challenge to come up with these unusual date only once a month so it wouldn't lose its fun. Today had been the day to go to the opera and due to their lack of sobriety, they didn't seem to have left anywhere other than the shabbiest bar on the corner.

The event was boring as fuck and they left halfway through to drink somewhere more enjoyable. They found an open bar showing a PSG versus Marseille match. Neither of them supported the teams or understood about football rules, but this seemed like a new opportunity for them to have another different experience that day.

One laughter after another, some passionate kisses between drinks and the two were celebrating PSG's victory at the bar with some strangers whom they befriended.

“My mother wants to meet you. My brother too. I said I might have a lawyer for the next time he's up to no good. Do you think it’s too early?”

When drunk, Anne tended to speak fast and slurred, but Vincent understood perfectly. He smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing the tip of her nose. “I will love meeting your family.”

They never actually asked each other to go steady, but it was clear that they already belonged to each other at that point.

Vincent was on his cell phone writing a text to his mother about the shopping list for Christmas dinner and their desire to participate in decorating the tree (Anne's request to spend more time with her mother-in-law) while his girlfriend was lying on his lap reading his copy of Around the World in 80 Days (and she was loving it, for sure).

It was a lazy day for both of them at Vincent's place. A year into their relationship, the two of them loved sharing these moments together doing different activities.

“She said she misses you a lot and looks forward to seeing you on Christmas, but that you're banned from being near the kitchen when it is time to prepare desserts. Everything you touch that’s sweet ends up burning for some reason.”

Her smile, excited by her mother-in-law's affection, turned into a face indignant at the rule she imposed. "What?" She looked up from the book and pulled Vincent's hand to check if the message was real and it was. “This is so unfair!”

“Sorry, Anne, you’re just really bad at this.”

She lightly pushed his arm and pretended to be uncomfortable, although she knew it was true and wasn't really upset. Before she could return to her book, Vincent placed his cell phone on the table and began talking.

“One more thing, huh,” he cleared his throat, “I made one more space on the rack for you. I don't want certain clothes to get wrinkled in the drawer. I’ll make room in one more drawer too.”

Anne put the book aside and knelt on the sofa, facing her boyfriend. “Won’t it bother you? I already have space in my bedroom drawer, bathroom… In fact, there are a lot of my things scattered around the house. I don’t want to impose my space here.”

This was a subject that she had also been waiting to comment on for some time. By working her own hours at the store and having an employee to take her place wherever needed, Anne had a more flexible schedule than Vincent and it was easier to stay at his house, helping to keep everything on track and cooking for both of them. He would arrive just before dinner time and they could enjoy together without rushing to do the chores.

Because of this, the few clothes she wore just to sleep there became a drawer full, her makeup in the bathroom sink and her shoes near the door.

The gray-haired man hugged her around the waist, kissing her forehead and assuring her of his action. “You are not imposing anything, mon chéri. I want you to use this space. I want to have more and more of you here.”

For him, having her scent permeate the rooms was a gift wrapped in the best bow. Knowing that every day he would come home to see her welcoming smile and welcome kiss was the biggest work incentive.

“It feels like my home.” She whined.

“It’s your home. Our home.” He insisted.

In his favorite action, he cupped her face and looked warmly into her eyes, admiring her features trying to associate with what he was trying to say. They both smiled at each other realizing where the topic was going.

“Are you…”

“I want you to move in with me.”

The beautiful smile that filled his heart appeared on her face and Vincent, who was sure of her choice, but a little afraid of her accepting it, smiled too at her positive reaction.

In conclusion, he ended up needing to make more closet space for her countless boots, but he was happy that she could call the space her own (and she looks great in those boots, he would never complain about making room for them).

The snack table was almost empty and that made Anne happy. She might not be good at desserts, but her food was always praised and she almost never had leftovers when she cooked for her friends.

“This sandwich is delicious, aunt Anne!” Daniel stated, taking another one from the table and sitting on the sofa next to her. “Can I take some home?”

“Of course you can! There’s more stored in the kitchen, I’ll put it on the side for you to take.” She continued, now coming closer to whisper. “You can give Snoop a bite, I won’t tell your mom.”

“Hey, I’m watching you two!” Sandra said towards the back of the sofa, pointing at the two jokingly. She was talking to Vincent leaning against the wall in the hallway, looking anxious.

There was approximately 10 people spread throughout the room at this gathering. The couple chose to host a celebration for the launch of Sandra's new book, a dear friend of both, and tried to make room for everyone present. She was very delighted with the honor, although unaccustomed to the positive attention she was receiving.

Even though they weren't glued to each other at the party, Anne and Vincent always stopped for a moment to exchange a kiss and ask if everything was okay. He, even more so, couldn't stop admiring his girlfriend from afar. Parties like this always made him happy to be able to share the love he had for her and also show others that this was his girl.

It was around 6pm that they said their goodbyes and thanked their friends for being there. After closing the door, Anne took a deep breath and leaned against it with Vincent kissing her neck and hugging her waist.

“Had fun today?” He asked against her neck, kissing slowly until he reached her face. Hugging him back, she just nodded yes, pulling him into a longing and passionate kiss.

Vincent pressed his body against hers and tightened his grip, placing his free hand against the wall for support. Everything was going well, until Vincent suddenly stopped, as if he couldn't give in to temptation yet.

He also took a deep breath, with a shy smile as he looked at her.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, still leaning against the door and resting her hands on his shoulder.

"What?" He retorted.

“During the party, you kept looking at me like that, with those heart-eyes, that fool in love face of yours. And now you're doing it again. It seems... different.”

Vincent laughed awkwardly, as if he was unprepared to respond that quickly. “In my defense, I always look like a fool in love when I’m with you.”

Before anything else, Vincent took a red velvet box out of his pocket and opened it, showing a silver ring made especially for her. With the hand that was on her waist, he slipped into her hand and intertwined their fingers.

“Kneeling isn’t your style, nor are long speeches in front of our friends, but I can’t just leave the ring in your hand without saying anything. The day I saw you for the first time, I was intrigued. The second time, that feeling I had of needing to talk to you urgently, of not letting the opportunity pass, I think, somehow, I knew we were going to get to this moment right now. By the third time - I was already in love. Head over heels, worshiping the ground you pass, heart-eyes, whatever you want to call it. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't feel those butterflies in my stomach before seeing you, that I don't feel the eager to be by your side. If you do me the honor of marrying me, I can promise that you will have a man who wakes up in love with you every day. Forever.”

Anne's eyes were already full of tears as soon as she saw the box and she couldn't help but shed them when she heard the proposal.

The last 4 years of their lives were instinctive, passionate, in a way she never thought she would experience. All her last lovers didn't last long, they couldn't handle her personality or couldn't love her right, so she was left with no hope that it would change. But Vincent's speech was something that she not only believed, she felt. Every day, she felt his love, his affection and his care. Wave of action speaks louder than words and she trusted her man.

There was no other answer than yes.

The same word was repeated by the two of them at the registry office a few months later. The idea was never a big party, it didn't suit either of their personalities, but Anne always wanted a dress and a veil, so they were both there, in their wedding clothes just before lunch time in the registry office next to Vincent's work place.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

With that sentence, the two shared a classic wedding kiss, with Vincent holding her around the waist and Anne throwing her leg up. They could live that moment over and over again, but they needed to go out for a little celebration party with their friends before they left for their honeymoon (and Anne was more than eager to have her friends around so she could toss the bouquet).

Outside, in another snowy day, Anne reached through the car window and took a black bag from the glove compartment, handing it to her now husband.

“What is it?” He held on, swinging by the loop to feel the weight so he could find out what it could be.

“It's your wedding gift.” She cheerfully replied.

He stole one more kiss from his wife before opening the bag, already imagining what could be inside.

“It has our initials and today’s date on it,” she pointed to the bottom where the details were, “so no other girl coming out of court will need to offer you the lighter.”

Vincent took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it with his newest gift, but without inhaling, just lighting it for the sake of it.

“No one will have my love. Only you, mon chéri."

[yeyinde]

hoooooo boy. m!mc anon here - your response was extremely interesting and i am a little obsessed with your brain (i’d like to study it, you truly come up with the most delicious ideas)

but i also have to say that out of all of tf 141, that idea for soap was actually so delicious that i had to physically put my phone down for a while. respectfully, that is the hottest thing i’ve probably ever read. even more feral soap?? forcefem?? phew. amen.

thank you for giving me more material to zone out to in the middle of the day (praying hands emoji)

ahhh thanks!!! i started to drag on more about m!Reader and Johnny, but. this happened lmao. so here is some nasty Johnny picking up m!Reader in a bar.

forced!fem. switch Johnny. m!reader is described as being very masculine presenting. but in the flavour of Will Graham's whole aesthetic

All things considered, it's a little clichè.

Older man (—ish, you amend mentally, remembering the birth year on his driver's license when you chanced a peek over his forearm as he rifled through his wallet: 1982—millenial) hits on a younger man in a crowded sports bar. Opens the conversation with haven't seen you around here before, and let's the defined chisel in his jawline do the heavy lifting in place of a personality. Adds a wink to that line, too.

Thighs pressed tight against each other on the stool. Arms brushing. Speaks purposefully when it gets rowdy so he has to lean in close, stubbled jaw grazing your cheek as he mock whispers his lacklustre response to a question you didn't ask. Buys you beer. The expensive kind, too. Laughs when you ask what he's drinking and orders something that makes him seem like he's more of a man than you are.

For a brief period between intermissions—when it gets quieter and he conveniently sneaks off to the washroom—you debate picking up the heavy innuendos he's trying to put down. It could be worse, you think, staring at the only other potential lay you've been entertaining over the last two weeks.

You could be getting mediocre sex from a guy who keeps sending you unasked for pictures of his cock and hole. One you keep dodging by adding an appropriately enthused wow, all this and it's only 10am on a Tuesday to every "yep, that's a dick" image he sends in place of a real conversation.

The sarcasm gifting you yet another unasked for picture of his hand around his cock. Sure is, baby. But—

"be better if ye were 'ere wit' me."

You startle, phone cracking off the edge of the counter. "Shit—"

The person over your shoulder peels away for a moment. "Ah, sorry. Ack—is yer phone alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," you breathe, tapping on the screen. It flicks on. You're graced with another picture of his ballsack. The caption—

"need yer cock s'fuckin' bad—"

You cut him a sharp glance over your shoulder. It's rude. You're a little annoyed at having your travesty of a sex life aired out for every obnoxious wannabe cowboy to overhear, but the irritation is stemmed by the fill of liquid hazel—and flecks of blue, you think; a pretty blue ring around oxidizing copper.

Larimar. Marbled with umber. Framed around glossy white streaked with small rivers of red. Tinged slightly yellow—undoubtedly from the pack of cigarettes you find stuffed into the breast pocket of his red, gingham button down when you tear your eyes away from him. The look too intense. Too much.

Taking stock of everything else about him is just as flustering. The gingham draped loosely over him. Wrinkled sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Collar opened until the last few buttons around his navel. He's wearing a black shirt beneath that glues to his skin, pulling taut around his sternum and collarbones. A gold chain with a thick, heavy cross sits in the valley between, swinging when he rocks back on his heels.

Thick thighs stuffed into jeans that stretch to fit. The bottoms tucked half-heartedly into a pir of black, leather boots.

The shirt shifts when he moves, pulling tight around his broad shoulders as he lifts the last swig of a beer bottle to his lips. Beneath the coarse, black hair that dusts over the pale, peachy skin of his forearms, the back of his hands, his knuckles (Jesus Christ), his muscles flex. Bunching tight under veined flesh.

It makes sense to follow the trail to those sucking lips, but you catch a flash of pale pink, the sweep of a blood-red tongue through the hazy brown of the translucent rim of the bottle and feel your heart lurch in your chest.

You try to swallow but your throat is dry.

He makes a noise as he drinks. A sucking slurp, the plop of his lips unglueing from of the mouth of the bottle. A quiet, groaning ahh whispered under his breath.

It pulls your eyes up, forcing you to fill in the rest of this puzzle, and you know, even before the same dense cropping of hair that covers his arms (hands, fingers) starts to show at the black hem of his Henley that you made a mistake. A grievous one. He's handsome.

Defined jaw. Implish lips. An angular nose. Thick, full brows. The same pale, peachy skin sloping up his neck, chin, cheeks, and forehead before disappear into dark brown, almost black, hair. An untrimmed mohawk. A scar on the side of his head, cutting clean along his temple and stretching back to his ear. The hair around it is sparse. Shaved. The gorge of his scar a dark pink inside. Healed, but—

Raw.

A little like the rest of him. Rougish, in a way. Fractured.

His hair is matted down on top. Toussed along the unblemished, overgrown side, but flat on his crown.

The mystery, however, is solved when he flicks a ballcap onto the table beside you with a crooked quirk of his mouth. All teeth. White, sharp.

The man slips into the stool your date was occupying with a sniff, the smooth ridge of his nose bunching up. Displeasure drapes itself over his expression, a little rumple in his brow. "Screamin' Jesus. Dunno wha's thicker. His cologne or his come-ons."

The barb is unexpected. You try to hide your snort behind a grimace, rubbing the tip of your nose with a rough finger. He catches it, though. The pinch in his brow smoothing out as he grins wide, vicious.

Your heart lunches. Stutters uncomfortably in your chest. "You watchin' me or something?"

He turns in the seat, knee bumping into your thigh. Crowding you easily as he folds over the tabletop, elbow dropping to the table with a muted thud. His cheek slides into his palm, head tilting as he considers your words. The implication.

And then he grins wider. "Or somethin'."

Cocky. You scoff, but it just makes him look more amused.

"Tha' yer type?"

"Hmm?"

He motions to the nearly untouched glass of whiskey in front of him. Then to your phone.

"All talk," he enunciates each word, letting his accent pull taut around the syllables. "An' no action."

"No action? You don't think buying me beer and sending dick pics, begging for a fuck, is no action?"

"Aye—" he reaches for the beer he placed down beside his cap, and takes a generous swallow as you pretend the shift in his throat isn't making you a little light headed. He peels away with a grunt. "Ah do."

"Yeah?" You scoff, bringing the nozzle to your mouth to quench the ache in your throat. The soft preen coiling in your chest. Stupid words like, so what about it, pretty boy? wanna take me home. "What would you do instead?"

"I'd split yer pussy open on my cock in the loo. Let everyone in this bar hear ye moanin' fer me—"

You choke, barely have time to put the bottle down before you're haccking into your fist. He has the decency to pat your back as you wheeze.

"Ain't got a pussy," is what you settle for after a beat, voice hoarse. Wrecked. The way he shudders at the sound is unmistakable. Your neck feels hot. Itchy.

"Oh, sure ye do," he leans in close, warm breath fanning over your cheek. "A nice, tight little pussy fer me to fuck—"

"I'm a man." You feel a little stupid saying it. As if any part of you could be mistaken for slight. For soft. Feminine. You work with your hands. Grew up in the backcountry. Fishing before you could talk. Chewing tobacco before you hit puberty. Your old man made sure to pound that notion into your head before you even know what it meant to be a child. "I don't know what kinda games you're playing, but—"

"ahm no' playin' games," he shrugs, leaning back. It gives the idea of space. Distance. But his hand finds its way your denim-clad thigh, nails skimming the inside seam of your jeans wear the material is softer, worn down from friction. Too high to be appropriate.

You should move. Snap at him to take it off. Growl the words out if you have to do.

(Punch him, maybe. But he looks like the sort who would like that too much, you think. Rough. Dirty. Not afraid to fight back with his teeth if he needs to.

come on, baby, hit me harder—)

Your knee jerks. His grip tightens. "I got a cock. Not a pussy."

He makes a face at that. His full bottom lip juts out, angling to the side in confusion. "Ah ken? Ahm plannin' on ridin' that cock tonight, aye. The one yer little date is so desperate fer—"

"Jesus—" you wheeze, cock thickening in your jeans. Men aren't—

They're not usually so forward with you. It's nudging innuendos. Beer. A whispered wanna get outta here when the bar is about close and no one else is around to see it. You know what you look like. And it's not—

Soft.

"Easy," he taunts, grinning. "Don't choke so soon. 'aven't even go' ma cock out—"

You're not entertaining this. Absolutely not. He's—

Well. You're not sure what he is, but he's not normal. Not right. And you're not that desperate.

(maybe)

But the words die in your throat when his bright eyes glance down at your empty bottle, a frown forming over his pretty, pink lips like you not having anything to drink right away was somehow the most inconvenient thing to him.

"Get ye a drink?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. Then: "thanks."

It's softer. Gritty. The word scrapes over your throat in a way that almost hurts.

You blame it on the beer you drank before. Sloshing around your empty stomach and making you feel wildly off-kilter. Tipsy, maybe. Too drunk. Vulnerable to kindness (however threadbare it might be) when you usually get lewd pictures and beer you didn't ask for.

He flags the bartender down with a flick of his wrist. Keeps his eyes listed toward you as he leans over the counter, whispering something in his ear that you can't hear. Unease knots in your stomach. Cold fingers linking together, pressing frigid knuckles to your soft lining.

You look away when he drops back into his seat, hand finding its way back to your thigh. Gripping tight. Possessive. It curls around you. His warmth, his touch. The smell of him—sweet wheat, lemongrass; something earthy, like the damp, wet scent of mid-autumn; maple leaves stuck to the pavement after a late night rain shower—and you breathe slowly through your nose, both eager for the smell and sick of it. Sweet maple. Tart pumpkin. Your fingers twitch. You fold them into fists, glancing down at the spread of his hand on you.

His knuckles are red. Blotchy. Raw. The skin on his middle finger is cut across the wrinkled folds of his joint. The knick is deep. Almost a circle if not for the way it tears on the side, streaking outward. The outer edges of the crater are white. The inside pink before it turns to a deep red in the middle. Clotting already.

Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. Unhinging your jaw takes more effort than you can expend, and you pant, a little, when your mouth finally pries apart. The words thicken on your tongue.

What happened—

The bartender comes back, his shadow falling over the counter. You jerk your head up, blinking at him as he places something down in front of you.

Something pink.

You swallow again. "Uh, what's this?"

"Sex on the Beach," the man answers, waving the bartender off. "Pretty drink fer pretty little thing."

"You wanna get punched? Because this is how you get your teeth knocked out—"

"Oh, baby," he purrs, accent rolling over the words in a way that goes straight to your cock. "If that's what yer intae, ah don't mind gettin' a little bloody fer ye. Might make suckin' yer pretty little cock easier."

Little. Your throat aches. Your mouth is dry. The beer is gone, cleaned empty bottles cleaned up by the bartender. Trying to swallow only makes the sting in your throat more prominent and does little to relieve the burn.

In front of you, the pink drink sits mockingly. Beads of condensation drip down the glass.

It's not even the stupid implication of a man drinking a cocktail that keeps you from reaching for it, but the fact that he ordered it for you with that in mind. Pretty drink fer a pretty—

Your throat clicks. Flesh glueing together when you swallow. Peeling away painful when you breathe.

Fuck it, you think. It doesn't mean anything. Not to you. Not at all.

When you reach for it, his head jerks over to you. Staring, unabashedly, as you bring it your lips and take a sip.

He groans. The hand on your thigh tightens. "Good girl."

It heats you up. Buzzes in the back of your head. You should get out of here. Leave. Go home and sink your head into your pillow, squeeze your eyes shut until all these terrifying feelings are snuffed out. Smothered. Tucked back into a box you didn't realise you had—

"Wanna come home wit' me? Let me fuck yer pretty pussy until I cum?"

The swell of anticipation in your chest makes you flinch. "I told you—"

"Ye want it, don't ye?" His hand moves higher up your leg, bleeding warmth through the denim. "Want me to make fuck ye. Make ye cum around ma cock. Bet ye have th' sweetest little cunt—"

"Fuck—" you shiver. His word wrap around your hindbrain, a soft touch that makes you feel hot. Itchy. Your heart pounds. You wonder if he can hear it. "I don't—"

"Gonnae let me taste it. Sit tha' pretty arse on ma face, aren't ye? Ride me until ye cum."

"I can't—" you force the words out of your throat, feeling the scrape against the soft tissue inside until it hurts. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but—"

"ahm tryin' tae take a pretty girl home—" girl. Girl. You shudder, feeling sick. Nauseous. "'ave her spread her pretty legs fer me..." he leans in, lips brushing your warm cheeks. "Let me ride that pretty cock until she cums—"

"Stop it—"

His hand finds your cock, thick in your jeans. Pressing tight against the zipper. "Gonnae fuck me so good, aren't ye? Not gonnae let ye cum unless it's inside me—"

"You're—ah, fuck—" his hand rubs over your bulge, eyes hooded, heavy, as you twitch. A wet spot grows, dark and unmistakable against the cool blue denim. "A—anyone ever tell you that you're kind of a freak?"

"an' yer a messy girl—" another pulse. The patch grows. It shouldn't turn you on. This sort of talk—it's not something you've ever been interested in before. Ever tried. Outside of porn—big, barrel chested men crushing another in their arms, growling about how they're gonna knock them up—it never surfaced. Never reared. "Gonnae let me clean ye up?"

You should say no.

It's on the tip of your tongue. No, leave me alone. Get the fuck off of me. Say that shit to me every again, and I'll—

His hand slides up, fingers curling over your clothed cock in a way that knocks the thoughts from your head, leaving nothing behind but an empty space. An ache. An itch. Something that needs to be filled.

Your phone chimes. Another text. You don't have to look down to know what it is, but his hand slides over, fingers dropping to the sleek, black surface. He pulls it to him with the pads of his index and middle finger. You should stop him. Grab it back. Leave—

"Need yer thick cock inside o'me," he narrates, mouth ticking up in a terrifying smirk. All teeth. A dogtoothed grin. "Now, there's a thought."

He dips his chin, tongue poking out from between his lips as he types something back in response. You can't see what it is from this angle, but the pinch in his brow, the glimmer in his eyes—you're sure this guy, potential candidate; looming mediocre lay, will have you blocked in five minutes. When he glances back, a tendril of something darkly satisfied brimming in the amber of his eyes, you amend it to right now.

You huff. "Shouldn't take things that don't belong to you."

The man stares at you for a moment, the corners of his eyes creasing in that same soot-stained amusement he had when he ruined your chances with the too-pink tip of his tongue hanging out. Satisfied dog. It's unnerving.

You think it scares you.

Or—

It should.

Whatever he finds as he fossicks through the fragments of your shattering composure, it seems to make him purr. His pupils expand. His nostrils flare. He leans in again, and you taste ash on your tongue. "M'ready tae leave."

It's not a question. The with you rings out like a gunshot in the back of your head.

You should say no. It's been on the tip of your tongue this whole time. No. No. Leave me alone. Go away—

But each time you try to pry apart your clenched jaws to say it, the look in his eyes make you think dogs and their bones.

You swallow this rancid thing in the back of your throat down. Make a jerking movement with your shoulder—a shrug, maybe. The twitch of your aching cock gives you away.

"C'mon, wannae fuck tha' little pussy o'yers," he rasps, words a tangled growl in the thick of his throat. Accent eliding. Slurring together. "Or ah'll have tae drag ye back tae the bathroom. Fuck ye in the shall. Make yer pussy cum on ma cock—"

You shiver. It's disgust. It's anger. It's—

His hand peels away from your thigh, reaches for your phone. He leans toward, and shoves it into the back of his pocket.

"what ahm I gonnae do tae ye?"

You know what he asking for. Feel the heat smoulder inside of your veins, burning up your neck. Be a man, you think. Be a man. Tell him to fuck off. Punch him. There's nothing soft about you. Nothing delicate. He's crazy. You're not—

His stare is paralyzing. You feel dread thicken in your stomach.

(dread, you think; your cock jerks. The front of your jeans are damp. The sticky drag of them on your groin calls you a liar.)

"Ahm no' askin' again, hen."

Your jaw unlocks easy this time. Opening with a quivering sigh that makes him groan low under his voice, eyes fixed on you. Drilling holes into your head. Needling his warped desire into your mind.

"You're gonna," your voice shakes. Heat sears your skin. It feels you're going to melt. "You're gonna fuck my—my pussy—"

The noise he makes is sinful. Liquid. Rich. A groan that breaks into a thrilling moan. Your stomach knots. Churns. You'd be sick if you had more to drink.

"C'mon—" he jerks his head toward the door, eyes blazing. "Gonnae ye exactly what ye need."

You go. Stand when he does, chin dropping to your chest in humiliation when your cock jerks at the idea. Sliding your jacket off your shoulders, holding it in your trembling fists as it covers your pelvis. The unmistakable need there for everyone to see.

Fuck yer pussy so good, he growls, ripping his wallet open and shoving a fistful of neat, straight notes on the counter. "Ain't gonnae need anythin' else when ahm done wit' ye. Gonnae be beggin' fer my cock inside ye—"

You should run. And when he steps back, motioning for you to move first, it feels like he's giving you the perfect opportunity to escape. To flee. You want to. You should.

But you don't. Something holds you back. Makes your teeth sink into your tongue. Jaw hinging shut. Snuffing out the words rotting in the back of your throat with a swallow.

You follow him quietly as he paws at you, rutting his cock against your thigh, whispering in your ear about all the terrible things he's doing to do. A better, more sensible man would've run, something holds you back.

The same thing that makes you ignore the reason why you haven't asked about his bloodied knuckles or wondered where your date is.

You know the answer already, don't you?

"Ahm gonnae fuck ye so good, hen. Won't be thinkin' about anyone else when ahm done wit' ye—"

It's what you've been looking for since the beginning.

[schrodinger-swriter]

If you are still doing the fluff alphabet, could you do A B C E G J and K for Alastor?

A, B, C, E, G, J and K for Alastor

I'm still doing this alphabet! I'm unsure of how long I'll be doing it for, but I'll probably cut it when most of the character's have a good chunk of the alphabet done... or when people understandably lose interest. Which ever happens first!

Apologies if I seem a little off today in my writing, that horrid time of the month is approaching and it's throwing me off. I hope you enjoy, Anon!

ATTRACTION:

Now this one is interesting... see I know full well Alastor is aro, or at least somewhere on the spectrum. I'm just unsure of where he lies, if it was ever stated he was totally aromantic or something else. Personally I write him as demiromantic, or perhaps even greyromantic? We also need to take into account on if he's attracted to your romantically or for other reasons. He would probably like to spend his days with someone who keeps him on his toes, at least a fair amount. It keeps things interesting, and unless he has a reason to, he won't stick around if things get dull.

BONDING:

Alastor seems like the type to listen to music while sipping a glass of wine, or some other alcohol. Complete with sitting in front of a fireplace or some other piece that ties the aesthetic together. Reading, too probably. You're more than welcome to come and join him for some quiet time. I enjoy the thought that Alastor spends his time like this when he's not actively doing his job at the hotel or trying to network or build his power.

CUDDLING:

As most sinners are, he's very warm! Very skinny, though. Boney, even. Cuddling is rare, though, because he doesn't enjoy physical touch all the much outside of some occasion. He definitely tolerates your touch better than other's, but it's better to initiate cuddling when the mood is right. He may not initiate it often, however. Cuddling is exclusively done behind closed doors, he prefers his privacy.

EMOTION:

He shows just enough emotion where it's needed. Appearing happy with you and perhaps laughing if something funny has happened, or getting angry about something. He's not totally emotionless, and some of his true feelings do still shine through. But it's hard to tell where that starts, he's good at deceiving those around him into thinking whatever he wants them to think. He reacts and emotes with you, but he's not wearing his heart on his sleeve. In regards to romantic feelings, he does treat you more.. how does one word it..? How he behaves with Rosie, but more... casual and open.

GIFT GIVING:

Oddly enough, Alastor gives gifts fairly regularly. It won't be everyday, but you can bet that you'll always have a new bouquet of flowers by the time the previous ones had begun to die and wilt. Typically small things like that.

If you give Alastor anything, he will politely accept it. Maybe if you go into his room or into his radio tower, you'll find the gifts you've given him. It's a sweet thought, I think, he'd be ready to discard of anything he truly didn't want or need but here he is keeping the things you've given him, regardless of need.

JEALOUSY:

He conceals his jealousy fairly well, often outwardly portraying it by reminding you why you two are together. Re-enforcing the idea that you two are tied together. Be it literally or not.

He easily puts the other person into the ground, once more.. be it literally or otherwise... though that's assuming the other person doesn't turn tail and run when they realize you and the radio demon are an item. Though, that's also assuming they even know who he is..

He's confident that you won't do anything stupid or leave him.

KISSES:

He typically kisses you on the back of your hands and on your cheek. He does a little bow... dip.. when he takes your hand to place a kiss on the back of it. They're usually quick and fleeting.

Receiving he also enjoys cheek kisses. You guys don't do mouth kisses, tongue or not.. that often.. if ever. No harm there, besides kissing someone who's constantly smiling seems like it would be a little awkward.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

With All My Heart

Summary: Let’s be honest who doesn’t enjoy a fluffy Dick Winters fic. I just can’t help myself. I also went for a header for this fic instead of a moodboard, I’m not entirely sure why but I quite like the aesthetic and i didn’t want to give too much away for the fic. Pairings: Dick Winters x f!reader

Eugene sighed as he watched Y/n gag again, spitting out the remainder of her breakfast in spluttering breaths.

“Y/n, I’m real worried about ya. This ain’t normal, Chérie,” Eugene’s forehead creased as he smoothed the loose strands away from her face. Y/n gave him a weary smile, her eyes watery from the effort. The nausea had come in a sudden wave and she’d just made it outside, out of view when she brought up the contents of her stomach. Luckily, it had been only Eugene passing by otherwise she’d be in real trouble.

“Gene, I’m fine. I promise,” she tried to reassure him but Eugene didn’t look convinced, his handsome features set in a harsh glare, which reminded Y/n of the look he’d given Winters and Welsh in Holland after Moose had been shot.

“You need to tell him sooner or later. I suggest sooner because if what we’re told is true we are bound for the Pacific. I can’t let you jump out of a plane in your condition…”

“Would you keep it down, Gene? I don’t want the whole company to know,” Y/n hissed.

“Or Major Winters apparently,” Eugene added nonchalantly. You always hated it when the Cajun medic was right and he always took great pride in correcting her.

“I’ll tell him Gene, I promise. Just give me some more time would you.” Eugene nodded begrudgingly. She knew he meant well but she was still trying to figure out the situation herself. The last thing she need was for Dick to hear the news from the likes of George Luz or Nixon.

Y/n entered the temporary mess hall shortly after Eugene, having recovered from her early episode and took her seat between Webster and Talbert.

“You’re looking a little green there, Darlin’,” Bull commented from across the table and Floyd reached across to rest his hand against her forehead.

“You’re a little bit warm Y/n. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Floyd asked, which caught the attention of George, Liebgott and Webster who we’re all looking on expectantly.

“I’m fine. I promise,” Y/n tried to reassure them but just at that moment Chuck and Shifty walked by with more plates of food and the nausea began growing in her stomach again. The pair took their seat next to Floyd and Y/n fought the urge to run from the room, digging her fingernails into the wooden table to try and keep herself grounded.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Webster asked, at this point, Y/n realised she must look like she was going to be sick because Webster and Floyd both shuffled to the side a little.

The bile rising in her throat answered that question, “No!” Y/n felt her legs carrying her from the hall, hurrying down the steps and outside before her stomach erupted again and she felt herself choking on her stomach acid. A hand was placed on the small of her back and she tried to shake Eugene off again but he wouldn’t budge.

“Gene, I said I’m fine,” she spun round to face him but was face-to-face with the five officers.

“Y/l/n, are you feeling okay?” Dick asked, trying to keep a straight face but concern was evident in his eyes.

“I…I’m fine… umm Sir,” Y/n felt herself saluting the officers and they all just stared at her in confusion.

“You don’t look fine,” Nixon commented, seemingly amused by watching his friend try and fight the urge to comfort the woman he loved.

“No, you look like shit Y/l/n. Get yourself to see Doc Roe,” Spiers suggested and Y/n nodded.

“I will, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

The other four officers continued towards the mess hall but Dick stayed outside, watching to make sure they retreated before turning back to Y/n.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He reached forward to touch her cheek but she flinched away, wiping her mouth in the sleeve of her jacket. “Talk to me, please. You’ve been avoiding me and I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.” Dick looked defeated, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes watched her sadly. Y/n hadn’t realised the effect her disappearing acts had on the Major. He was hurt.

“You haven’t don’t anything wrong, Dick,” she began but the tears were already beginning to trickle down her cheeks and she could no longer contain the choked sob that spilled from her lips.

“It’s all my fault,” she wailed, balling her hands into fists to cover her face. Dick was by her side in an instant, his arms wrapping securely around her frame.

“Whatever it is, we'll get through it together. You never have to hide from me,” he whispered into her hair but this only allowed for more tears to form in her eyes.

“No, you’re going to hate me,” she blubbered and Dick smiled at her softly, the corners of his lips turning upwards as he fought back a grin.

“I could never hate you. I love you, never forget that.”

Dick placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her into the main house and up to his office, his hand never leaving her back and just that comforting touch helped to dull the emotions slightly. Once inside Dick’s office, he guided her to a chair and sat her down, kneeling before her, he placed a kiss on the palm of her right hand.

“So what is it? What’s wrong? Are you sick? Have you seen Doc Roe?” Dick’s questions came in a flood and Y/n barely had time to process them.

“I’m sorry,” Dick apologised, realising he was rambling like a madman. “Take your time.”

“Oh Dick, why are you so perfect?” Y/n asked, running her fingers through his red locks, as Dick blushed the colour of his hair.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, no longer able to hold back the secret she’d been keeping for months. Dick’s face was every shade of grey before he finally spoke, “But how? When? How long have you known.”

“Well, I think you should know how Major. You know that night in Haguenau when we umm… on the desk and umm… and Captain Nixon walked in and…well you get the idea. I’ve known for about two months

“Two months! You mean you knew all this time and you didn’t tell me,” Dick's face was creased with lines of worry, hurt shining in his eyes and Y/n could feel the nausea growing in the pit of her stomach again.

“Dick, I’m so sorry. I was just scared that you’d hate me a-and you’d hate this baby… I’m so sorry,” Y/n could no longer control the floodgates that burst forth under Dick's hurt gaze but his eyes soon softened. Y/n could feel him pulling her towards him, his large hand pressed against the small of her back as he whispered, “I could never hate you, Y/n. I love you.”

Y/n froze in his arms, pulling away from the Major to look at him, “You mean that. You mean that, you’re not just saying it because of the situation.”

“No Y/n,” Dick replied earnestly. “I should have told you sooner. For Pete’s sake, I should have told you every day since Toccoa because I’ve loved you every day since Toccoa.”

Dick’s smile was infectious and soon the couple were laughing in each other's arms. “As for this little one,” Dick placed his hand gently against her slightly rounded stomach, “well I already love them with all my heart.”

“Oh Dick, I love you so much,” Y/n leaned forward, sealing her lips to Dick’s, as her hand found its way to card through his hair.

“Hey Dick, did you see… oh for Christ Sake will you two just get a Goddamn room.” Lewis Nixon’s exasperated voice rang out through the otherwise quiet room, his booming personality pulling the couple apart quickly.

“Lew, if you hadn’t noticed we keep getting a room and you keep barging in,” Dick retorted, straightening his uniform shirt as he spoke.

“Toché,” Lewis replied, waving his hand at them, “Carry on.”

Dick smiled at Y/n as Lewis slammed the door loudly behind him. “Right, where were we?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n replied, grinning mischievously, “But I recall that last time there was a desk involved.”

“Oh really,” Dick grinned back at her, “Well maybe I could refresh your memory.”

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @historyisfullofwars @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @mutantmanifesto @malarkgirlypop @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @whollyjoly

[neverpathia]

I'm just assigning weapons to the voices and vessels because I am a fantasy nerd like that. [WARNING: LONG ASS POST]

(alternative title: watch nevvey lose his mind over random blades and not-blades, and lie about being esoteric for who-knows-how-long minutes straight. gets exponentially both longer and worse the more you read.)

(@/phospolipid-bilayer influenced too many of these things by accident thanks to their lobotomy corporation series thing going on)

(this is also mainly for my AU, I guess)

-- -- -- -- --

Hero - basic ass yee yee sword

Hunted - a kinda primitive cross between a mace and a spear? but it's really more like claws and teeth grafted to a sharpened stick. lord of the flies core and all.

okay i can also see him using a crossbow and bolts, or perhaps tribal darts. i don't really think he'd want to approach a potential threat up close. he'd prefer to shoot from beneath the concealments of foliage instead. singular fangs attached to splintered branches, whittled to straight implements of death, of defense. i kinda like this one more to be honest.

Beast/Den - no shit sherlock she already has pre-ordered weapons. claws. fangs. hack and slash and gore and tear.

Opportunist - switchblade. one that's small and easily concealed up his sleeve. the hilt is gilded with gold and embedded with emeralds because he's flashy like that. the thing's probably also soaked with some sort of venom for added inconvenience, though the blade is probably too small and thin by itself to actually be majorly dangerous.

(someone on discord suggested that he'd use a stiletto or cinquadea hidden up his boot instead and that's a pretty valid take, fuck that's cool as shit you brilliant brilliant fella, but i'm still kinda attached to my own take lol.)

Witch/Thorn - I mean she does canonically use her claws but I feel like I wanna lean more into the magic-user aspect of her. probably a sort of wand, that's also small and easily concealed up her sleeve like oppy's knife. greatest affinity with trees and roots and grass and the like. also easily smacked in someone's face and shoved down their throat or nose if needed. probably bladed at one end too, even if it does cut her a little when she's hiding it.

side note: she's definitely going to be amazing with poisons. would be able to pinpoint every single one of them, and she knows more specimens and symptoms than even the resident para(noid)medic. why? no reason. she's just a witch.

Wild - do I even need to. nerve root strangulation???

Skeptic - I mean he's a detective, so honestly?

OH. okay. good cop, I see you. cold harsh logic in the absence of the supernatural, I see you. LET HIM HAVE GUNS. specifically, revolvers, because I wanna stay loyal to the high fantasy aesthetics we have going on. he dual wields (something about covering every eventuality, blah blah).

(sigh now i'm getting an idea for a scene with stubborn, cheated, contrarian and broken playing russian roulette with skeptic's revolvers while the peepaw detective remains oblivious and wonders where the shit his guns went.)

Prisoner/Cage - GARROTE. GARROTE WIRE. YEAHHHHH BABY, ASPHYXIATION FOR THE WIN. like. she'd be a natural with the thing, she already strangles you with chains anyway. perhaps the thing is made of thin yet heavy chain-links with hooks at the ends, kinda like the chains in cage? a bit like a surujin, perhaps? maybe spiked? at this point i'm letting rule of cool drive all this.

although to be honest i'm also slightly enjoying the image of her using clinical instruments like a scalpel. she can share that with paranoid as a side thing, i guess.

or i can also see her using a weighted flail, because prisoner. god too many options

Drowned Grey - dunks you with water balloons and a super soaker. nah I'm just kidding, but I can see her using a sort of harpoon, perhaps?

at this point my brain is veering into Off Topic Land and proposing the headcanon that prisoner goes fishing. great. no thanks.

Smitten - for all his knight in shining armour rambling and shambling and garbling and warbling, fine. sword and shield. specifically, a grand broadsword and shield, both carved with very elaborate depictions of flowers and maidens and chivalry and the like. don't ask me how he's carrying both at the same time, each with one hand. he's probably freakishly strong, he's smitten after all.

Damsel/HEA - as damsel she's probably going to rely on smitten to protect her, but i like to think she picks something up after HEA. perhaps she gets a little rapier hidden up her skirts. plain and undecorated, unlike her opulent garments. sharp despite its small size. honestly i don't even think it'd be practical to get it out of there but i might also decide to redesign post-ending HEA for the sake of this thing. i do plan on redesigning the vessels anyway.

(also it took me this long to realise that technically she does have a weapon, and not a weapon, the weapon, the dinky little knife itself resting beneath her neck- nah. fuck it.)

I also love the idea of damsel with one of those crude little fairy godmother cartoon wands that's pretty much just a rod with a star on top. the one that's in all those transparent pngs and kindergarten textbooks. would be funny. wonder if she'd know how to actually cast with it, though? well, if it makes you happy.

Burned Grey - look, i absolutely adore the image of her just throwing around a flamethrower like there's no tomorrow. but i'm staying loyal to the high fantasy aesthetic so we sure as fuck can't have that. allow me to propose... yeah actually? i have no fucking idea. i'm going to google.

and one train of research and distractions later, i have been led to the handgonne which is pretty much a medieval flamethrower-esque kinda thingy. seems a little impractical. but hey, what with burning down both LQ and herself, which is sure to cause a LOT of inconvenience, the burned grey is all about impractical.

Stubborn - fists. do i even need to explain

Adversary - fists. do i even need to explain

okay but we do know that advy sort of has claws, but we don't really see her use them, though. and i like to think that stubborn attaches blades to his knuckles for maximum impact.

but in all fairness, when they don't use their fists, i like to think that they have matching sledgehammers. big and messy and violent. heavy. bloody. they love it.

Eye of the Needle - this is another one has who pre-ordered weapons free with her hands. claws. I'm not gonna bother. she probably retains the sledgehammer from advy though. or perhaps a gigantic battleaxe? don't know. probably has an entire arsenal because of how dang bloodthirsty she is.

Broken - would smack you upside the head with a bible while wailing and weeping. not funny, nevvey.

okay, he's probably the least combat-oriented of all the voices and I kinda see him as a sort of cleric? he's likely gonna be another magic-user like witch/thorn and paranoid. I can sorta see him wielding a staff like DnD-

WAIT. ALTAR KNIFE. ALTAR KNIFE. A FUCKING ATHAME. the thing's not even intended for genuine cutting, it's just there for ritual and channeling purposes. broken, I'm looking at you. PERFECT. and it's probably set in ivory and cracking porcelain and there's a bit of gold thread wrapping around it oh fuck yeah

Tower/Apotheosis - she would tell you that she doesn't need one, because her compelling voice is already enough. however, she is a girlfailure and you should never take her word for it.

I can low-key see her using a sort of scepter. something simple yet elegant carved from ceramic, radiating divine energy. yeah that's it. I don't really know. and she wouldn't stoop so low as to use a close-range bladed weapon, or anything that really uses a lot of physical effort at all. apothy's gonna need a HUGE one though

Fury - she can literally reduce you to subatomic particles. what need does she even have for a weapon? although I am SERIOUSLY digging the idea of her using a brutal bloody terrifying spiked club. way too large and way too many spines, perhaps ivory or bone. a bit of grisly membrane coating the material; a few fleshy tendrils travelling down its length. yeah. glances warily at body horror demon lady. would.

actually i can also see her using a meat cleaver because that would be kinda cute

Paranoid - FUCK YEAH I WAS WAITING FOR THIS ONE. staff. he wields a mage's quarterstaff. no question.

he definitely uses it for a ton of healing. the 'heart lungs liver nerves' mantra as a sorcerous incantation, fuck yeah. but paranoid is also really powerful and can probably use the same staff for minor transformative or conjuring spells.

now this one's probably been engraved all over with protective runes and symbols, to the point that you can barely even tell where one stroke ends and another begins. otherwise it's quite plain, but there's an orb at the top for better channelling. sometimes he uses it in conjunction with a grimoire.

it's also really handy for whacking annoyances upside the head as required.

side note: he uses a scalpel too. but he hates close-range, if he even needs to fight at all. he prefers to let hero or cold handle it while he plays support.

Nightmare/MOC - organ failure. why would i even need to elaborate.

well apparently i felt like elaborating anyway so i think she'd use...god, actually, this one is pretty hard.

OH, HOLD ON. Nightmare with oversized scissors/shears like a horror movie doll, all guro-lolita core. huh. that might be interesting. bonus points if the scissors are comically sharp. the handles are bone porcelain, smooth yet chipped, and painted with black-and-white patterns like her mask (so that I don't stray too far from the fantasy motif, because if i do, that would just completely break the rule of cool.)

Cold - well. phospo's (absolutely amazing beautiful splendid divine) cold wields a scythe and i am very extremely tempted to steal that concept from them. however, that would be plagiarism. and i am trying to avert plagiarism.

my original idea was always for cold to have a series of throwing knives and daggers like an assassin. i kinda see cold as someone who operates on stealth, shrouding himself in the shadows just as he shrouds his emotions. so he's just. throwing these things at you from out of fucking nowhere with deadly intent and precision. and he has excellent aim.

then again, this is probably really unoriginal but fuck cares

Spectre/PatD - does. a ghost. even need. a weapon?? how would a ghost even wield a weapon????

i'm gonna steal the flail from pris because she already has her nice little garotte and give it to spectre because it seems fitting enough. plus, i'm running out of ideas. sorry spectre.

although i like to think that patd gets a few avian features like talons and feathers in her hair, thanks to the switcheroo. so she can use those talons too, i suppose.

Wraith - OH. NOW THIS ONE. SPOOKY LITTLE SCYTHE, LIKE THE GRIM REAPER. no question. no question at all.

Cheated - so i apologise in advance because i am DEFINITELY committing plagiarism here. phospo, if you don't like me using your cheated-with-a-bayonet idea then i utter my sincerest regrets but. cheated. would use a bayonet.

i won't even talk about the fact that it's cool. but he'd also get it for the sake of maximizing his chances and for its versatility and, well, the fact that it is cool...and razor would still skewer him. not to mention it's not easy to use. so he'd probably attempt, and fumble, and attempt again, and just rage quit and smash the damn thing everywhere in combat like a berserker.

and it's probably just as fucked up and rusted and tattered as he is, but he still keeps it close, out of spite more than anything.

Razor - what are you talking about, she definitely isn't going to need a weapon, it's not like she's going to stab anyone anyway, it's definitely not like she's the weapon

discord said she'd use one of those disappearing trick knives. funny. nah, i think i'm giving that to...

Contrarian - you get the disappearing trick knife. and a nice rubber mallet. and a goose.

okay jokes aside i think he'd probably dual-wield as well, with weapons that have been specifically designed to be a pain in the ass for opponents.

personally i would give him a scimitar or khopesh because 1. i am OUT of ideas and 2. he's gonna have a lot of fun deflecting with the curved blades and using them to hook the opponents' weapons, then disarm them, then throw their blades out the window. then again, giving him a blade's a pretty bad idea. he'd throw it out the window himself-

wait. it's more like him to use a weapon that's not even designed to be a weapon. but that could be literally anything.

okay nevermind, contrarian is too hard to decide for. hell, he's a literal contrarian. fuck it, i won't be giving him a fixed weapon. he'd probably swap them out every two seconds and throw them out the window when he's done.

Stranger - oh shit. all five of her identities gotta have different weapons. this is the part where i'm getting lazy so i'll just steal from minecraft and go:

nondescript - bow

gentle - pickaxe

harsh - sword

evil - axe

depressed - spade

there we go. i suppose you can say she's multi-armed.

-- -- -- -- --

man this took way longer than i thought it would. what the fuck induced me to do this for like every single voice and vessel-? oh well it was worth it, especially now that i've given myself even more drawing and writing ideas especially for adventuring and fight scenes. yay.