#Adonis Zero

[lafiaso]

"I will change your despair into hope"

[always-a-joyful-note]

I love Crossroads for the simple fact that it's basically slapping you with an illustration of how easily humans can change and how fragile even the strongest of them are deep inside but framing it as two high schoolers getting a metaphorical divorce. And even that I can't really make fun of because Rei and Keito were both lowkey screaming out to the other for help that the other couldn't give (Rei just wanting some peace, someone to actually look at him as an equal, but instead deciding to betray Keito; Keito sincerely just wanting to help out a friend and make the school better but being manipulative about it). And I really am glad it cut to the present to show that they eventually found the people that they needed back then, even if it took a while for the relationship as a whole to get there.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

It's so interesting that your ZY Riddle boy goes for Adonis/Aphrodite bc Adonis is actually a term of endearment I would like to use at some point. Good to know we'd vibe.

Do you want to make this man melt? Do you want him to get all heavy-lidded and purring your praises? If you match his bullshit like that, you are heading into a danger zone! He might actually think he's clever and that you like him or something! Next you're going to want to run your hands through his hair and kiss him softly and tenderly.

Sucker.

[askerror87]

Sketchbook Dump for January-April 2023

Mostly OC oriented this time around! I’ve got something fun cooking but for now ooooo you wanna look at the pretty pictures ooooo

Some sketches from a presentation I did on my birthday about FMA’s Fort Briggs. Maybe I’ll post the actual assets I made about it sometime soon :>

OC/ Original project stuff <3

Image description below

[Image Description: Seven images, each paper and pencil sketches.

A uniformed man with light, shoulder length hair has a thousand-yard stare. His name is Jeorgen. A note in the background says 'cyan shine red bg'.

A different, younger man in a similar yet unkempt uniform looks skeptically over his shoulder to the left, holding a book. His name is Everett and he has a piercing on his ear.

Jeorgen, now with glasses, is being kissed on the cheek by a soldier with short dark hair and a jacket with a fur hood. Jeorgen looks extremely flustered while the soldier is collected.

Jeorgen and Everett at a cafeteria table, a cup of coffee in front of them. Jeorgen's hand is thrown over Ev's shoulder and is laughing boisterously, and Ev looks like he is trying to hold in a snicker, beads of sweat on his face.

Close-up of a man, Adonis, with distinct, long wavy hair looking straight at the viewer. Adonis' eyebrows are furrowed and the sclera in his eyes are black, and part of his face is covered by bangs darker than the rest of his hair. A dark button-up is layered under a jacket.

Fullbody drawing of a young girl named Zero pouting at the viewer. She has her hair put up in short, poofy pigtails. The writing in the background are notes about her design, with various arrows pointing at her. 'Starting to get old enough to do her hair but still lets Adonis do it' 'oversized t-shirt' 'belt' 'velcro shoes'. She's wearing an large t-shirt with a sketchy design of an hourglass over a long striped t-shirt, tied to her waist with a belt. You cannot see her pants and the shirt gives an impression of a dress. Under her velcro shoes are mismatched socks, one dark and long and the other short and striped.

Young man with long, white hair tied up in a spiky ponytail glaring at the viewer. The image is formatted larger than the other ones. He's in a turtleneck mostly covered by a lighter-colored jacket and his hand is covering his mouth, slightly flustered and looking angry about it. You can only see one eye, as the other is covered by bangs and a dark square eyepatch. His name is Dawn.

/ End ID.]

[sattakaiharu]

"ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴏʀʀᴏᴡ. ʟᴇᴛ's ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, sᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs sᴀᴅ ᴄᴀɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ."

ᴢᴇʀᴏ

P.S. Being with him means to be against the World.

My favorite villain🖤

[pandorumblue-blog]

God's favorite creation.

[sugarcherriess]

Also this break i decided to force my wife to watch Vincenzo and went to my Hanseo lover roots so thats that. Baby deserved so much better and i dont care what anyone says and i, like a true Jang Hanseo Advocate refuse to acknowledge…. That

Leaving it vague so that i dont spoil it for anyone who hasnt seen it anyway yes jacob me too buddy, me too.

[jewishrat420]

No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

[reveluving]

SHY WIFE AND PRICE....ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME!!!!!Imagine this Adonis of a man spoiling her from the first date and even her being shy, the 141(plus Kate) KNOW who's the boss( he ALWAYS have a photo and a story about Mrs.Price and it's just the cutest thing how his eyes light up that they also love her)

CUUUUUUTE AAAAAA!! GNAWING ON MY BARS RN!! And thank you for specifying the Adonis of a man bit! Can't forget about that!! ☝🏼😌💗

Includes: tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

In any case of our beloved shy!wife fics, especially with his line of work, just expect your husband to have a polaroid or five of you ready.

And John is no different.

You must be a special one if you managed to catch the eyes of the captain, and to clarify, you are!

John knew there was no going back to his mundane yet chaotic lifestyle the second he asked you out. It took everything in him not to chuckle at your look of disbelief, your lips parting just a tad bit. He didn’t want you to think he was making fun of you, you were genuinely adorable with your expressiveness. And though had told him you were open to anything, even specifying that you wouldn’t mind anything small and simple, he didn’t let you.

He took you out to dinner on your first date, nothing too fancy, though that couldn’t be said the same on the later dates, gifted you a small but beautiful bouquet and the rest was history. 

And amazingly, he gets even better at spoiling you after he puts a ring on your finger. As if he wasn't already good since your first date!

Kisses or cakes, hugs or huge bouquets, he'll always find a way to spoil you. Because you—your smiles, giggles and laughs, your time and your love for him means so much.

More than you can imagine.

A sweetheart, a gentleman. You couldn’t ask for a better man to fall for you, though, like him, you were mind-blown to even think a man, no, a hunk like him showed interest in you. Made you feel wanted, special—someone he wanted to be with with zero hesitation. 

He wouldn’t be able to forget your shy smile, how you’d mindlessly trail your fingers across the table or your lap out of embarrassment, how your fingers curled around his hand, despite averting your gaze from his cheeky smile many dates later.

And though the wedding was small, to him, it felt like a sweet fairytale.

To finally be able to call you Mrs Price.

Laswell had the privilege to meet you first before everyone else. She enjoys the sisterly moments you’d have, a breath of fresh air from the craziness, to say the least, that she has to witness in her lifetime. Always appreciates you checking in on her via messages or if she’s lucky, a quick call. And it becomes a tradition of hers to jokingly remind John to take care of you and not to drive you crazy.

And then, there were the boys.

Johnny was the one who asked about you, catching the man looking at one of the polaroids of you with nothing but love in his eyes. Longing to get it over with and come home to you. Johnny didn’t think he’d be willing to talk about you at all, let alone more than a few sentences, i.e. privacy reasons or he just prefers to be on his own. Take in the quiet moment before any hell breaks loose later on.

Understandable, so imagine not only his surprise but also the rest of the 141 when he talks about you. First, with pure endearment in his tone, then the story gets romantic, cheesier even, but all three of them listened to his stories like no other (read: a father telling his kids how he met their mother), even if they acted like they were just casually fixing their weapons or thinking to themselves.

C’mon, he knows them!

Like John, you treat the boys like your very own. If Johnny, Kyle or Simon wanted to be doted over—to be cared for, something they haven’t felt in a while even if some of them wouldn’t want to admit it, then you’d give them millions! Even something as little as a handwritten message or passing them a few words i.e. take care and good luck via John.

Visiting the Price’s house now feels like a family thing. Again, it’s cheesy, it’s corny, and maybe even childish to some, for a bunch of men to be looking forward to these visits like a child being away from their parents at a dorm during college, none of you cared. Not you. Not John. And most importantly, not his boys.

None of them could have imagined your words to stick in their minds in dire times. A little motivation to return safely. Back to the base, for John, and back the Price’s home, for you.

“Johnny, I’m out of a few things in the kitchen. Could you drop by the store and get these for me, please?” “Can do!”

“Simon, have you seen John’s car keys? I can’t find them anywhere.” “I can help look for it w’you.”

“Kyle, I told you I can handle the fireplace.” “S’not that hard. Don’t worry!”

Home.

Bonus: A lil’ story I’m still working on with the COD men + dogs includes John with an American Akita. Similar to Phillip and Kai, John’s gigantic pupper tends to prefer listening to you to him.

His intolerance for certain people or animals drops in an instant the second he sees you, turning into a baby (your baby, might John add) but he also knows when duty calls. Ears tilting back and growling at a stranger who doesn’t know, or worse; ignores that you're taken.

And in John’s words: good boy.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[simpforrooster]

falling for a girl in purple & gold.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

summary: your brother convinces you to join him at his tailgate. you meet a gorgeous blonde, who happens to root for the opposing football team.

t/w: lots of mention of alcohol. she/her pronouns. cursing. instalovey.

a/n: i’ve been dying to write something like this. this fic is def based off megan maroney’s ‘tennessee orange’ and conner smith’s ‘orange & white.’ i left readers school pretty ambiguous until the verrrrrry end. i’m an lsu girlie 💜💛 so i needed a little self-service.

Stepping into the tailgate tent, nostalgia fills your body. You are transported immediately back to your time in college. Cheering on your alma mater with your sorority sisters. Hooking up with those random frat guys who definitely showed you a good time. You’d have to remember to thank your brother for making you come.

“Sis!” Speak of the devil. Your brother envelops you into a huge bear hug, as if he didn’t see you one week prior at your family’s standing dinner date. You return his hug.

“I am so glad you made it!”

Your brother began introducing you to several of his friends who were taking up space in the tailgate tent. If he doesn’t know them from his fraternity days, then he knows them from the Navy.

“Two more guys are planning to show,” your brother says. “Guys from my time in Miramar.” You understand this to mean from his time at TOPGUN.

Lucky for you, you’ve been schooled in all things naval aviation thanks to the burly guy you call a brother. There was no way he was going to have a sister have zero knowledge about the Navy.

His words, not yours.

Leaving you to ponder, your brother begins mixing drinks. He hands you his “special” after a few minutes. His special being vodka, with a tiny splash of sprite and cranberry juice.

You take the drink from him, raising your brows.

“It’s the first tailgate of the year, sis. Go big or go home.”

You’d much rather go home than consume a ton of alcohol in this heat.

“Well if it ain’t Bozo!” you hear a deep voice call, with a sliiiiight country accent.

“Hey guys!” your brother calls with the enthusiasm of a kid who just unwrapped a PS5 from under the tree. “I’m glad y’all made it.”

You turn and take in the source of that accent, and almost spill your drink. Your brother never told you he was friends with Adonis.

His blonde hair fans out at his neck, beneath a nice Stetson, like he’s skipped a few haircuts. A pair of jeans hug his hips, and across his chest, the school colors of the enemy.

University of Texas. You were sure that burnt orange wouldn’t look good on anyone, but this man is proving that notion wrong. Your eyes lock with his, and he makes sure you see his eyes trail down your body.

When those green eyes meet yours, he drops his right eye in a slow wink.

“Bozo, I didn’t know you colluded with the enemy,” you say to your brother, nodding toward the handsome blonde.

“Ah, well,” Bozo starts, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “not everyone is perfect.”

“What do they call you?” you ask the blonde, not being able to take not knowing his name any longer.

“Hangman.” He fixes you with a gorgeous smirk, and tips that cowboy hat.

“Hangman?” you question, cocking an eye brow.

Those eyes peer into yours. “Yes ma’am.” The way he says those two words has you thinking of all the instances he could say them in.

“What do they call you when you’re not flying a plane?”

“Jake. And your name, pretty lady?”

“Y/n.” You stick a hand out toward him. Jake reaches forward, taking your hand lightly into yours. The two of you stand there, shaking hands for what feels like an eternity. Neither one of you wanting to break the contact.

“Fuck, Bozo. You never mentioned how beautiful your sister is,” Jake says to your brother, but never taking his eyes off you.

“Because you’re a fucking playboy, Bagman,” he says.

“Funny,” Jake comments.

And you’d gladly let him.

“A playboy, huh?” You quip.

Jake shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right lady yet.”

The way he peers into your eyes has you sipping your mixed drink in order to hold some of your sanity. This man has the potential to ruin you.

And you’d gladly welcome it.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him toward the beer pong table. “Be my partner.” You fix him with one of your award winning smiles.

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he drawls. Gah, that accent is gonna be the death of you. The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, beating your brother and another aviator, Rooster, effortlessly.

Jake holds up his hand for a high five. When your hand meets his, his fingers lace between yours. He pulls you into him. You can’t be sure if the vodka is making you lightheaded, or the way your body feels pressed against his.

“I’m having the time of my life with you, sweet thing,” he says into your ear. You giggle into his chest. You actually giggle. You’ve never giggled in your life.

“What would you say if I needed to kiss you?” Jake asks against your temple. Spying your brother working the makeshift bar, you grab Jake’s hand. You lead Jake down an alley situated between two class buildings.

“I’d say, kiss me, Hangman,” you say, grabbing his ugly, orange jersey to pull him toward you. One of his hands braces his weight against the wall, just outside your shoulder. He has you completely caged in, that strong body hovering over yours. Jake reaches up to pull his hat from his head. He casually holds the hat up, blocking anyone from seeing the two of you.

Between Jake’s kisses and your brother’s mixed drink, you’re feeling all kinds of good. Not wanting any of it to stop, you grip his jersey tighter, pulling him as close as you can get him.

A low groan escapes his mouth, and the fact that he’s seemingly affected by you the same way you are by him has you reeling.

“A gentleman would at least take you out first before kissing you like this,” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” you question, not really letting his words soak in.

“Mhmm. Too bad I am not feeling too gentlemanly, right now.” Jake deepens the kiss, and your hands leave his jersey and thread through his hair.

“Good,” you breathe.

Your watch buzzes, pulling you from Jake’s tantalizing kisses. Taking a peek, your brother’s name appears across it.

Where the fuck are you? We have to go into the stadium.

Jake pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Bozo,” he murmurs.

“Where are your seats?” You ask, still breathless from his kissing.

“Next to you,” he says, placing once more kiss to your lips. Pulling you from the wall, he plops his hat onto your head.

“Fuck, my dads going to be so pissed I’m falling for a girl in purple & gold,” Jake says shaking his head. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

[mysteriesmuse]

Pro-Heroes New Years Livestream Q&A Featuring Katsuki Bakugou / Dynamite

The next morning you couldn’t help but find yourself reflecting on years past — and not just the previous one!

You’d gotten out the box full of your childhood yearbooks that your parents made you take to your new apartment. Ironically, using the wobbly stool you’d stolen from your parents house in order to grab the dusty stack off the top shelf of your closet.

And now you sat on the floor by your coffee table coughing and sneezing as you flipped up all the yearbooks labeled with: Musutafu Middle.

You flipped through them all. Laying each book out in front of you as if you were some kind of detective with a red string to connect; and honestly, you kind of did because for the life of you. You. Could. Not. Remember Katsuki Bakugou. You had absolutely zero recollection of him from your time in middle school.

The worst part about it was that none of your friends could really remember him either. Like you knew he was rich, and snobby, and sporty, but that’s just because it was a small middle school. The way that you still remember a lot of other classmates, except that was all you could recall about Bakugou Katsuki. I mean, you don’t think you knew each other well enough for your name to be the one uttered by a ProHero in a nationally televised talk show?!!

You’d watched that video over and over and over again until you could practically see him on the talkshow repeating himself behind the red folds of your eyelids. And now you’d embarrassingly see him behind your eyes every time you blinked. But besides the video corroborating the fact that you had to be the girl Dynamite was speaking about you and your bestie couldn’t figure out how he’d encountered you in middle school? Because at the very least you never ran into him. Like you knew he was there and who he was in the small town sense, but you don’t recall having met Bakugou.

At least, not in the way that your eyes light up and you cause a charming boyish grin on a man whose reputation is just THAT. That devilishly handsome, incredibly chiseled Adonis looking with the cheekbones and jawbone that may injure a person, incredibly smoldering eyebrows and sharp intellectual eyes, kind of way. Not to mention, a top ten hero at the tender age of 23.

The past few days yours and your classmates photos had been circulating through various social media platforms as the general public tried to piece together the puzzle with their own detective work.

Meanwhile, you’d managed to hide out in your little apartment as the internet took Dynamite’s childhood crush by storm. You were immensely grateful that the public hadn’t picked up on it yet. Watching the internet frenzy from afar was enough for you.

Dynamite had already released a statement that he would not confirm or give up your name for the sake of protecting your own privacy. And as quoted by @dynamiteoffical, “absolutely fucking not. that’s low shit to do to anyone you know, especially to someone you don’t know very well yet.” If the revelation in itself did it have you swooning, then the public defense, and the mention of yet did. but still? ProHero Dynamite?? A guy you’d apparently known as children and harbored a small celebrity crush on for the past year and a half, it just didn’t feel real. It didn’t make sense, why? What did he see? You dragged the final yearbook off the coffee table and much like the others you’d blown off the dust and immediately gone to find Bakugou Katsuki.

Your fingers traced around the corners of the pages. A delicate finger around the generic blue background that framed your pictures. There you stood smiling back at yourself your red kerchief matching the ribbon your mother had put in your hair. You touched the back off your head. The same hairstyle that you’d never quite grown out of: a braided ponytail; just like ProHero Dynamite had called it.

Frantically, you’d pushed your way through the filler pages of clubs, ceremonies, and school events that had occurred throughout the year. The ones that always separated the graduating class from the rest of the student bodies pictures. So many clubs and event were put on — including the semi-annual quirk emergency training. That was coordinated through the Mustafu Police Department. They canceled all club activities for one afternoon and divided up the school in half; 1st year and 2nd years together, and then 3rd and 4th years. Which according to your calculations meant that you’d been in the same safety seminar as Katsuki for 2 years. And that only explained how you did remember, and meet, ProHero Deku. They always split off the kids with quirks capable of self-defense and gave them some small group training. Meanwhile the rest of you stayed in the gymnasium learning self defense moves with partners. — You always paired up with your best friend.

You flipped past more stuff. Fondly remembering the Battle of the Books win that year. As well as the Middle school Medieval themed dance with the inflatable sword duel with the Student Body President and Vice President. And especially the Battle of the Bands an event you participated in every year til high school, much to your parents chargin, and finally that final year you’d placed top three. In the photo you stood clutching the neck of your guitar to your chest with the golden microphone in your hand. How you ever left the house in that outfit you’d never understand. You smiled fondly tracing over the trophy with your hand, a relic that your parents ironically kept in order to show off to their friends still.

Finally, you’d flipped to the grade below you and spotted the elusive head of blonde hair. In a frustrated sigh you asked, “seriously Dynamite how on earth do you know me? Like actually?” Because honestly how could a ProHero like you when you were sooo cringe.

[wildflower-otome]

2023 Otome game progress

100% completed:

Shuuen no Virche -ErroR:Salvation-

Shuuen no Virche -EpiC:lycoris-

Bustafellows

Nil Admirari no Tenbin: Teito Genwaku Kitan

70-80% completed:

Cupid Parasite (only Allan and secret route to go)

Spade no Kuni no Alice ~Wonderful White World~ (only Lewis route left to go)

Taisho x Alice (half of Snow White/Wizard/Epilogue route still to do)

Collar x Malice: Unlimited (half of Yanagi's route and Adonis route to finish)

One to two routes completed:

Bustafellows Seasons 2 (finished my faves Crow and Helvetica but got stuck on Mozu's route which I was really not feeling...I'll get back to it...eventually...)

Kamigami no Asobi (Baldr's route completed, would love to do Hades' next when I get back to this one)

Cendrillon palikA (finished blonde Sasazuka Klone Spinel's route, would like to do Ela's route next)

Clock Zero (finished Riichirou and Shuuya, Toranosuke up next)

9R.I.P. (finished Hibiki's route, Kureha's up next)

Piofiore (only finished Nicola's route, might do Dante or Orlok's next)

Nil Admirari no Tenbin: Kuroyuri Enyoutan (finished Hisui's route only, haven't really decided who to do after yet but following my original order, Shizuru I guess?)

Started:

Steam Prison (did the common route and fell in love with Fin only to read spoilers about what happens with him later and yeah...I would like to finish eventually though, especially with the news about there being a sequel)

Birushana (started Shungen's route bc Souma Saitou and did like it although ended up getting distracted, will definitely finish when I have the time)

[lovestuckyhatemarvel]

Just watched season 5 episode 2 where Hotchner just walks into a hostage situation and afterward Derek is like, “He should have never put him in that kind of danger!!!!”

And I’m over here like: angel, sweetheart, Adonis, light of my life Derek Morgan, I have seen you do dangerous shit bordering on suicidal multiple times a season. At least twice involved you interacting with bombs with zero protection. You not only have no leg to stand on in this argument, you threw your legs into a bear trap or something so some random person could walk past it.

[rinnelovebot]

ADONIS RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS.. *CLUTCHES MY HEART*

A/N: I’ve been thinking about him a lot recently. dreamy sigh… I’d like to be kissed by him. anyway, sorry these are kind of bland; I’ve been severely writers blocked for about a month now, so I didn’t wanna overwhelm myself just yet.

*ೃ༄ Adonis Otogari relationship hc’s

⤷ Regardless of the situation, Adonis always puts you first, above anything and everything. You’re his priority, and he tends to get tunnel vision when you’re on his mind — romantic and comforting, you admit — though, because of this, you worry that he isn’t taking care of himself like he should. Adonis would never disregard your concerns, so he reassures you however many times you need; His support system (you, his friends) is solid, and he pecks your forehead to make sure that you know he’s alright, and taking good care of himself.

⤷ Adonis has a subtle way of making you terribly weak in the knees; it’s completely unintentional, which seems to make it just that much more impactful. Whether his hand catches your waist when you stumble, or he looks at you with such gentle admiration — you feel like you could fall for him over and over, time and time again… he doesn’t believe that his actions are swoon-worthy, but here you are, melting in his presence.

⤷ His clinginess seems to be extremely prominent when the two of you are alone. Not overbearingly so, of course, but just enough to make a smile dance across the edge of your lips. God, he’s so endearing — you wonder how you got so lucky. In public, he limits himself to loving gazes and a few sweet pecks in order to remain polite; but in private, he allows himself to feel more comfortable, bringing you to rest in his lap, kissing the day away…

⤷ Before you, his relationship experience was precisely zero. So, unsurprisingly, he’s not very (knowingly) keen on romance, but oh man, does it come naturally to him. Adonis feels like a prince out of a fairytale one would read as a child, one who seems to be sickeningly charming. Of course, he doesn’t think so in the slightest, but you know so. He treats you with a gentleness and understanding that you’ve never once come across, one that takes your breath away, and makes your cheeks hotter than the surface of a thousand suns.

⤷ Neither of you would change a single thing about the other. He views himself as inherently flawed, imperfect in the most inconvenient of ways; you can’t even begin to verbalize how wrong he is. It’s humorous, he thinks. Because that’s exactly how he feels about you. Of course, neither of you are perfect — but love is a wonderful thing. It cultivates change, good change. You’re two peas in a pod, and you’ll uplift one another until the end of time.

[sugarcherriess]

Fr tho- who wants to work when you can just live like a Queen for just existing? Back to the scenario-

You basically telling him you want to break up makes his heart shatter into little tiny pieces (5,395,029,974 pieces to be exact. He counted) Breaking up with the love of his life? His entire universe? There’s literally nothing worse than that in his opinion. Right after the words come out of your mouth, he’s at your feet begging and crying for you not to leave him. It hurts so bad seeing the love of your life crying and begging at your feet, but if he’s gonna be like this… You tell him that you’re sorry and you won’t break up with him right away, but you need a break from him. How long? You don’t know. But, at minimum it’ll be 2 weeks. Immediately his sadness turns into pure fucking rage. What do you think you’re doing leaving him? No one can love you like he does, and you’re literally perfect for each other. He suddenly gets up from the floor and shoves his tongue down your throat. You try to resist at first, but you eventually give in because it’s him and you still love him. I hope you didn’t have anything to do that day (or the rest of that week) because he’s ruthless. Y’all will be fucking till sunrise the next day and you just have to take it. Was 6 orgasms the first hour too much for you? Well too bad, you still have at LEAST 4 more hours to go. When he’s running off of rage like this, don’t plan on doing anything without his assistance for at least the next week. Once your properly bred, marked up and fucked out of your damn mind, he’ll keep his cock in you and make you two sleep like that. Whenever you wake up, expect his cock to still be in you and expect to have to be carried everywhere. When you two go to the bathroom to freshen up? He’ll stand in front of the mirror with you in his arms and point out every hickey he made and all the bruises and bite marks you have on your skin. He’ll remind you of all the times he came in you last night and how if you weren’t on birth control, you’d probably be pregnant for the next 14 years with all the cum that he breed you with.

- 🍞

All i know is pain and suffering