#anyway i'm gonna be sappy in the tags for a second

[beanarie]

first lines of 2025

tagged by @typicalopposite @loucifersbitch and @rcmclachlan ❤️❤️❤️

tagging @cliophilyra @setmeatopthepyre @ambernotember @livelaughlou

but if you did first lines already feel free to count this towards fuck it friday

--

The waiting room is flooded with sunshine, dust motes dancing in the space just outside the windows.

The first face Buck notices is Lucy's. She is shell-shocked, staring into the middle distance.

"They got him back," Buck says, and she slumps in her chair.

She breathes out forcefully. "Fuck," she says. "Okay."

Unless something changed in the last few months, she and Tommy aren't friends. Tommy liked her well enough, and there was definite respect, judging by the stories he told of work. But he kept a polite distance.

Buck takes the seat next to her.

Someone hands him a coffee at some point, no idea who. He's consumed by memories of Halloween night, sitting in a chair just like this one at the children's hospital. Tommy didn't even ask if he'd needed anything. He just showed up with a cup for him.

Lucy holds her own coffee between both hands, more a fidget object than a source of energy.

[sweeterthanficstion]

— all the right reasons || l.s.k

pairing: older!rockstar!leon x popstar!fem!reader

tags: music au, set in 2011, leon is a rockstar (obviously), and reader is a popstar (think like, sabrina carpenter type). rivals to lovers, lots and lots of shitty banter, feelings are CAUGHT!, really bad music related puns, MDNI 18+, unprotected p in v, reader rides that dick into next weeeek, vaginal fingering, lots and lots of dirty talk too. sappy ending <3

summary: You're a sugarplum tabloid darling who's making headlines across the globe, he's a tried and true rockstar who's a household name. Leon S. Kennedy was just another thorn in your side. Until he wasn't. He’s older, meaner, and too good with his hands. You’re supposed to hate him. So why do you feel like you’re falling in love?

word count: 8.4k

a/n: omg... so like... hi again... it's been a while!! i dragged myself out of the depressive pit that is trying to date real men and reminded myself of what REALLY matters (writing fanfiction of men who don't exist) so that's how i'm back here, lmao.

also, BIGGEST thank you's to my gorgeous girls vivi and lea for offering to beta read and leaving the silliest, funniest comments and feedback

anyway enjoy asshole-older-rockstar leon, he's stolen my heart and i want to [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]... i've been shot 47 times

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3

You never liked Leon Kennedy.

He’s always been bark and bite, broody and callous. All whiskey breath and tired denim and the kind of stubble that looked more like laziness than effort. Too jaded. Too old. His time has come and gone, and still, somehow, he was headlining festivals, charting on billboards, signing tits.

You’d met him twice before you ever really spoke. Once at an awards afterparty, where he didn’t even look at you when you said hi—just brushed past with a half-hearted “sorry, sweetheart,” before disappearing into a crowd of laughing industry men. The second time, backstage at some benefit concert. He’d been in the wings, watched you be hurried past in a blur of glitter and gold, murmured something you can only imagine was unsavoury under his breath.

So yeah. You weren’t exactly dying to be his friend.

Which is why it’s so fucking inconvenient that your first real single is now under the same label as his—why you pass each other in the hallway at Capitol every other week, the scent of his cologne arriving before he does, heavy and heady and masculine.

But you’re not stupid either. You knew who he was long before you ever stood in the same room as him. You knew the album that broke him, the single that went triple platinum, the first stadium he sold out. You knew the way critics talked about his guitar playing like it was something they’d never seen before. You might’ve even had a crumpled tour shirt buried somewhere in your closet from high school, but that was a long time ago. That was before you learned what it meant when people said never meet your heroes.

But still there were moments, little things that made you reconsider. Once, at the label offices, he held the elevator door open for you even though you were halfway across the hallway. He didn’t look at you when you stepped in. Just said, “You gonna hit the button or stand there all night?” but his voice had been warmer than you expected.

And maybe it’s all in your head. Maybe he’s not thinking about you at all. Maybe he’s just that kind of man—coated in disinterest, carved out of concrete. Still, there’s something behind the way he looks at you that you still haven’t quite figured out.

It’s midnight when Leon finds the fork in the road that decides his fate.

It’s the voice of an angel that seals it.

He’s not even supposed to be standing in the liminal space outside your door and wondering if he should go in. He’s not even meant to be thinking about you at all.

He was thinking about the rain. About how he’d failed to remember an umbrella, about how his car smells like mildew and the CD player is still shot. About how he hasn’t written a decent song in six months. His manager had so kindly told him to go home, sleep it off, stop showing up to the label’s building like a ghost to its haunt.

And fuck if he’s already had his fill with the shitty elevator. Leon’s busy jamming the buttons to the ground floor, stuck on the second, when he hears it.

A pretty litany of sun-soaked lyrics that spills into the hallway and the elevator the same way the light from the half-opened door does.

That’s how he finds himself here: standing outside your studio door, staring at the plaque with your name engraved in gold like it’s daring him to knock.

He doesn’t. Just opens it.

“Didn’t know they let you keep the studio past your bedtime.”

It’s a joke. Kinda. He winces halfway through delivery, like he hears it too late. Nose scrunching like he didn’t mean it, and truthfully he doesn’t think he did. God, Kennedy, didn’t anyone teach you to think before you speak?

You flinch—just a little—eyes snapping open as you pull off the headphones. The track dies in your ears, and the silence feels abrupt, almost rude, like it’s been interrupted mid-confession.

You glance over your shoulder. Leon stands in the threshold looking exactly like he always does—leather jacket, dark jeans, stubble that's a little more dirty than charmingly rugged. He could be anywhere else. He should be anywhere else. And yet.

Your brow lifts, unimpressed. “Didn’t know they let you out of the retirement home either. Should I call someone?”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not geriatric.”

“Sure.” And you turn back to the soundboard like he doesn’t exist.

He stands there, lips pursed like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So… what was that?” he asks.

You sigh like it costs you. Slip the headphones off and let them settle around your neck. “A song. You’re familiar, yes?”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Plenty. You’ve got a smart mouth, kid.”

You grin, all teeth. “Thanks.”

He lets that hang in the silence for a beat, then has the bright idea to push off the doorway. He wanders in and makes himself at home in your space. His boot grazes a stack of scribbled sheet music, and he nudges it aside with his toe like he’s being polite. Then he drops onto your couch without asking—moves a cushion, spreads his knees, settles like it’s shared property.

You shoot him a look. “Comfortable?”

Leon shrugs. “Your feng shui needs work.”

“What do you want?” You finally ask, defeated.

He nods toward the board. “Play it.”

You blink. “What?”

“The song. Play it.”

“You’re really bad at this, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Basic human interaction. Hospitality. Small talk.”

He blinks, caught off-guard like he’s never been told that a day in his life.

“Sorry,” you say sweetly. “Too honest?”

“Play the damn song.”

You raise a brow. “Magic word?”

Leon just stares.

You sigh, press spacebar. The track tumbles out of the speakers, raw and half-finished. It holds for a moment, teeters, then collapses—unfinished and unsatisfying. You pull your headphones off with a huff. Leon thinks it's cute.

The weight of his gaze burns a hole into your back, makes heat crawl up your spine. You glance at him when it gets too much. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he hums.

“Felt like you wanted to.”

He laughs a little then, like the meekness to your voice is amusing. “I was just gonna say it’s close.” He murmurs, “But it’s stuck.”

You exhale through your nose, lean back in your chair, swivel from left to right. “No shit.”

You don’t see him move as much as you hear him, the creak of the aged leather couch, before there’s the familiar dull ring of your guitar.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks as he slips into the second chair next to yours, you try to ignore the way your skin prickles when his knee knocks yours.

“Mi casa, su casa,” you sigh defeatedly, his lips quirk and you find yourself smiling against your will.

Leon decides your song just needs some weight to it. Typical of him. All his music has weight. A smoky, heady bass, a sexy guitar, heavy drums, but what he plays for you is none of that.

Yes, it holds weight, but a different one to what you pinned him for. It carries something gentler, softer chords that fill your lungs with exactly the type of yearning you were aiming for. 

You pause. “That’s…”

“Exactly what you wanted?”

You nudge his knee with your own, hit record on the soundboard, “do it again.”

And so it begins. 

You find that Leon isn’t so bad when he’s writing music with you. In fact, within the four soundproof walls of your studio, he’s almost nice. He listens when you tell him to change a chord. He lets you needle him, prod at his composure like you’re tuning a guitar string too tight just to hear it snap.

Most nights you’re in the studio until the twilight hours before sunrise. You stay until your voice is worn ragged, fingers blistered from overuse. Until your limbs give out and you’ve passed out in the swivel chair, curled up like a cat in the glow of LED strips and mixing boards. You always wake to something left behind—a lukewarm cup of coffee, a half-drunk energy drink, sometimes the old throw blanket draped over your shoulders. It’s a rhythm now, syncopated and strange, yet something you’ve grown fond of.

It’s only inevitable, the way you grow closer with time. 

“Don’t lie sweetheart,” he murmurs one night in the hush of your studio, “I think I’m growing on you.”

“Like black mold.” you shoot back, but the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

And it’s just all too easy to think about him when he's not there.

You remember watching his set from the wings at that summer festival—the first time you’d shared a stage. The downpour had been terrible and insistent his entire performance, rain slicking his thread-bare shirt to his skin, turning his hair dark and wild. He’d looked like straight up sex appeal, sweat and storm and strobe lights, and you’d had to physically stop yourself from reaching for him when he walked offstage.

He’d smelt like a thunderstorm, heady as he’d squeezed your shoulders like he was grateful, damp and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. “How’d I do?”

“Not bad, rockstar,” you’d said, but your voice had come out all soft.

Now he lives in your notebooks.

That’s the real inevitability of it, you think. Unreleased verses tucked between grocery lists and studio appointments. Lyrics written in the haze of 2 a.m., voice notes left half-sung on your phone, songs you’ll never show him during your secret writing sessions.

They’re not the kind of songs you should be writing.

They’re laced with want—velvet and teeth, obsessive and desperate. They don’t sound like you, not the way your label wants you to. They’re darker, sultrier, leave you flushed when you play them back. 

It’s not like you mean to write them about him. They just come out that way. Something about the way his voice sounds when he's two glasses of whiskey in and recounting a silent film he’d watched three fortnights ago. They’re all pent up tension—the way he pretty much knows his way around your apartment now, well enough to find where you keep the good wine anyway, the way his fingers move over the fretboard of his Paul Reed Smith with a guitar pick between his teeth, the phantom weight of his palm on your lower back when he passes by you.

You bottle every look, every breathy half-laugh, every fleeting moment where you wonder what his hands would feel like if they dipped lower.

Your songs are about him, yes, and they’re for him, in all the infuriating ways you wish they weren’t.

So naturally, the smartest thing to do is keep them buried—demo files hidden in unlabeled folders, notebooks tucked behind equipment cases. Off-limits. Confidential. A bomb waiting to go off. 

At least, until tonight.

You’re curled up on the studio couch, Leon’s out at some fancy party tonight, said he couldn't write. There’s a half-empty bottle of wine and the glow of your laptop screen to keep you company, but it’s not enough not the same without him.

There’s a particular song that haunts you. It’s a confession wrapped in delicate ribbons of sultry melodies. Your voice a touch away from a moan, lyrics that dance around his name.

You shouldn’t have written it. 

Definitely shouldn’t have recorded it either.

And now you find yourself hovering over the file like it’s taunting you.

Maybe you can blame it on the buzz in your veins, or the way you’d caught his eye earlier that morning in the breakroom. He’d looked at you over the rim of his mug, winked at you like he could read you. You curse yourself under your breath at the memory. He totally knows he’s getting to you. You’d dropped the I-hate-you act three moves back.

So you drag-and-drop the demo. Chew your lip. Hit send.

Check and mate.

But by the time you’ve sobered up enough to panic, it’s already much too late.

Seven minutes. He texts back, and it sounds nearly like a threat.

Bad, bad, bad idea. No, actually, bad doesn’t even begin to encapsulate how horrific of an idea that was. A category-five hurricane of a mistake. 

What were you thinking? 

Well, clearly you weren’t.

You clamber to your feet, pace barefoot on the studio carpet, wearing a frantic path into the fibres. Back and forth, back and forth. Damage control is like a roulette wheel spinning in your mind, you could delete the message, a phone malfunction, yes, totally. Your label leaked it by accident, or it’s just one big elaborate joke.

Or, or— and this is the best one yet, you could change your name, dye your hair, move to another country where six-time award winning rockstars with stupid voices and stupid fingers on guitars don’t exist.

You’re halfway through plotting your escape through the window when the door clicks open exactly seven minutes later.

You startle like a deer in headlights, eyes wide when they snap up to the man of the hour—to Leon— and your stomach drops clean through the floor.

“You drive fast,” is what you manage. Leon clicks the door shut behind him.

His hair’s an artful mess, like he’s either run his hand through it a million times on the drive here, or just rolled out of bed. You like the former option so you pretend it’s that. His shoulders look tense, jaw tight, and his eyes—dark, sharp, dragging over you like he’s trying to see right through you.

His eyes flick to the littered coffee table, your notebook, the bottle of wine that looks at least a quarter drained.

Something strange flickers in his gaze, and for a minute you paint him as disappointed. 

Oh. You realise, with startling clarity, that he thinks you’re wasted.

It’s like a light at the end of the tunnel, a saving grace. It’d be an easy way out, wouldn’t it? Oops, Leon, sorry, wasn’t in my right mind, don’t even remember sending it, haha, how embarrassing!

But you’re not, at least not anymore, you’re standing in front of him with unfortunate sobriety. 

“Are you drunk?” He asks, voice low and rough around the edges.

Your mouth falls open, as if you’ve been scandalised. “Uh, rude?” You gesture wildly to the wine, then yourself. “I had two drinks, max. I am perfectly—” you take a dramatic step forward, stop, then another, arms out like you're proving a sobriety test, “—-fine.”

Leon doesn’t budge, stands there with his brows cinched like he’s in deep thought. It gives you space to take the upper hand back, if it was ever yours in the first place. “You, on the other hand,” you point an accusatory finger across the room, “are looking at me like I crashed your car or something.”

You might as well have with the way you have his heart hammering up his throat. He hates it, how you make him lose his carefully crafted cool. Being this nonchalant doesn’t come easy.

His tongue swipes over his teeth. And fuck him, because that shouldn’t be so distracting.

“Fine,” he starts, slow, “you wanna play dumb?’

“M’not dumb, it’s called being coy,” you hum, all too self satisfied.

Leon lets out a short breath of laughter, sharp, shakes his head and turns away like he needs to physically remove himself from you before he does something stupid.

And you should leave it there, because his buttons are officially pushed, yet you don’t feel familiar satisfaction curl around your chest like it should. “If this is about the song—”

His head tips, just slightly. “If?”

You swallow. “I mean—”

He scoffs. Sharp. Disbelieving. Runs a thumb over his lips. “If this is about the song,” he repeats, like he can’t believe you even tried that.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. "I—"

“Don’t,” he mutters. “Drop it.”

Your jaw shuts, and it takes less than a second for Leon to close the distance between you, effectively stealing all the air from your lungs. You resist the urge to back away, to give him that satisfaction, even when your body screams at you to. Not out of fear, but because he’s looking at you like he can finally see right through you.

"You sent it to me first," he says, quiet, but sure. His eyes flick down, over your lips, your throat, back up.

Your stomach turns, and you force yourself to bite back your words, despite how hard they are to swallow.

“And I wanted to believe you were drunk when you sent it,” he says, voice rougher now than before, “would’ve been easier that way.”

You shift your weight, but don’t bow your head. “Easier?”

Your gaze flickers to where his jaw flexes. "Would’ve been a mistake, then. Would’ve meant I could just forget about it."

Forget about it. That shouldn’t sting.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance, but your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. "So forget about it."

His voice, that stupid calibre of his, drops to something even lower, something  barely above a whisper. 

"You really want me to?"

Your breath stutters. He takes your loss of words as an answer.

His fingers brush against your wrist, deft hands circle around the bone, his thumb brushing up against your pulse. Your skin burns where his finger’s graze. His other hand skims up your other arm, brushes against your jaw, and it’s so soft, tentative in a way that makes you shudder, an oxymoron to the storm brewing in his eyes. 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, “if I kiss you right now, are you gonna pretend you don’t want it?”

The question hangs in the space between, thick like tar.

It’s only when his thumb brushes against your cheek, that you feel your restraint, thin as hair, give. Slowly—so slowly—you tilt your chin up, just a fraction, just enough to close the distance so that your lips ghost over his, an echo of a kiss, but not quite one. Your move, rockstar.

It’s a thread-thin dangerous thing that sets his jaw tight, he inhales sharply, and you swear you see him tremble. 

You laugh softly at that, sweet as ever.

Leon caves.

His hand shifts, curls around the nape of your neck, pulls you flush and slots his lips against yours. 

The press of his mouth is warm, wanting, firm and demanding. 

But then you smile against his lips—satisfied, smug, victorious—and he groans something devastated.

It’s a low, deep, wrecked sort of sound, something that comes right from his chest, heavy with everything unsaid. His other hand finds your waist, squeezes tight, feels your skin give under his hold, like you’re finally his to keep and he can’t quite get enough. 

“Minx,” he mutters, breathless frustration bleeding into his words.

You revel in it, your skin erupting in goosebumps.

His hand tightens around the back of your neck, tilting your head just so—like he’s determined to kiss that satisfaction right off your lips.

Spoiler: he won’t.

Because you kiss him back just as fiercely, just as insistently, pressing up on your toes like you need to get closer, like you could crawl inside his skin if he let you. 

Your hands curl around his shoulders, move up to the junction where they meet the column of his throat, tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug and he lets out something that sounds dangerously close to a moan.

And you wonder if he hates this, how easily he unravels for you, how easily you undo him. It’s like you’ve been sent right from heaven to torture him.

His hands find the curve of your waist, skate down the warmth of your skin, the swell of your hips, the back of your thighs, until he’s pressing in, guiding you backward—steady, steady—until the backs of your knees hit the couch. 

Your balance wavers.

“Careful,” he murmurs, half-amused like this is funny to him.

He doesn’t give you the grace of finding your footing, pressing forward until you’ve sunk into the cushions.

Leon stands there for a second, looking down at you, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with something that makes heat coil in your stomach. He drags a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to wipe away whatever impulse is written across his face. Like it might be something reckless, ruining. 

Then, he exhales. Sharp and quiet, he sinks to his knees in the space between your legs, a sight so devastating you forget to breathe. 

Broad hands wrap around the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing half-moon divots into your skin. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, half to himself, half to you, something dangerously close to adoration lacing his words. His thumb brushes absently along the sensitive skin just above your knee, gaze tracking the way your breath shudders. Ruining, indeed.

And then—oh, then— his palm slips to hook underneath your knee, pulls your leg over his shoulder. You suck in a sharp breath, unable to tear your gaze away from his; bright blue eyes that sparkle something wondrous in the low light. 

You try to handle yourself, lest he watch you fall apart from a simple look. “If you think I’m just gonna melt the second you put your hands on me, you’re—” Your breath unfortunately hitches the second his grip tightens around your thigh, makes your pulse jump.

He raises a brow, infuriatingly smug, like he’s daring you to finish that sentence.

You clear your throat. “—you’re sorely mistaken.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, low and knowing. “Sorely?”

You fruitlessly dig your heel into his back, a half-attempt at a kick, a half-attempt at saving some of your dignity. “Yes, sorely.”

His hands slide up in a wordless answer—dragging his nails back down your thigh, nosing at the soft fat, pressing his mouth against the skin. The brush of his lips alone unravels you enough that you can’t muster an appropriate response, shivering, sighing instead.

“Someone’s quiet,” he muses lazily, drags his teeth just barely along your skin before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Where’d all that attitude go?”

You scowl before you can stop yourself. “It’s recalculating.”

A shit-eating smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Yeah?” He does it again, open-mouthed this time, sucks supple flesh between his lips, bites, pulls away. “Let me know when it’s back."

Your chest feels like it’s on fire, so instead, your hands find the broad line of his shoulders, curl into the fabric of his shirt, and pull him up by the collar. He follows without much give, your thigh falls off his shoulder when he climbs up to press you into the plush cushion, cages you in. And fuck—you don’t think you should be this turned on by his weight atop you, by the heat of him, by that look in his eyes.

You can hear the way your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears. Can feel it in your fingertips when you drag them down his chest, his stomach, until they catch the hem of his shirt. You push it up enough to reveal the hard muscle of his abdomen. He shudders atop you.

Leon’s lips are back on yours before you can even think to be smug about it, before the teasing grin can curl at the corner of your lips. It’s hotter now, deeper, tongue sliding against yours like he’s trying to drown you. And in the heat of it, his knee presses between your thighs. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, if it’s a brilliant accident, but either way it makes you keen, a gasp of pleasant surprise tumbling from your lips.

He groans into your mouth, one hand tightening on your hip. “You sound better than I imagined,” he breathes heavily, and heat floods your face.

You swallow hard. Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

Your heart jumps at the thought of him having imagined this. Having imagined how you sounded, how he would’ve imagined you falling apart. It does horrible things to your head and even worse things to the slick heat between your thighs.

You should have a response by now, something sharp and devastatingly witty, but all you can really focus on is the way he looks at you. Like he’d let you ruin him and call it a privilege. And then he moves, pressing closer, knee pressing up between your thighs more purposefully than before, and whatever witty remark you had queued up promptly exits the premises.

The sound that leaves your mouth is embarrassing. Mortifying, even.

“Oh,” Leon murmurs, voice all smoke and velvet, “there it is.”

You absolutely despise how much you like that, refuse to let him have it. Can’t. Won’t. His ego is slowly swelling to the size of a stadium, and the last thing you need is for him to think he has you all figured out.

So, you do what any self-respecting, prideful person in your position would do: you take the liberty to push at his shoulders, and when he leans back, you seize the opportunity. Grip the front of his shirt, and push him down against the couch. He lets you, laughing under his breath, hands settling easy against your thighs as you straddle his lap.

“Don’t look so smug,” you warn, fingers sliding down, slow and deliberate. His stomach tenses beneath your touch.

“I’m not smug,” he argues, but he’s smiling something devilish—lazy, lopsided, thoroughly enjoying himself. His hands flex against your legs, and you let yourself believe he needs it to ground himself. “Just waiting to see what you’ve got planned.”

Your pulse thrums in your throat, but you play nonchalance better than he gives you credit for. “You got a request?”

“Don’t think I need one,” he says, watching as your hands dip lower, brushing over his belt buckle. “You wrote a song about it, m’sure you have ideas.”

If looks could kill he would be dead, because you’re glaring at him like he’s said something horrific. He is right, but you don’t let him have the satisfaction of hearing you admit it.

Instead, you hook your fingers under the leather, tug just enough to make him suck in a harsh breath. His eyes darken, and it’s thrilling—watching him unravel, shift beneath you.

“Aw, is that all it took?” You coo, pleased beyond words, leaning in close to brush your lips against his jaw. “Usually so put together, doesn’t take much to get you like this, does it?”

Leon huffs a laugh, but goes willingly, tilts his head to let you mouth down his throat. “You wanna talk about falling apart? What was that sound you made just a minute ago?”

You bite down, enough to make him hiss. “Stop talking.”

You can picture the smile that tugs at his thin lips, feel the way his warm, broad palms skim up, under your shirt, pressing into your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, slipping under the band of bra.

His belt slips free with a quiet clink, and you savour the way his muscles jump under your hands as you undo the button of his jeans, the steady sound of his shallow breathing when your fingers brush against the sharp line of his hip bone. 

He tries not to push, but you can just about feel the restraining in him, the way his fingers twitch where they rest against your thighs, jaw clenched, muscles tight like a wire pulled taut.

You drag your nails lightly over the plane of his stomach, card your fingers through the thin trail of hair that leads down from his navel, just to see what he does when you do.

Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the couch, and the sound he makes—low and barely restrained—sends a rush of heat straight through you.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He swears, voice beyond wrecked, and for a second you think he might start begging for mercy. 

“No,” you hum, tilting your head, hands running up his chest, under his shirt. “Just having fun.”

Leon laughs—all breathless, shaky around the edges. But there’s something desperate in the way he exhales, in the way his hips shift up just barely like he’s fighting every instinct to meet you halfway.

There must be a devil on your shoulder, he thinks, because you make it worse.

Your hips roll down, testing, barely any pressure, but enough he feels it. His breath punches out of him like you’ve knocked the wind from his lungs. His fingers dig into your thighs, desperation in his grip.

His head falls forward, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and fuck, you really weren’t prepared for how he looks at you—half-lidded, dark with something simmering just beneath the surface.

“You enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and rough, like it pains him to think too hard.

A grin stretches across your lips, heart thrumming with satisfaction, you’ve won, you think, made him fall to pieces without even touching him properly. 

But then he exhales sharply through his nose, takes your hand.

He presses it to his chest, right over his heart—fast, heavy, pounding. 

“You feel that?” His voice is low, his other hand, still on your back, coaxes you closer. Close enough your lips brush. “You did that.”

You let out a shaky breath, Leon curses because he thinks he finally has you breaking.

You didn’t expect him to do that, to let his walls come down and show you just how much you affect him. Didn’t think he’d pull the rug from under your feet and admit defeat in one fell swoop. He looks at you like he actually wants you, not just the game of it, not just for the win.

He wants you. 

…You want him.

Leon watches your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but when you don’t, when your lips part like you’re about to ask for something, maybe even beg—he decides.

He leans up, closes the short space between you, and kisses you deep and slow. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. He doesn’t rush, nor does he fumble. Just touches you like he means it. Like he really has thought about this more than he’s willing to admit.

His fingers push at the hem of your shirt, sliding up your ribs, pulls the fabric off like it’s nothing. And when your body trembles against his, he swears to himself he’d do just about anything for you.

He lets you tug his jeans lower, helps you. His hands are steady, careful when he presses against the fabric of your underwear.

Leon watches your face, watches the way your lips fall open, breath uneven, the way your fingers tighten in his shirt, and then—

Then you make a sound so sweet, so utterly wrecked that his resolve snaps like a thread pulled too tight.

“Christ,” he mutters, like it physically pains him, and then he’s kissing you twice as hard as before, deep and wanting, swallowing every breath, every soft noise, every shaky exhale.

His fingers press firmer, so, so eager, willing to coax any sound out of you that you’ll let him. Your hands curl at his shoulders, hips bucking deftly against his palm.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you murmur, breathless and shaking, spilling his name into his own mouth.

He stills just barely, and fuck, it wrecks him—he doesn’t know if it’s the way you say it, like he’s something sacred, or the fact that you’re coming undone just for him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away even if it kills him, pressing warm lips against your jaw. “Gotta use your words.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Don’t baby me.”

His mouth twitches. “You don’t want me to baby you?”

You want to tell him everything. That you want him to touch you like this, and talk to you like that, but also see you, really see you. Want him to want all of it—not just your body, not just the thrill of it, but the gentler parts too. The parts of you that ache when he leaves the room. The parts that want to believe someone like him could care that deeply.

“I want—” you start, then stop, teeth sinking into your lip.

He softens. Just a bit. Just enough. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me how you want it.”

Your throat works around the words. You reach down, let your fingers trace along the waistband of his boxers, and look him dead in the eyes.

“Wanna ride you.” You whisper, voice is thin with adrenaline and want.

Leon groans like it’s been punched out of him. “Fuck. Jesus. Shit.”

You grin, all teeth, trying to ease the gravity in your chest. “Oh, c’mon, rockstar. I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve had a girl say that before.”

He huffs out something like a laugh. “S’different,” he says quietly.

You’re too scared to ask how.

So instead, you kiss him like it’ll shut out the question. Like you can pour your want into his mouth and he’ll take it, keep it, like your secret's tucked somewhere between your teeth and if he’s patient enough, if he presses hard enough, he’ll find it there.

Leon groans into it, hands dragging along the curve of your waist, your hips. His palms are firm there, like he’s claiming something, like he’s grounding you both.

“You ride me,” he murmurs against your lips, “and I swear I’m not gonna last long.”

“Aw,” you tease, all syrup and heat, brushing your nose against his, “poor baby.”

He bites your bottom lip in retaliation, gentle but pointed, and you gasp.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you whisper, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt before finally, finally, dragging it up, over his head, revealing sweat-warmed skin that you wish you could lick clean with your tongue.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much more time to waste. Leon’s handsiness, you’ve discovered, is both a curse and a gift—he can’t seem to stop touching you, and you’re in no hurry to make him. 

He helps you shimmy out of your underwear, breath catching when you’re bare before him. He drinks you in, staring like a man praying for patience. Then you sit back slightly, thighs spread over his lap, and he does it again, that mouth of his.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, like he can’t believe his luck. “You’re unreal.”

It makes your head swim, the way he says it.

In hindsight, you should’ve taken more time, wish you’d used your hand to stroke his length until he was begging for more, but the heady haze of sex-soup your brain is swimming in doesn’t leave you much choice. You’ll get him next time, you decide.

So instead you hide the flush of your cheeks with the sink of your hips, and you think it just about does it. Leon groans like it knocks the wind from him, his head tips back against the couch, throat bared, lashes fluttering.

The stretch is deep, thick, just shy of overwhelming. It steals your breath and then your balance, and you fall forward, catching yourself on his chest. He’s warm there. Bare skin and heart beneath your palms, his pulse kicking against your fingertips like it might leap out and run to you.

“Fuck— God you’re warm. You’re so warm,” he mumbles, and it’s so hot and heavy it makes you blush hard enough you feel it in your ears, your chest, your thighs.

“Romantic,” you breathe against his jaw, trying for wit but inevitably melting into the moment.

He huffs out a laugh, half-amused, half-ruined. “Mouth on you.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately,” he grits out, squeezing your thighs. “You gonna move or just sit there lookin’ pretty?”

He feels you grin against the column of his throat first, then feels you roll your hips sickeningly slowly second.

“Christ,” he moans obscenely, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re—fuck. This is a bad idea.”

You pant, shake your head. “I think we’re way past bad ideas.”

Leon’s hand slides up your back, catches at the nape of your neck, forces your mouth back to his like he needs to taste your smugness. You feel him twitch inside you when you moan into the kiss—high and desperate, something wild climbing up your throat.

“You sound so sweet when you’re full of me,” he murmurs against your lips, and it’s awful, the way your body clenches down at the filth of it. “All that smartass attitude, but now you’re just—” he cuts himself off with a groan, “—fuckin’ whimpering.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck, you tighten your grip in his hair and drop your hips again, slower this time, grinding until he groans like you’ve punched the air out of him. You want to crawl inside him, disappear beneath his skin.

“Pretty girl,” he says, low and reverent. “You sound so fuckin’ sweet.”

You whimper at that. Your rhythm stutters.

Leon finds it really doesn’t take much to melt your poor brain. You’re already gone—thighs trembling, mouth open, whimpering nonsense between the slick drag of your hips. He takes advantage where he can, thrusts up into you with a force that makes you hiccup on a wet moan. Cute, cute, cute. 

“Leon,” you whisper, voice thin and cracked and ruined. You’re not sure what you’re asking for. More? Less? Everything?

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, eyes glassy as they flick between your face and where your bodies meet. “Feels good, huh?”

God, his voice. You want to drown in the low timber that rattles through your head when he speaks like that. And of course, you nod. Desperate, mindless, somewhere between obsession and devotion. Your nails dig half-moons into the meat of his shoulders, your hips rocking pitifully.

“Can’t—can’t think,” you admit, a choked sound riding the edge of a sob.

Leon lets out a sharp breath through his nose, swears under it. “Good.” His voice is hoarse, fraying at the edges. “Don’t wanna hear you think. Just wanna hear you come.”

“Yours,” you whisper without thinking, tears burning and cresting your pretty lashes. “Yours, yours, yours—”

“That’s it,” he groans, “My girl.”

Your head jerks slightly, like the words ripple straight through you.

“Your girl?” you echo, dazed, like it floated up out of your mouth before your brain could catch it.

He doesn’t answer—not with words. Just thrusts up into you slow and deep, like he can fuck the truth back into you. Kisses you like you’ve ruined him completely. 

And just like that, it’s all too much.

The rhythm you’ve managed to keep starts to splinter, your movements losing precision. You’re clinging to him, breath coming in hot, wet gasps, thighs shaking, body screaming for that last push.

Leon feels it. Sees it in your face.

“You gonna come for me?” he pants, hands sliding down, down, gripping the back of your thighs as you lift and drop, roll and press. “You gonna soak my cock like a good fuckin’ girl?”

“Don’t wanna yet,” you whisper, but it’s fragile, a lie at best. You’re already falling apart.

He groans like you’ve stabbed him. “Jesus, you’re killing me. I haven’t fucked you stupid enough yet, huh?”

His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit, circling slow and punishing.

You arch into him with a cry, loud and unfiltered, every inch of you unraveling.

“There she is,” he breathes, reverent and wild-eyed, watching you fall to pieces on top of him. “God, baby. Just like that.”

“You’re bein’ mean,” You whine, words all slurred, as the tears begin to well and dribble down the pretty apples of your cheeks.

“Oh, angel,” He coos, and god you really do hate how smug he gets. “Me? Mean? You wound me, pretty.”

“Shut up,” you pant, whining high and rutting hopelessly against him. 

“C’mon,” he pants, thumb still working lazy circles against the throb of your clit, “I wanna feel you beg for it.”

It’s cruel. Cruel, the way he says it—rasped out like a curse, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever ask for. His hand is steady even as his breath breaks apart. He’s wrecked. Close. You can feel it in the way he shakes under you, in the stutter of his hips against yours. 

You giggle helplessly into the crook of his neck.

His thumb presses firmer, tight figure eights.

“Leon—!” your voice catches on a sob, you’re so close it’s dizzying, so wet and full and tense that your whole body tightens like a string about to snap. “Can’t—too much—”

“Too much?” he echoes, low and amused, and god, it shouldn’t sound so tender. “Thought you said you didn’t wanna come yet. Changed your mind?”

You nod before you can stop yourself, head lolling as your hips rut down in frantic little circles, chasing the friction.

He groans at the sight, palm spreading wide across your spine like he’s trying to hold you together. “Fuckin’ knew it. Talk big, but look at you now—makin’ a mess on me.”

One arm tightens around your waist, locking you down, and the other braces at your back as he thrusts up into you again—deeper now, sharper, fucking the air right out of your lungs.

You keen, and he laughs—breathy and soft and so fucking fond that it breaks you open.

“Look at you.” He noses at your cheek. “You’re outta your mind.”

You are. You really are. And it’s all him. The heat of him, the rough scrape of his voice, the way he touches you like you’re something to worship and ruin in the same breath.

“Gonna come,” you choke out, breath hitching as your thighs start to shake. “Please—Leon, please—”

“Fuck,” he groans, and his hips stutter. “Go on, baby. Let go. You’ve been so good for me.”

That’s all it takes. The words hit like a match to gasoline. Your whole body seizes—tight and trembling and gasping as your climax crashes over you like a wave, dragging a whine out of your throat that doesn’t sound human.

Leon holds you through it, rocking you through every pulse, every shudder. He murmurs something into your skin, something quiet and unintelligible, and then he follows—his body locking up beneath you, his breath catching.

“Fuck—fuck,” he hisses, head tipped back, mouth open. You feel the heat of him inside you, feel the full-body tremor that wrecks him. He’s still buried deep, still gripping you like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

It’s a long moment before either of you moves.

You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, wild and unsteady. 

“You alright?” he asks after a minute, voice low and rough around the edges.

You nod, cheek resting heavy against his shoulder, still trembling even when he eases you back. Your body feels like it’s been rung out, soaked in sugar, nerves singing somewhere between pleasure and disbelief.

Your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, and you murmur something against his neck—something nonsensical, vowels dragging like honey.

“What was that?” he asks, voice hoarse but amused, his hand smoothing over your back, tracing your spine like a secret.

“Dunno,” you mumble, “I think I saw God.”

Leon huffs a laugh. “You talk a lot.”

You don’t respond, just hum again, lost in the float of it—too far gone to be embarrassed, too fucked out to pretend you’re not still clenching around him. You feel him begin to shift, and what starts as a delighted little hum, turns to protest, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can think to stop it when you realise he’s pulling out.

“No,” you whisper, eyes glassy, fingers curling weakly at his wrist like maybe you could keep him there. “Wait—Leon—mmph.”

His laugh is breathy, wrecked. “That good, huh?”

You glare, or try to. It’s weak at best. “Don’t—don’t be mean to me.”

“You’re the one whining.”

“You made me whine,” you grumble, but it comes out slurred, a little dreamy.

Leon grins like he’s won the lottery. He’s still so close, and maybe the way his hands are smoothing over your thighs, up your hips, dragging the touch out like he can’t stand to stop can make up for how empty you feel now.

He has no shame when he cups between your thighs again and presses two fingers there, slow and lazy, you jolt. “Leon—”

He hums, smug. “Messy,” he murmurs, fingers slipping between your folds. “Look at what you let me do to you.”

You shiver hard, half from oversensitivity, half from the way his voice drips with possessiveness. You’re too blissed out to argue, too soft to push him away. Especially when he slides one of those fingers back in, just enough.

You gasp. “Ohhhhh,” you sigh, all delight and dazed affection.

You squirm against him a little helplessly, make a face when you feel him push a little deeper, like he’s guiding what’s left of himself back into you. Your head tips back with a helpless sound.

“Leon—what the fuck?”

He has the audacity to look smug. “What? Can’t let any of it go to waste.”

“Gross,” you whine, trying and failing to wiggle away. He keeps you right there, hands firm but fond, and you know, deep in your bones, that you don’t really want to go anywhere but where he is.

He offers you a real clean-up after your thighs have stopped shaking, drives you back to your place and walks you to the door like a gentleman. It feels all too sweet for the type of night you’ve had, and every part of you wishes this won’t be the last of them.

You half expect him to say something—to ask to come in, or kiss you goodnight, or at least promise to see you again.

But he just smiles. Nods. Taps two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute.

“Night, sweetheart.”

Then he’s gone.

And in the warm lull of dawn, with your sheets still cold and your heart beating somewhere between your ribs and your throat, you wonder what to do with the ache of him still lingering under your skin.

So when morning properly comes—sun high, coffee half-sipped, hair still tangled from the night before—you call.

Just to see if he’ll pick up. Just to hear the line connect.

It rings once.

Twice.

And then you hang up in a panic.

You curse under your breath. Call yourself a hundred kinds of idiot. Your thumb is still hovering over the screen when your phone buzzes in your hand.

Leon Kennedy is calling you.

Shit, shit, shit! You muster whatever dignity you have left, swallow, and answer.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is all sleepy, a little hoarse with morning, makes your heart bloom with warmth. You sink deeper into your mattress at the sound of it, curl into your pillow like it’s his chest.

“Yeah?” you say, like you’re afraid you’ve imagined the whole thing.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.”

“You called?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna say something?”

You pause to worry your lip between your teeth.

“…No.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. You can hear the rustle of sheets over the line, the sleepy shift of his weight. You picture him in bed—bare chest, tousled hair, phone pressed to his ear, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

“Alright,” he murmurs.

And then he hangs up.

You stare at your phone, wide-eyed like you can’t believe he really did it. Then you hit call again before you can talk yourself out of it. He answers right away.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice quiet and curious like a secret. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You roll onto your back, smiling helplessly at the ceiling. “No.”

He chuckles, quiet and fond. “Me neither. Was already thinkin’ about you.”

You close your eyes. “I liked your voice just now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“I like yours too,” he says, voice thick. “Sound all soft. Like I should be wakin’ up next to you.”

The room feels warm again, like the night before never ended, whatever figurative line that you’ve drawn in the sand between you seems thinner than ever.

“Maybe next time,” you say softly.

There’s a careful pause. You both hang in the quiet, waiting to see if the moment passes.

“Have you…” he starts, then clears his throat. “Have you eaten yet?”

You shake your head although he can’t see. “No.”

“You want me to bring you something?”

The question bowls you over. It’s too sweet, too easy. Like he’s asked it a hundred times before, like this is just what you do.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, but the fond curl of your lips slips into your voice and gives you away.

“Didn’t say I had to. Just figured you might want it.” A pause. “Something hot and filling.”

Your throat closes up a little, an uncharacteristic flush to your cheeks. “You mean pancakes?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Among other things.”

“Leon,” you say his name urgently, too much bubbling to the surface all at once.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’re being…” You trail off, plucking at the fraying cuff of your sweater, too afraid to name it how it is, to ruin a good thing.

Another pause, you can hear the soft rise and fall of his breath. “I can be soft on you.” He murmurs, “If you let me.”

You press the phone harder to your ear, eyes stinging. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” He says finally. Then, “Any coffee left at your place?”

“Only if you make it.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[harryinramshackle]

A little gift for @crystallizsch!

Wait a minute— what's under here?

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SUPRISE! 💜

I TOLD YOU I WAS GONNA GET YOU ONE DAY IAN 💥💥💥💥

Okay so-

Heyyyy Ian....bet you didn't expect this 2 days before the new year but once again, I'm full of surprises 💥

Gonna get a bit sappy here but I NEED YOU to know how much I genuinely appreciate you dude. Every time I post the thing I look forward to the most is your reblogs with your comments. You're one of the people who have made me feel the most comfortable here, and you were also low-key the reason I met some of my other mutuals as well!

But most of all I want to thank you because I wouldn't be here now without you and your own blog. If it weren't for me finding your art, and seeing how much fun you were having drawing and creating, I wouldn't have found the courage to make this blog and post about my ocs and fan art.

It's why I freaked out/pos when we became mutuals, from my perspective, the main person who inspired me to start posting became interested in my art enough to follow me— that's wild!!! Especially for someone who had never posted his art before LMAO

All in all, thank you for being such a friend this year, I love and appreciate you a lot for it 💜

Anyways here's a second ver-

(I LOVE YUUSHA SO MUCH AHRUHAFSHAEW MY GIRL MY GIIRRRLRLLHDAS JAMIL GET OUT OF THE WAY I LOVE HER SM/j)

tag list: @ramshacklerumble @thehollowwriter @summerspook @scint1llat3 @skriblee-ksk

@cyanide-latte @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @oya-oya-okay @viperbunnies @jadelover69

@twsted-void @lallopsyou (lmk/dm if you wanna be added)

[haedia]

I was tagged by @rookinthecrownest for a Shameless Self-Promotion Sunday thing but, I only have like one completed piece from this week, which is the Silver Fox Illario below.

So, instead, I'm gonna do a spam of a bunch of works-in-progress: sketches, rough compositions, thumbnails, etc below the cut.

But first, let's revisit Silver Fox Illario, wearing reading glasses that he stole from Nera

Aaaaand, a quickfire spam of rough wips under the cut!

I did get this section of the Minrathous piece done this week. I've been chipping away at it but none of the other done areas are in one spot so I'm not sharing them at this moment. But I'm proud of how this turned out so far. c:

Worked more on the Pathos-inspired figure skating Teia piece today. I cracked myself up at the notes I wrote so I'm sharing those, too. But the second image is costume composition stuff I did today. None of this is final. But it's getting closer to actual rendering, so that's nice.

Got an idea for an Aldwir Clan scout/hunter riding one of the clan's harts on an excursion. They're going to be deep in the forest while dealing with a drizzly day.

Really rough composition sketch for a SFW Elek/Nera/Illario piece. Elek standing, Nera kneeling, and Illario sitting/lounging.

Did some preliminary setting work for a series of drawings later. I need to redo it though 'cause the scope isn't large enough but this is might important for setup purposes. And yes, there will be oil paintings on the wall...so those are also on the pile to do later. Dx

I'm going to be revisiting this triptych as well. Close-up of Kiore and Lucanis with a paired poem thing. It's incredibly sappy and sweet but hey. Sometimes you gotta.

Anyway. If this seems neat, take this as an invitation (for either the Shameless Self-promotion Sunday or a WIP thing) to participate. And tag me back so I can seeee!

[ethanhuntfemmefatale]

i just wanted to say that i am a huge fan of dick (your oc not the appendage -_-) from what i've seen in his tag he just fascinates me. your mind is magnificent etc etc..

I cannot thank you enough for saying this. He says hi

:-) <-thats him

he's my player character for a ttrpg im doing...his name is dick wayne, erectile dysfunction joke partially intended (he's trans!) & also batman reference intended. he's basically a play on the stereotype of the dumb brute, I made him to play with a lot of ideas about vigilantism and violence in the family that are woven throughout the rpg. He's become a bit murky and complicated as a character because I use him so much as an outlet. The core concept of him is as a powerful guy who treats his body like a tool that he hands over to someone else to use however they see fit. He ran away from his mom as a kid but he never was able to get away from the ideas she taught him...when he was fresh out of (dropping out of) college he fell in with an older man who stoked his anger issues and taught him to fight crime. They took in a kid together! And in the end he wasn't able to stop the man from teaching those same ideas to their kid, passing the violence on.

A LOT has happened in the rpg at this point, he's almost died about 20 times, he's got like one and a half boyfriends and the one boyfriend has another version of himself who's pretty hot, etc. Now he's at a crossroads and he's trying to get better for the wrong reasons. Trying to rid himself of violence so he doesn't "infect" anyone else with it, not because he wants to get better. He's struggling with the growing horror of realizing that he has power over his own life, which means that everything that's happened because of his passivity is on his shoulders. And things are about to get worse! He's gonna die and get resurrected, for the SECOND TIME, and come back as a shambling zombie who's also kinda fey, still very powerful in all the wrong ways.

My concept is that he'll ultimately learn how to give up the one thing that he believes makes him useful and loved--his ability to fight for & protect people--in order to have a shot at real peace and contentment. before he died the second time (a really great phrase) he was a mechanic! it was the only thing he had that was his, that brought him satisfaction even through everything. he's constantly commenting on people's cars in the rpg, which is partially my own way of living out my car guy fantasies. and he has a car that's his best friend (named daisy.) I have this idea that after he gets resurrected, he'll have lost all the knowledge he had about cars, all the muscle memory, everything from this one skill that kept him tethered to the world and grounded in his own body and humanity. And at the end of the story, he'll slowly start to teach himself those skills again. Because it's not about competence, it's about the love of the work, and the love is still there! It's basically the idea of--there's no going back or undoing what's been done to you, or what you've done to yourself. the conventional happy ending (the world is saved, the status quo is restored, hurts are mended) is essentially impossible after horrible trauma. Things have changed, there are still scars, you're still older and you're still in the life all that stuff happened in. But taking the step to take care of yourself despite all that is better than a happy ending--it's meeting your life where it's at, looking at it honestly and making a commitment to it.

forgive me for being sappy i just am very invested in this. Dick is important to me at all times but especially right now cause I'm trying to use him as inspiration to deal with my own struggle to . well. give up the one thing I believe makes me useful and loved in order to have a shot at real peace and contentment.

anyway. dick wayne! he's a bear! he's a slut! he's even aro!

i love you thank you for the ask. hope you're doing great<33

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ARI FIRST THINGS FIRST I'M SORRY I DIDN'T TAG U I DIDN'T WANNA PRESSURE U OKAY I'M SORRY second of all how many of them can i ask about bc......... what if i wanna know about all of them? what then ari???? have u thought about that?????? okay okay no but i do NEEEED to know about sappy drunk!sugu bc helloo??? that sounds so good and also woLFY SUGU AND LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD????? you're crazy i'm so obsessed already and actually sick!satoru too bc he's gonna be such a baby i need to hear about it OK ONE MORE BECAUSE NOBARA??? OH MY GODD SKATERGIRL NOBARA PLEAAAAASEEE that's literally genius wow i can't wait to hear about all of them i'm so excited!!!!!!!

- @softgirlgonehaywire

MICKEY PLS DONT APOLOGIZE PHSJDHD i wasnt planning on doing it at first cause i didnt know if ppl would be interested 😭😭 BUT then i saw that u and everyone else was doing it so i immediately caved AND IM SO GLAD I DID u picked some of my personal faves !! ari/mickey connection going steady hehe

i’d apologize in advance for making this long but i feel safe w u this is just our average communication let’s go <33 here is some tea for u while u read !! 🍵

OKOK SOOOO first of all ; sappy drunk!sugu x reader….. yes. this one is sooooo special to me its been downright rotting in my drafts since the beginning of time and its literally all written out ?? but i need to delete some stuff n polish it overall….. </3

BUT yeah the plot is basically just: sugu goes out to a bar w satoshoko, gets drunk even though he literally never gets drunk, and so reader discovers that he is, in fact, the sappy kind. (shocker!) it’s just sooooo sickeningly fluffy and he’s so whipped. ☹️☹️ he’s like a puppy. all he can think of is reader and how much he wants to put a ring on their finger HE’S SOOOOO

here are a couple snippets hehe. literally just disgusting amounts of Fluff for my soul

sho 🚬 : anyway he’s been asking me where u are for the past ten minutes pls come i can’t stand him sho 🚬: he’s crying. you: HUH???????? you: WHY??? 😭😭😭 sho 🚬: dude i dont know sho 🚬: pls come get him he’s being so sappy that satoru’s abt to throw up

”— and i have you.” a stutter of your heartbeat, a jolt throughout your chest. his stare almost burns, but you can’t avert your gaze — suguru looks positively lovesick. admiring you with a dreamy gaze, as if he can’t believe you’re real. he reaches a hand out; cradling your face with one big palm, the rough pads of his fingers smoothing down your skin so very gently. smearing his fondness from your jaw to your cheekbone, so loving your breath hitches in the back of your throat. a soft, content sigh spills into the air, like a prayer that doesn’t need any words. his smile is serene.  ”my angel.” that peaceful smile changes shape, shifting into a big, giddy grin. it lights up his whole face. a chuckle leaves his lips, content and delighted. ”i’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

”sugu,” you whine, dragging his name out childishly. ”we need to sleep…” ”sorry,” he only murmurs, muffled into your skin. he doesn’t stop, though, planting a wet smooch on your cheek, and then another. you squirm a little in his hold, and he emits a shaky breath. ”jus’ love you so much…”

i just think sugu has so much love in his chest that he like Never lets out bc he knows it can feel overwhelming unless he shows it in small doses but then he gets drunk and everything just SPILLS out . idk but my knees would buckle

AND THEN ….. wolf/hunter!sugu x little red riding hood!reader OHHHH MICKEY IM SO HAPPY U ASKED…. this concept entered my brain and has Not left even once but its still just this vague idea in my head. im just so interested in fairy tale aus!! i figure its probably gonna end up kinda twisted? or maybe a mix between sweet/twisted if i can pull it off 😭😭 bUT the main idea is that sugu plays the part of both the wolf AND the hunter, reader doesnt know who to trust but sugu is their only option either way. at first i was thinking of making him like a whole Wolf Man but now im leaning towards it being more symbolic … the trustworthy hunter was the ”wolf” all along yk? IM SO FOND OF THIS ONE i cant wait to write it !!! ive been itching to write something a lil more gritty anyhow :33

AND AND SICK!TORU X DOTING!READER ….. our babyboyyyy he’s so :((( he’s just so sick and delirious and trying to convince reader that he’s Fine Actually but he’s just burning up :(((( and so he has no choice but to face the terrifying reality of Being Taken Care of By Someone He Trusts. horrifying. as soon as he’s slightly better he’s just throwing himself over u and begging for kisses though (he’s an opportunist <33)

this is another one that’s just veryyyy fluffy n sweet!! AND another one that i have written out i just need to delete a lot of stuff bc its like . over 10k i think I GOT CARRIED AWAY OK…… 😭😭

aaand here r some snippets from this one!! just overflowing w gojo love <333 he’s our sweetiepie our little baby angel i need him tucked into bed

”really, baby,” he slurs, voice raspy and dry. attempting to get up, arms straining under his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —” unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles back down. face falling back into the mattress, as he croaks out a meek little wince. (the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.) ”ah,” he hums, muffled into the sheets. resisting the urge to close his eyes. ”that’s… annoying.”

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, looking up at you. ”can you check?” a raise of your eyebrow. you give him a smile. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.” ”just wanna make sure,” he whines. ”please?” an exaggerated sigh. then you’re leaning down, soft lips meeting his forehead, humming against his skin — and, just like last time, and the time before that, his temperature hasn’t gone up. ”you’re good.” ”oh, thank god,” satoru exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tenderly, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again. after a silent moment, you part your lips. ”… you can.” he blinks. still smiling. ”stay forever, i mean.”

yeahhhhhh. yeah. u know how it is. (i am consumed by love for this silly little 28 year old man)

AND FINALLY LAST BUT NOT LEAST … skatergirl!nobara x reader <333333 my most beloved ever. i only have a vague outline but im sooo in love w this concept mickey im overjoyed that it caught ur eye….. just . picture nobara being covered in hello kitty band aids bc she’s not very good at skating but she just thinks it’s SO fun and she goes to the skate park w maki while wearing acrylic nails and she’s just having such a blast :(( grinning and giggling!!! she’s literally my daughter i adore her ….

my idea for the fic is basically just that reader has this weird one-sided rivalry w nobara bc they’re a bit jealous of her + she’s so pretty it makes them angry LOL and they assume that she doesnt notice them at all… but in reality nobara is like HIGHKEY crushing on reader she does these complicated flips JUST to impress them she’s a lovergirl!!! so it’s basically just super duper fluffy n sweet hehe <33

TYSM FOR ASKING MICKEY i had to take my time w this one hehehe . i hope u’ll enjoy these fics when theyre posted although it’ll probably take a while… COVERING U IN KISSES WATCH OUT

[astro-inthestars]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @serizawasweep !!!!

Happy birthday bestie <333 This is a whole year of you being in my life, can you FUCKIN BELIEVE- No seriously though, I'd usually send this as an ask but I think it deserves it's own post.

Lake Landon Lazuli Phasmo Claus, thank you, for being in my life. You've changed me for the better, and I really don't think I'd be where I am without you. You've done so much for me, even if you don't think so, you have! You really really have. And I'm just so happy to have you in my life, and to have made so many memories with you. Thank you for being my friend, I'm very lucky to have met you, Lake. I love you bestie <3

(The picture is best viewed in dark mode or any dark colored background <;3)

[xeno828]

Trollhunters Ending FIXED!!!

So....I've recently binged this entire series, fell in love with it and promptly gotten heartbroken at the shitty ending the movie gave us. SO!!!! I have seen many people hating on the ending and pretending it and the movie didn't exist. I came up with an idea that I am permanently using as a replacement for the ending that I'm pretty happy with. I can't write dramatically for shit BUT I can scribble ideas! If anyone wants to flesh this out into a one shot fic PLZ TAG ME JUST SO I CAN READ IT!!!!!

(also this is gonna read more like a screen play for a movie cus I'm a vid editor and that's how I picture stuff, doesn't always translate well into a written story! 😅)

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

- So everything stays the same up until Jim uses the kronosphere to go back in time

- Instead of going back to the beginning and changing everything, he travels back to when the Arcane order had finally gotten a hold of the real Nari

- Everything is still happening around him but is dead silent as if he were deaf and in slight slo mo as he gets his bearings (not actually deaf, just that kinda cinematic idea for drama!!)

- Looks around and sees everyone alive gathered around (maybe some sappy or quiet music plays on top of him seeing everyone alive, I dunno!!!)

- As this is the past they don't know Jim just came from the future and are instead focused on glaring at something

- IRL sound hits back in like a huge thud, LOUD AF!!!!

- Jarring Jim to turn around and see the Arcane order hovering in that same ball of magic that surrounded them the first time (that's what everyone is glaring at btw!)

- This is when realization for Jim sets in and he knows this is his second chance

- The music from the credits in the original film (or something like that) starts to build up (in my head it's like him and the music are going "not this fucking time!")

- He transforms into his new armour (either cus it came back in time with him or cus now he knows about the 9th configuration, your choice!)

- Camera and everything is focused on the transformation as the music is building but you can see everyone in the background looking either shocked or like "HELL YEAH!!" when they see Jim finally transforming again

- Quick dramatic shot focusing on the Arcane order still performing their spell, t

- Some sort of cheesy/bad ass hero shot showing off everyone gathered together as the "9th configuration" and ready to kick ass

- Close up on Belroc looking pissed as they realize Jim has transformed and everyone is gathered to fight

- Equally cheesy close up on Jim quietly but determinedly saying something like "not this time" or "my turn" (I can't do dialogue I'm sorry!!!;)

- Jim jumps into fight with everyone following behind

- Final shot of everyone running toward the camera (Arcane order) and cuts to black with Jim swinging Excalibur at the camera.

- As it cuts to black the outro music (roughly 20 secs into it) hits the beat drop at the same time as the credits start!

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

Cliffhanger-ish ending, doesn't get rid of the whole story, leaves it up to imagination on who still lives and dies, doesn't undo character development, has more of a feel good "HELL YEAH!!" ending to it (at least for me!) Doesn't feel like a definite ending but has enough to still feel like Trollhunters isn't just over and wrapped up nice and nearly with a pretty bow! For me this works and I'm happy to pretend this is canon. Tbh 90% sure this looks cooler in my head than how it's written down, I might get round to making a vid edit for it on YouTube (cus that's my specialty) but dunno if anyone actually wants to see that!

As I said I'm not a writer so apologies for this chaos!! I don't usually post these things that I think about (cus I've also imaged a better ending for game of thrones!) But I just really wanted to share this in case someone else also enjoyed the concept or in case anyone wants to translate this mess into something coherent!

Anyway, rant done and idea written out, go have fun with it you want, just plz tag cuz I wanna read if you! 😭🙏

[fictionkinfessions]

Hey. Just using this as a space to ramble anonymously at people I once knew, we all know the drill.

To my crew, at Zomburger… if I told ya that I wasn't gonna miss you, well, rest easy knowing THAT really came back to bite me in the ass. I miss you all. A lot. Not gonna lie, you were the closest thing I had to friends in my centuries of being… alive, undead, whatever. I'm sorry I was such a hardass.

I don't remember much tangibly about my time with you, I can only really remember flashes and feelings. But I do know that I cared for you all even if I suppressed it. You gotta understand that surviving on my own is all I've ever known. It was stupid and pointless to get attached, moving around for work and all… I was basically an Underworld bounty hunter, I couldn't exactly settle down or be open about who I was. Even now, a part of me is chastising myself for feeling this way, and being so open about it, even if I'm anonymous. Some habits die hard. But being here has changed me. I'm really a new man. Still eccentric, off-the-walls Cesare, but… I'm at peace. I'm learning, okay? I'm learning to be okay with all this. I wish you could meet me now. I felt weirdly paternal towards you all.

Conrad, you always took everything in stride, and it was hilarious. Thanks for being such a good sport. Doc… seeing my world portrayed through a fictional lens made me realize maybe you had more going on to you then just being really into the bit. If work was a second home to you, I hope I helped in some way. And Frances… you were a real one, girl. Thanks for always bugging me to tag along with you guys. It meant more than I ever let on. Sorry I never said yes.

Love you dorks. I have no idea what happened to me, or to you. I hope we eventually reconciled. I hope you all lived long, happy lives.

Anyways. That's enough being all sappy and melancholic.

To the HUMANS. Of the Bigtop crew. And only the humans. Uh… you seem like a real wholesome bunch… you kinda just got caught in the crossfire of a conflict very much beyond you. Sorry for crushing your boss with a comically large hammer. Well, no, I'm just sorry for doing it right in front of ya. That's not usually my style, but I was running out of ideas and figured it'd be smarter to risk the exposure and just go for it. It was just to Whack-A-Mole him back downstairs, watchers weren't out to kill our targets or anything. So uh... yeah. Sorry if I spooked ya.

That's about it. Peace.

— Cesare (Bigtop Burger) (Please tag with fictive tags, thanks.)

[joseopher]

HELLO, LADIES, WORMS, HOMOSEXUALS

As we know I check the novacaine tags daily

GOD COMPLEX CONTINUATION

GO READ IT HEEEERREE: complex mind, simple life

WHY YOU SHOULD READ THIS FIC:

REINA AND CALLUM MOMENTS

Friendships <3

Second chances

Callum is pathetic but also depressed

Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers!

"Callum felt immense relief when Reina called him. He answered on the first ring. Then cursed himself for acting so desperate."

HE MISSES HIS BEST FRIEND </3

"Callum wasn’t unfamiliar with the lingering, heavy sadness and emptiness in his chest. In fact, depression wasn’t that unfamiliar to him either. It hadn’t always been his own depression he was accustomed to, but he was quite used to the numbness it brought with it. Sometimes in the deep of the night, he’d close his eyes and think back at a time when he didn’t feel numb all the time. Most of those times, his head would circle back to Tristan . Then he’d get up, order himself a drink and drink until his eyes fell shut again."

AWWWWW MY POOR LITTLE GUY

"The last person he spent the night with was, well, Tristan. The name needed its own trigger warning at this point."

TRIGGER WARNING: ❗❗❗TRISTAN CAINE❗❗❗

"But Reina just let out an amused noise before she tightened her grip on him and settled into the mattress. Callum let himself relax enough until he fell asleep. There was no mocking him the next morning. There were no teasing questions about him always being the little spoon or not. Reina didn’t treat him as if he was weak or fragile. And the next night, Reina wordlessly rolled on her side and threw her arm around his body again when she went to sleep."

I'm going to cry /pos

“Reina asked me to come with her to visit you because she was worried about you. And I thought she was overreacting because no one ever worries about you,” she started. Callum felt a stab at that statement. It was true, so why should he feel so terrible about it?

“But this isn’t you. What’s going on? Is it because of Tristan?” 

“No,” Callum said. Because it wasn’t about him. It was about Callum . Everything about himself was what was wrong. He was wrong."

This is exactly what depression is like...

👁️I FEEL SEEN👁️

"Eventually, even Nico and Libby contacted him. Libby sent him a postcard from London. Telling him she got his address from Parisa and that she wished the card would be a nice souvenir for him to have in his house. He hated how sappy it was. It was a hideous card with the big ben on it. He hated it. He hung it on the fridge."

HE HUNG IT ON THE FRIIIIDDDGE

"Of course, they asked Tristan to come then. Tristan would come, he’d fix Callum’s bad mood and everything would go back to normal again. Tristan would again just do whatever anyone asked of him. He’d learn to deal with the annoying pathetic little shit that was Callum Nova because no one else wanted to do it. That way everyone was unburdened and Tristan had someone to fix and to fuck. That was all he was good for anyway. "

THE WRITING IS SO GOOD!! MY HEARTSTRINGS!!

“You’re gonna burn the onions,”

“I’m not expecting you to pay me or anything. I just came to see you,”

“I didn’t invite you,”

“You didn’t have to. I’ve always wanted to see you. Ever since we left the palace,” Tristan said. Callum didn’t look at him, instead looking at the pan again.

“The onions,”

Callum: ohhh noo lets not have an emotional conversation, tHe oNiOnS TrIsTaN ThE OnIoNs

(I love him <3)

“We’re not having sex tonight. I said we could start with you staying one night, but that is off the table,”

“Saving that for marriage?”

“Definitely."

*dies of laughter* /pos

“Of course not. Why would I go through so much trouble just to get into someone’s pants?”

“Cause I’m good in bed,” 

HAHAHA THEM <3

"Nothing like how they used to be in the palace. There were no roles they both fell back into when they were together again. And Callum was grateful for it. Maybe it could mean a new start."

KUDOS! KUDOS! KUDOS! KUDOS! KUDOS! KUDOS! KUDOS!

I LOOOOOVE ITTTTTTTTTTTT

SO SAD AND SWEET AND AHHHHHHH

[one-piece-dumpster-fire]

//just a little selfship game a friend of mine inspired me to post, whoever wants to gush/do this as well feel free to tag me :D!

My Ship: Crachelle, of course~💜🍪

(This was drawn by my friend supernova-hcs-art btw^^)

1. A picture or comic to express the dynamic between you and your f/o:

((a quick comic sketch made by me- this is us, I basically hide under his cape and cling to his side like a baby monkey xD))

2. Or describe you and your f/o's dynamic in words:

"Depressed, paranoid bi-saster of a gal that can't walk properly and likes coconuts as well as lasagna and her old, almost always horny, possessive, heterosexual husband who doesn't know what a meme is"

3. What was your f/o's first impression of you?

((Cracker is and will always be a horndog XD))

4. Now what were your thoughts seeing your f/o for the first time?:

((of course lol))

5. Got a favorite picture of you two together?

*aggressively copies and pastes every single Crachelle picture my friends and followers ever drew for me* I could never choose just one ;_;!

6. Favorite song to fit your ship?

Pretty much every Lana del Rey song because I'm a depressed gal haha

Nooo but I really start thinking about our ship when listening to these two :D

This one is here because my mother would always make me watch Dirty Dancing and Ghost with her, basically to the point that this and Time of my Life became my all-time favorite 'loves song' xD And they really make me think of Cracker and our ship as well♡

7. Time to get sappy and interactive! The sweetest thing(s) you and your f/o say/do for each other? (These questions will be answered by both~)

Michelle= pink; Cracker= purple

"Mhhhh, I guess you could call this a mix of the two but whenever Cracker talks about his feelings, his voice tends to crack a little. That tells me that he's being honest and serious, and the fact that he feels comfortable with being vulnerable around me really means so much-"

"SH SH SH SH SH SHHHHHHHHH SUGAR COOKIE! YOU CAN'T JUST SPILL INTIMATE STUFF LIKE THAT, FOR MAMA'S SAKE!"

"...Ahem, anyway, as for my dearly beloved... she is all mine and loves me- which is more than sweet and enough, if you ask me. Now, there certainly are some other... 'intimate' things I could list here, but details about our relationship aren't just for everyone's ears!"

8. Now, how about the weirdest thing that has ever happened to you two?

"Oh dear, where to start..."

"Hey now! There is absolutely nothing weird about our relationship! In fact, we are a fairly sophisticated couple whos love exceeds the mental capacity and limits of most simple minded fools around-"

"...Cracker, sometimes you open a bag of chips on your chest and ask me to eat them off of your abs."

"..."

"..."

"Well, I don't see what's wrong with that."

".....hehe, alright. As for the question- the weirdest thing that actually happened recently was when Cracker picked me up from a birthday party and some people thought that he was my dad."

"Augh, please love, don't remind me! The audacity of those brats-"

9. What is the happiest memory you share as a couple?

"Hah! Undoubtly when my beloved accepted my proposal! I'll have to admit, it was all quite nerve-racking at first... but when I looked into her eyes, which were filled with endless love that day.... Oh I know I will never forget that moment. Only thing to top that coooouuld be our wedding or the birth of our first child, but we aren't quite there yet."

"Awwwuuugggghh,,,, sweetie ;_; I definitely second that! Never did I think that the day would come that someone proposes to me, let alone with a ring like that! But it just made it all the more magical and unforgettable, as you said..."

10. Last, but not least- got any plans for the future?

"Well, we should probably get married soon and then-"

"CHILDREN. We're gonna have so many beautiful kids, oh I can already see it-"

"...uhm, yes, that would be the next thing then! 2 or 3 little ones running around, who we can share our love with..."

"2 or 3? Sugar Cookie, I think you mean 20 to 30! I hate to say it but I'm not getting any younger and I want to have my legacy properly secured before reaching Mama's age!"

"Anfgieo2brdldje,,,, TWENTY OR THIRTY??! We'll definitely have to talk about that again, I think."

Aaaand that concludes this little game, it was honestly a lot of fun to do xD! Now there are some fellow selfshipper friends I would love to tag and I hope you guys don't mind, but remember that this is completely optional and you don't have to^^! @varia-venus, @mrs-3, @bootyshakerkegrimm, @madlymiho, @doctorgerth, @aces-disaster-wife

And yes, I'm indeed using this vacation to completely immerse myself in some good ol'selfship fantasies don't hate me please xD

[meat-husband]

Siren comin at you with more cute asks!!! Bubba, Jason, Vincent and Billy/Stu with a really cuddly friend? I'm autis and I've been in a very gentle touchy cuddly/hand holdin/hair playin mood and I wanna snuggle my boys uwu

I am 24/7 ready to hold someone’s hand, you don’t even know. I don’t write for the others, so I added Tommy and Brahms to the cuddle pile. 

Brahms

There’s not a second of the day where he’s not wrapped around you, leaning over your shoulders or tucking you against his chest. It doesn’t matter if you’ve got something you need to get up and do, he’s got a cuddle quota to meet. 

Will be absolutely smug about it if you want to cuddle him. He’s going to make you beg for it if you want to curl up next to him, even though he would be whining for the same thing if you didn’t ask first. 

If he can’t drape himself over you like a bony blanket, he’ll settle for hand holding, but he’s gonna huff about it. And he needs both hands, so there’s no using it as a way to try and get stuff done at the same time. 

Very happy to have his hair played with, and if you don’t do it on your own, he’ll ask for it. Anything that makes him feel pampered or spoiled is his favorite, so the more effort you put into it, the more he’ll enjoy it. But do not pull on a tangle, accident or not, he will have a meltdown. 

He’s not too big on returning this kind of affection, he wants to be the center of your attention. But he does have moments where he’ll suck up to you, probably trying to get something he’s not allowed to have, and he’ll kiss and pet you. 

Bubba

Bubba is a master of Extreme Cuddling™, it doesn’t matter what you’re doing when he feels the need to scoop you up. Very giggly and red faced about it, but he’ll carry you around forever if you let him. 

Please come to him for cuddles, he would die of happiness to have you ask without him needing to offer. He loves seeing that you want him around, so cuddle breaks are available whenever you need one. 

Can’t hold hands without bursting into nervous giggles, but he still likes it. He’ll swing your hands around, or squeeze your fingers, because he’s too excited about it to stay still. 

Loves to touch your hair, twirling it around his fingers or running his nails against your scalp. Always kisses the top of your head when he does, and if he gets really carried away, you’ll end up with messy braids and sloppy ponytails. 

It’s not much fun if you pet his hair with the masks on, but he’s still very shy about taking it off. You’ll have to compromise and let him hide his face against your neck while you play with his hair, but it’s worth it because soft. It’s always sweaty after being under the mask all day in the heat, and he can’t help but laugh into your skin when you run your fingers over the nape of his neck. 

Thomas

He’s shy about touching, especially in front of his family, so he might not approach you, but he’s very pleased about it if you want to sit in his lap or wrap yourself around his arm on the couch. Secretly sort of relieved when you make the first move and crawl into his lap, because he’s always afraid you’ll say no if he tries something first. 

Most comfortable when you’re both downstairs in the basement, he’s less shy and will hug you or return small kisses without even thinking of it. One of the only times that he’ll start a cuddle session, sprawling out on a makeshift bed where no one can interrupt you. 

He loves hand holding like you can’t even imagine. You’ve usually got to make the first move for affectionate stuff like that, but he’ll get impatient if you aren’t picking up the hints and just grab your hand himself. He can’t look you in the eyes, and you can tell his face is red, but he’ll tag along behind you all day if you let him. 

A little nervous about you getting anywhere near his face if you want to touch his hair, but after a few minutes he’ll sort of relax. It’s more for your enjoyment, because he’s on edge the whole time, but he’ll let you. If he’s wearing a mask that covers it, you can get away with reaching under to pet the back of his head, but it makes him more jumpy. 

He likes touching your hair, giving it a gentle tug to get your attention or combing his fingers through it in the mornings when you first wake up. He’s not great at it, but he enjoys helping you clip it up or tie it back to cool down in the heat. 

Jason

Honestly, if it wasn’t too dangerous he’d just let you cling to his back like a baby possum all day long. The only time he puts you down is when he’s got to leave the cabin, otherwise he’s following you around with a hand on your waist or cuddling up on the couch. If he really doesn’t want to let go, he’ll just let you point him in the right direction and carry you wherever you need to be. 

You don’t usually get the chance to come to him and ask for a cuddle, because nine times out of ten, you wake up and he’s already there, arms around you and ready to cart you around the house. When he comes back home though, you can sometimes surprise him with a hug if you’re quick enough. 

He’s not super big on hand holding at first, it’s fine but just not his favorite. But he’s a sucker for sappy things, so once he sees how common it is in all the cliche romance movies you watch, he’ll get into it. 

Poor baby doesn’t really have any hair for you to play with :( But he won’t complain if you want to pat his head anyways, it still feels nice to have your nails gently glide over his skin. 

Likes to pet your hair when you’re sleepy, laying against his chest where he can press kisses to your hair. You’ve been woken up more than once when he’s accidentally gotten his fingers tangled and had to help get him unstuck.

[markitaaa]

Husband Tag - Bang Chan

    "Chris, where are you? Are you ready yet?" Yells a woman as she waited in her room. She had rich and warm mahogany skin with jet black curly hair to her shoulders.

She was in a yellow tube top to compliment her skin tone, holding her Galaxy phone in her right hand waiting for her husband to take a seat next to her in front of her tripod.

"I'm right here princess." Bang Chan, or as his wife likes to call him, Chris, enters the room.

"About time slow poke."

He laughs as he takes a seat beside her. "I told you to give me 10 minutes to finished eating. It hasn't even been 5."

She pouted at him playfully, pulling his dimpled cheek. "I'm sorry baby. I'm just so excited to do this video."

"You're excited to do a cliché couples video for your channel?" He asks, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

"Oh shut up, Chris. It'll be fun." She asks as she fixes her tube top, pulling it up.

Chris fixes his gaze to her chest. "Olivia, you gonna wear that top on camera?"

She fixes her gaze on him then her chest. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Um...it's just a really tight shirt, and you're well endowed so..."

She just chuckles at him. "Babe, it's summertime and it's hot as hell outside. There's nothing wrong with my shirt."

Chris sighs shaking his head, but smiles. "Alright, prepare for the comments about your chest."

"Hope they're good comments." She says, winking at him and seductively shakes her chest in front of the camera that was currently still off.

Chris frown at her, bumping her shoulders with his. "Stop playing."

She laughs as she leans in to give his cheek a kiss. "I'm sorry papi, I'll only shake my chest for you."

He smiles at that. "Damn right, now can we start this video?"

"Yes we can," She says fixing his blonde bangs to show more of his face. She turns on on the camera, ready to make this Husband Tag video her 1.3 million subscribers had requested of her.

She had repeatedly talked about Chris in her previous videos many of times and viewers were curious who he was, so she decided to do this video.

"Hi Lovelies, I'm Olivia and today for this video I have my incredible Husband Chris with me to do the highly requested Husband Tag." Olivia says as Chris begins to playfully clap saying Yay.

She playfully rolls her eyes. "Now introduce yourself silly."

Chris lifts up his right hand, as if telling someone to stop and says, in his most Aussie accent, "Hi guys, My name is Chris, Olivia's incredible Husband." Then laughs.

"You are so goofy, anyways let's get on with the questions." Olivia says as she tries to locate her phone. "You have my phone Chris?"

"What?" He asks, laughing at little. "Why are you asking me? You just had it in your hand."

"Because there's only two people in this room, in this house, so if I don't have it, you do."

"See what I go through guys?" Chris asks as he shakes his head mockingly to the camera.

Olivia checks under their chairs. "See, Chris! It's under your chair! I knew you had it!"

He just grins at her. "I don't know how it got down there. Last time I saw it, it was in your lap. Maybe it fell when you were shaking your chest for me." He cheekily replies as he eyes your chest.

You slap his shoulder and grabbed his chin, turning his face forward. "Hush."

He just continue to grin at the camera.

"Anyways, we're gonna start off with the questions. Okay Chris, if I could be any mythical creature, what would it be and why?"

"Oh, that's easy. A mermaid."

"And why?

"Because one of your favorite Disney movie as a little girl was The Little Mermaid." He explains effortlessly.

"Hm, I guess you're right." She shrugs.

"Of course I am Liv, I know you." He says, stretching out a curl.

She doesn't mind as she asks the next question. "Okay, who approached who first?"

Chris let's go of the curl he was playing with and says, "Are you giving me easy questions on purpose to make me look good?"

"Babe, no. We're only getting started." She smirked at him.

He knew that look, she was up to know good. He just didn't know what yet.

"Well?" She asks.

"You approached me first."

"When, where how?"

He had to think for a second, it's been a while. "5 years ago at Uni. I was a freshman and you a junior. I was studying music and you business. I saw you around a few times because your brother and became friends when I started there. I remember our friends trying to get us together but I wasn't having it because I wanted to focus on school. I even heard from your friend that you thought I was fine." He says, laughing remembering his freshman year.

Olivia continues, "Right guys. He would not give me the time of day. It wasn't like I was chasing after him or nothing, never that." She says, playfully fluffing up her hair. "All I said to my friends was that, 'I wonder who that fine Asian boy is?' And they just ran with it. So one day at a party I cornered Chris and made my presence known. He liked my straightforward attitude and the rest was history."

"Now that I think about it, our friends did try to play Cupid too hard." Chris says smiling.

"Well, I'm not mad at them. They did us a favor. We've been married 3 years now. I love you babe." She says leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Okay, I love you too crazy girl. Now on to the next question."

"Okay, you know I want kids, but what do I want my first kid to be?"

"Want it to be? You speaking like it's an object."

"Chris, stop being technical and answer the damn question." She asks shaking her head.

He smiles. "You want twins, a boy and a girl."

"You're correct. Good job." She says, preparing for the next question. "What do you love about me?"

"You really want me to get sappy on camera?" He asks, shaking his head.

"Tik Tok, Mr.Bang"

"Alright woman. I'm not gonna say I love everything about you because that's too unrealistic. I love how strong and characteristic you are. How you never let anything get you down and when you see someone else down, you give it your all to make them feel better. You're sweet when you want to be and my heart. Without you, I honestly didn't think I would have graduated college because I had to much stress from my parents but you pushed and I'm honestly thankful to you and for you because I would definitely have been single and lonely, so what I'm trying to say is, I love you with all my heart, Olivia Melissa Bang."

"Chris," Olivia says wiping her eyes. "You're only supposed to say like two or three qualities you love about me, not a tearful speech."

"I can't just list a few baby, there's too many. Just know that I love you." He answers back as he gets up from his chair to hug her."

"Ugh, I'm gonna kill you for messing up my makeup Chris." She playfully complains as he wipes her drenched cheeks.

He laughs. "You're still beautiful love."

"Ugh, I don't think I can continue this video. I'm too emotionally happy right now." She says fanning her face.

Chris takes his seat again, pouting. "Aw, but it was starting to get fun."

She giggles at him. "Okay, one more question you big baby."

"Alright, shoot." He says, leaning back in his chair comfortably.

She takes a small deep breath, her hear pounding. "So Chris, how do you feel about us becoming parents?"

"Parents? That would be awesome. We aren't trying but we said if it happens, it happens." He shrugs, looking at her curiously, he knew she was up to something.

A large grin slowly spreads across. "Well baby, it happened.

"What?!" Chris springs up from his chair, leaning towards you. "You serious? Don't play with me."

Olivia pulls out the three pregnancy tests from her jean shorts. "Congratulations, Appa."

Chris immediately jumps out of his chair cheering loudly and engulfs you in a hug. "I'm gonna be a dad! You're gonna be a mom! We're gonna be parent's! I knew you were up to something!"

Olivia laughs excitedly. "Well, I already know you knew me so well. I just wanted to mess with you a little bit and announce it to my subscribers."

"You are so sneaky!" He says tightening his hold on her. "But I love you." And kisses her forehead.

"Love you too, daddy." She says, winking at him then at the camera.

[sage-nebula]

I'm gonna ask Klance as I can't swing a cat without hitting 12 things tagged with that lol

Frrsajfddajgda I KNOW, RIGHT?? Like ffffff, I have nothing against the ship on principle (and more on that in a second), but I actually do have it in my tumblr savior because I could not go into Keith’s tag without seeing KLANCE, KLANCE EVERYWHERE and it got really tiring. I kid you not, once I added it into my Savior I once had a page with just one visible post because everything else was Klance. Jesus. 

But anyway, to talk about the ship itself . . .

Again, I have nothing against it on principle. I don’t ship it, really, but I don’t mind it either. I think that, if written well, it could be interesting and fun and even cute. The problem is, I feel like it’s really . . . really hard to find it written well.

My main issue---and part of the reason why I wanted to stop seeing it so much all the time---is that I feel like, since it’s such a juggernaut ship, at this point it’s become kind of removed from the characters and who they actually are, versus how fandom at large wants them to be. If you watch the actual show, there really isn’t anything romantic about Keith and Lance’s interactions. They’re certainly not the type to call each other “sweetheart” and “baby,” or otherwise act very sappy and in love. But fandom wants them to be like that---they want to believe that one or both of them are pining for the other, that everyone in the castle ships it (and has shipping it as their #1 priority, depending on the work), that this is some grand love story and that, if it doesn’t end up canon, the writers were queerbaiting (when, no, they haven’t been---there’s literally nothing in canon to suggest that this ship is going to be official). It’s to the point where the fandom is so large and so vehement that fanon has superseded canon for many people. Rather than viewing the characters as they actually are in the original work, fandom has decided that they prefer their versions of the characters. And when fandom realizes this, that’s okay (albeit not my cup of coffee), but I think that, by and large, fandom has a hard time realizing it. That’s why you get situations where the shippers harass the creators and voice actors and whoever else on Twitter (which, yes, has happened, apparently---it’s as bad as Steven Universe fandom, ffs).

Even setting aside the absolutely horrendous behavior of some of the shipping base, however, the mischaracterizations are really just not my thing. I like these characters because I like these characters, and so when they act super OoC for the sake of a fanart, fic, or whatever else, I immediately lose interest. I get that people do change how they behave around someone once they become romantically involved (to an extent---their personality shouldn’t do a complete 180), but I’ve seen so many fanworks that supposedly take place in the canon timeline where Lance and/or Keith are so OoC they’re barely recognizable. I remember seeing one fic where Shiro seriously injured / killed(?) Keith (what the fuck tbh), and Lance was crying over him and calling him “sweetheart” and whatnot and I just . . . no. That’s not Lance. It’s not Shiro, either (even though it was an accident on Shiro’s part, to be fair), but that’s really not Lance. When you get to the point that the characters are unrecognizable, why are you even writing fanfiction? What is it that you really want? Is it that you actually want these characters, as they are, to be together, or is it that you just think they’re pretty and want them to fill the tropes that you’ve already become attached to from other fanworks (/yaoi manga)?

I also have an issue with the fact that so many Klance works I’ve seen treat Keith as basically a prop or accessory to make Lance look / feel special. Like, it’s not necessarily that Keith is outright bashed (though I’ve seen that too, and it’s pretty disgusting), but it’s more like they want him pining after Lance as a way to make Lance seem super cool and amazing because he clearly has to be if Keith is pining after him! Or there are instances where like, Keith is the one to stay behind and fret and worry while Lance is out there running dangerous missions all the time (when, in all honesty, why wouldn’t they be on missions together?), or Keith obviously is just the supportive trophy boyfriend who wants Lance to be the leader, etc etc, you get the idea. And I’m not the only one who has noticed this; there was a post someone made a little bit ago about this very issue, where OP actually talked about how they’re a very passionate Klance shipper, but they’ve seen a “a disturbing number of Klance fics” (their words) where Keith is bashed. Keith is my favorite character, so obviously I’m going to have a real issue with Keith being mistreated (whether that’s bashing him or treating him as a trophy / prop to make Lance look better), but even if he wasn’t my favorite I feel like that sort of behavior is garbage. Why ship a ship in which you treat one of the characters horribly? Why are you using Keith as a prop or trophy for Lance? And why would you think Lance, even though he does see Keith as a rival, would want that? (/ why would you think Keith would tolerate it, because again, he’s not the type to stay home and fret while someone he loves does something dangerous---he would be throwing himself into the conflict right alongside them, tbqh).

So I have a lot of issues with how the ship is treated in fandom, and I’m tired, too, of the fact that it’s everywhere to the point where it’s essentially The Ship™ and so it’s present even in things that have nothing to do with it (like Broganes content that comes with a side of Klance out of nowhere, like, sometimes I just want Broganes, can we just focus on that, please?). But that’s more fatigue, rather than actual dislike.

But that said, as far as the ship itself and potential for it goes . . .

Again, if I look at it from a canonical perspective (i.e. if I see these characters how they actually are in canon versus how fandom wants them to be), then I really don’t mind it, and could even like it if it was developed properly. The way I see it is:

To begin with, I see Keith as asexual. His romantic orientation is up in the air; I haven’t decided, and I think that Keith hasn’t had the time nor inclination to really think about it either, because he’s been through too much in his life + is waaaaaaaaay too high-key stressed at the moment to even begin to think about it. Certainly there’s no way he was thinking about it throughout season two, when he was so preoccupied with the thought that he might be Galra (he is) and finding out the truth of his heritage. So even setting aside his orientation, I think that there’s absolutely no way that Keith has feelings for anyone in canon at the moment. I do like the idea of some Keith ships (for instance, I think that Keith/Hunk has potential to be pretty damn cute), but I think that, right now, Keith is just not in the right headspace for a romantic relationship, and it’s not even on his radar. He’s not pining for anyone, Lance or otherwise. He has way too much on his plate right now for that to be the case. I also feel that, similarly, he wasn’t pining for Lance (or anyone) prior to season two, either. Even when he was less stressed / had less going on . . . I mean, let’s be honest, here: Keith didn’t even remember who Lance was in the first episode. It took him a minute before he remembered, “Oh yeah, you were a cargo pilot, weren’t you?” Keith’s interactions with Lance never gave me the idea that he had some massive crush on him. Even his, “We had a bonding moment!!” only really counts toward friendship, because he spoke similarly to the Red Lion (“I’m BONDING WITH YOU” --- oh Keith, that’s not how bonding or friendships work). So as far as canon goes, I don’t think that Keith has a crush on or feelings for Lance. I just don’t.

Lance, on the other hand, I see as bisexual, but I think that he thinks he’s straight, and I think (though note that this is headcanon) that this is part of the reason why he’s so insistent on flirting with pretty much every woman (or female-like alien) that crosses his path. Lance is pretty much closeted even to himself, so he acts aggressively heterosexual in order to try and maintain that denial. Eventually, as he becomes more comfortable with who he is as a person, he’ll come to accept this part of himself as well and that will help him tone down the insistent womanizing, but until then, he’s pretty much bisexual in denial. He’s trying really, really hard to convince himself (and everyone else) that he’s straight.

So that said, I could see him having a crush on Keith, particularly since we know for a canonical fact that he was very attentive to Keith prior to the show even beginning, to the point where he easily picked him out through binoculars in the first episode and ran hell for leather in after him. Yeah, it was all under the guise of “NO I’M NOT LETTING HIM WIN THIS ONE!1!!” but god, how much time did he spend staring at Keith to be able to recognize him like that, despite the fact that Keith had the lower half of his face covered with a bandanna? That’s suspicious af, Lance. Suspicious af. I think that with Lance’s feelings toward Keith, it’s a bit complicated. I do think that some of his rivalry, and some of his desire to chase after / catch up to / surpass Keith is genuine. I think that Lance sees Keith as this amazing goal to chase after, and he gets himself fired up in chasing that goal because it motivates him to keep working and to try harder. Everything seems to come naturally to Keith (from Lance’s perspective), like Keith never struggles, and that simultaneously inspires and pisses Lance off, because Lance works hard for what he gets (even though he wants it to be effortless), and so for Keith to (seemingly) have everything come naturally to him, that makes Lance want to work three times as hard to surpass him.

But at the same time, I also think that there’s a measure there where . . . Lance WANTS Keith to be The Ace, he WANTS Keith to be amazing, he LOVES that about him. Like, again, it’s half inspiration, half anger; he doesn’t actually hate Keith, he doesn’t actually resent Keith, and posts that talk about Lance being an antagonist if Keith becomes the Black Paladin because Lance would never follow him are absolute bullshit because a.) Lance has already taken direction from Keith in the show (last episode of season two), and b.) Lance doesn’t actually hate / resent Keith ffs, he just uses his rivalry with Keith as motivation to push himself to be better. But for that to work, Keith has to be at the top of his game. I think that a lot of people see Lance’s hostile attitude toward Keith dropping out as some resentment / bitterness for Iverson only saying that he (Lance) was in the program because “the best pilot in your class washed out,” and I do think that it’s true that Lance is hurt by Iverson saying that. However, I also think that Lance might have taken Keith’s dropping out personally because . . . Keith was supposed to be the best. He was supposed to be at the top of his game and here he is, dropping out, what the fuck? So he’s super hostile and aggressive toward Keith at first because Keith sort of dropped the ball on being a goal to chase. Meanwhile, Keith is just like “I don’t even know who tf you are” at first, which makes matters worse, haha.

All of this is to say---I do think, certainly, that there’s potential for Lance to have a crush on Keith, that he saw Keith as a sort of goal to chase, as a rival, but also that he couldn’t help but be attracted to that, that he couldn’t help but find Keith extremely, extremely cool (and, though he ignores this part of his brain, damn pretty, too). Keith and Allura have a lot in common in terms of personality, and so it’s possible that the parts of Allura that attract Lance (personality-wise) are the exact same traits that Keith has, and therefore Lance projects his crush on Keith onto Allura, because again, he’s in denial about his sexuality, it’s easier for him to hit on Allura than it is for him to hit on Keith. And it’s extremely possible that his feelings could grow stronger as he gets to know Keith better, though at the moment I still see it as a crush that Lance hasn’t even allowed himself to really acknowledge, because he’s not quite in the right head-space for it at the moment, either.

I could see this relationship working over time, particularly if we got to a point where Keith is the leader of Voltron (I still want Shiro back in the immediate future, though), and Lance is his right-hand. They work really well together as a team and I think that, out of everyone else on the team, Lance is best suited to be Keith’s right-hand, to back him up in terms of leadership. I could truly see them growing closer in this context, could truly see them coming together and, perhaps when things have calmed down and Keith has more of his life in order, he could develop romantic feelings for Lance as well. It’s definitely possible, just not right now.

So yeah, I have nothing against this ship in terms of the characters themselves, but my feelings on it are certainly complicated thanks to the fandom and I don’t really ship it, haha. Maybe someday, but not right now.

(Though some of the art is really pretty, I will give the fandom that.)