#coloured badly on purpose

[inanimat-insanatay]

II REVERSE AU!1!!!1!!

Felt a little silly, goofy even, maybe a little mischievous too >:o)))

[jorvikzelda]

I finished the stripe B)

[starrluvs]

I have a request! How about a scenario where we have a very ugly and strong argument with Bi-han, but later he comes back to apologize and let us take it out on him for treating us so badly?

(I just want some agressive sex/rage sex/fury sex with this man)

𝐁𝐈-𝐇𝐀𝐍 | 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘/𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐗

cw: fem reader, married couple, piv sex, bi-han is a little rough, reader cant stand bi-han's attitude tbh, angry sex, make up/apology sex, fighting for dominance, cock drunk reader, mentions of bi-han dirty talking in cantonese creampie, bi han and reader are both sassy/petty little shits that still love each other, and i think that's it! minors dni please!

wc: 2.6k

a/n: wow idk why this took me so long, but i kinda like this one ;) ... ty for this idea, nonnie <3 i also want to mention that the mention of bi-han speaking/dirty talking in cantonese was heavily inspired by a headcanon i seen from @bihansthot ! anyways, enjoy!!

silent treatment was without a doubt something that bi-han absolutely loathed. he truly believed it’d be better off if you were to scream your lungs out at him instead. but getting a cold shoulder and silent treatment from you was something his ego couldn’t handle. had anybody else dared to ignore his presence the way you had these past forty-eight hours, he’d probably have them executed after the first five minutes of this frivolous behaviour. but you, his wife, was a different case.

bi-han couldn’t discipline or punish you the way he would towards his students and lower ranked lin kuei ninjas. you were his wife– his equal –and this silent game of ‘who’s willing to crack first?’ was driving him mad, although he’d never admit that to anybody… yet.

the fabric of the towel was soft against your hands while you worked on drying out your hair. having just exited the shower, you were in nothing but a silk blue robe that complemented your husband's traditional colour scheme. just the thought of him made you scoff out loud and shake your head, who the hell did he think he was?, you thought to yourself. about two days ago, bi-han appeared to be grumpy when he arrived back at your shared compound after finishing his duties for the day. 

being the supportive wife you were, you tried to talk to your husband, ask him if he needed anything from you, or even tried to see if he would be vocal about what was bothering him. and much to your dismay, he lashed out on you as if you were some peasant who worked under him during the day– which you sure as hell weren't.

“leave me be. the last thing i need tonight is another insignificant fool blabbering in my ear constantly.” 

his voice was sharp when he walked past you and entered your shared bedroom. bi-han having miserable mood swings wasn’t something new, but he almost never verbally took out his stress on you– possibly because he knew better. truth be told, you were too tired for his attitude today and had no intentions of letting him ruin your peaceful afternoon. all you did was let out a ‘hmph’ that you purposely made loud enough for him to hear and continued in silence with the fruit you were cutting up for yourself in the kitchen.

ever since that transpired, you haven’t said a word to bi-han and completely ignored his presence, which made his blood run colder than it already was. he was a hard person to read when he kept his usual stoic expression, but deep down you knew he was aware of how frustrated you were with him. which is exactly what you wanted.

letting out a tired sigh, you look at yourself in the mirror and take time to fix up your hair before exiting the bathroom and arriving at your bed. as you sat in silence for a moment, you felt the temperature noticeably drop… he’s here. rolling your eyes, you decide to comfortably tuck yourself in on your side of the shared bed and warm yourself up from the chilly air.

however , your eyes never shut– not even when the door creaks open slowly and reveals your husband’s tall form. his demeanour didn’t seem to be as aggressive compared to how it was two days ago, which you were grateful for. but you still avoided eye contact with him and stared at the wall in silence, not wanting to be bothered. you knew your worth and refused to feed into your husband's ego, because you knew that it was already big enough… your thoughts came to a halt when you heard bi-han speak up. “your juvenile behaviour is astounding,” he scoffs, and you can damn near feel his eyes piercing into you. 

in response, you calmly grab your pillow and walk right past him, making your way to the living room. bi-han watches you settle yourself down on the couch as you lay down and begin to curl yourself up comfortably. all he does is release a sigh from his lips, contemplating on what his next course of action should be. bluntly calling you childish probably wasn’t the best thing to say after two days of neither of you talking to each other, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking his mind.

deep down he knew he’d have to put his pride and ego aside to resolve this. he was the eldest of three sons, a powerful and deadly assassin, the grandmaster of the lin kuei– and yet here he was, allowing silent treatment from his wife to get under his skin. letting out a stubborn groan, bi-han made his way towards you and knelt down on the mat so that he was at face level with you on the couch. 

he calls out your name in the softest way he could, hoping you would turn to him. but he clearly failed to get your attention as you didn’t say anything back. his small whim of patience had already run out, “do you insist on telling me what your problem is?” this time his tone sounded more cold and gruff, as usual. rolling your eyes once again for the night, you turn to bi-han and finally speak to him, “last i recall, i was just a mere insignificant fool blabbering in your ear when i tried to talk,” he could've sworn your tone was sassy, sarcastic and authoritative all at once– as if you were just waiting to bite at him.

if he was being honest, it’s one of the many things he found so attractive about you. the way you didn’t take shit from anybody– not even himself –made bi-han fall hard for you… he needed a strong willed woman by his side. but moments like this proved to be a form of self realisation. the only people who would ever dare to talk back to him were just you and his brothers. he was so used to everyone following his lead and command, it was almost… refreshing, to have somebody stand their ground.

the glare and frown you had on your face was something you were far too beautiful for. bi-han closed his eyes and inhaled as calmly as possible, trying to collect his words and choose them wisely. “what i said to you that day was regrettable–” you cut him off before he could continue, “and?,” you were already unimpressed with his words, “it’s not like there’s anything you can say to take it back.” your husband must’ve known that just words alone wasn’t going to solve this. 

“i understand that, but,” his cold hand gently grasps your arm, causing goosebumps to raise all over your body. “perhaps there’s something i can do to make amends for what i’ve done?”

and now you’re here, back on your shared bed, taking out your own frustration above bi-han on his cock. you had your hands planted on bi-han’s chest as you bounced up and down his shaft, “fuck..!” your voice lost that sting it previously had, making bi-han grow a prideful grin on his face. “still trying to put me in my place?” your husband’s taunting only made you feel more agitated than you already were. with an attempt to keep your moan in, you bite down on your lower lip and snake your hands up to bi-han’s neck, keeping a slight grip. “s-shut– ngh!– up…” the movement of your hips refused to come to a halt, forcing bi-han to lay back and stay below you.

it felt like a battle for dominance between the two of you. two hard headed (and sometimes ignorant) lovers trying to prove to each other how much power they had over one another. bi-han was confident that you knew how easily he could overpower you in terms of strength, but decided to let you have your little wish of ever taking control over him. looking down at him, his chest was covered in sweat and his ears and cheeks were flushed in a light shade of pink. though you’d have to admit that your hands around his neck were a great touch. it felt as if there was a surge of power and control coursing through you.

apart from his occasional groans, the cryomancer stayed silent as he watched your voluptuous body on top of his. noticing your lover’s face contort in pleasure, you can’t help but spew out more words, “yeah… did you r-really, ah!, think that i would tolerate that b-behaviour from y– f-fuck!,” before you could finish blurting out what you wanted to, bi-han had gripped your hips hard enough to stop your movements as he fucked up into you, making you cry out at the sudden surprise of pleasure he was bringing you.

the grandmaster only chuckled. he found your sounds pitiful, “you talk too much.”  from the way his cock was jackhammering into you, it proved too difficult to spit out any sort of petty comment towards him. the speed of his thrusts made your body feel limp and your husband took note of this from the moment you slumped down, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. his voice was dangerously close to your ear from this angle, “mmm…such an incompetent attempt of being in control,” your pride disallowed you from letting out any moans, “fuck.. y-you..!” hearing how slurred your words were only made bi-han scoff.

your attempts at keeping composure were becoming futile and bi-han knew how close you were to cumming around his length with the way your pussy tightened and gripped him like a vice. “i can feel how close you are, love,” bi-han stops his thrusts but keeps himself fully buried inside of you. before you could get the chance to protest or whine, the cryomancer speaks up. “i have no intention of letting you cum until you accept my apology.” the expression he held was smug while he secured your waist with that same grip he had before, making you unable to move your hips. 

you’d been so focused on taking out your frustration on him that you forgot the whole point of this was him trying to make amends for how he lashed out on you. truthfully, you would’ve purposely told your husband that he’d have to take you out on a fancy date in order for you to accept his apology… but you already felt so fucked out from how his cold cock was abusing your insides just moments ago. you were so close, and you needed that coil in your stomach to snap. “fuck, i forgive you– okay? just let me cum already, pleaseee–!” bi-han groans in response and glides a cold finger to press on your clit, making you shiver in pleasure at how swollen and sensitive your bud feels. without any more wasted time, the grandmaster delivers his quick thrusts from underneath you once again and rubs fast circles on your clit.

the feeling of everything was becoming overwhelming, “ahh– ‘s good! it f-feels so g– ngh!” your mind was clouded with lust and each sentence you tried to complete ended up failing to connect coherently. there were words that left bi-han’s mouth, but you could barely decipher what he was saying with the way your heart beat drummed in your ears– 

it was in that moment, your cries echoed in the room as you pulsed around his cock, gushing around his member. bi-han reduced the speed of his thrusts while trying to help you ride out your high. once you finally come back down from your bliss, you feel your husband's cold, rough hands manhandle you and flip the position that you two were in. you were now layed on your back as bi-han towered over you, parting your legs and easing between them. 

being able to admire your body with the positions swapped felt so refreshing to bi-han. watching the way your breasts heaved up and down with short breaths… the way your skin was coated with sweat, resulting in your hair being out of place from its presentable manner you previously had it in. and being able to see your juices not only coating his cock– but also the inside of your thighs. seeing your slick trickle down to the mattress… gods, you were so beautiful like this. 

bi-han couldn’t waste any more precious time just observing when you were unintentionally inviting him to ravish you even more than he already has. the cryomancer grabs your leg and hooks it over his shoulder as he positions himself enough to easily slide his cock into your pussy. being filled up again made your walls flutter– you wanted to be here forever, just taking his cock while it stuffed you full. to no surprise, bi-han’s thrusts were rough as he began to chase his own high.

your moans never came to an end and were only received as noises to push bi-han further. the cryomancer decides to place a grip on both of your legs this time and leans closer, pinning your knees right by your ears and increasing the force of his thrusts. your folded position had you seeing stars as bi-han’s cock was angled even deeper than before. the way his tip kissed your sweet spot again and again– you could no longer stop your tongue from lolling out, followed by drool rolling down from your mouth.

bi-han snickers, “all of that attitude earlier…” he moves closer to your face and his nose touches yours, “just to be reduced to a cock hungry vixen beneath me– shit!” your husband spits out, feeling how your walls clenched around him from his harsh words. even if you were able to coherently speak, you would never admit how much of a mess you become when bi-han works his cock inside of you…

the grandmaster felt himself becoming dangerously close to his climax, and you felt it with the way his rock hard cock twitched inside of you. his volume started to increase and his grunts became shallow moans that he desperately tried to hold back. noticing this, you use the last bit of your energy to purposely squeeze hard around him, clamping your pussy around his cock as if you were trying to keep it all for yourself. the unexpected action made bi-han lace out a loud string of swears and words in his mother tongue. although you didn’t quite understand what he was saying, you were aware that they were phrases he only used in scenarios like this, making you assume that only vulgar words were leaving his mouth.

the roles were reversed now– this time he was the one hiding his face in the crook of your neck with your lips right by his ear. his hips started to stutter and lose the rhythm it previously had. letting out a lustful hum, you speak into his ear, “inside… haah– c-come on..! fuckin’ fill me up, please!” hearing your voice spew out these words was enough to do it– he filled you to the brim with his seed.

you made sure to milk him dry, taking every drop that he had to offer you. both of you laid there, completely fucked out and exhausted– his body was still slouched over yours while he took time to catch his breath. very slowly, he pulled his cock out of you and planted a peck on your lips, “in no other realm would i have imagined reciting vows with a woman that carried such a flame and sharp tongue,” he leans down and places yet another kiss to your swollen lips, 

“yet i could never imagine falling in love with anybody else…”

[recklesssturniolo]

Bet - C.S

As per request for a no nut November bet Chris and reader make (: but I also tied in another request for public sex w Chris in it too!

*FYI MATT FIC IS BEING POSTED LATER*

NSFW below, leave if you’re a minor

“Y/N you know what November is?” Chris asks.

“What are you on about now?” You retort.

“November is no nut November, therefore no sex for the entire month” He explains.

“You can barely go a day without sex, never mind a month” You laugh.

“Oh yeah? Want to bet on it” He smirks.

You roll your eyes knowing this is the easiest bet ever, Chris was horny 24/7, he’s out of his mind if he thinks he’d last a month.

“Sure, first person to give in loses” You say sticking out your hand for him to shake.

“Deal” He replies shaking your hand. “Be prepared to lose”

It’s been a week. Quite possibly the longest week of your life. Chris’ non-stop teasing was driving you insane. Constantly having his hand on your thigh rubbing it up and down, whispering all the things he wants to do to you in your ear, grabbing your ass, going as far to grinding on you while you two make out which made you ache for him. You’d decided you were going to tease him back, but worse.

You were getting read to out to dinner with his brothers, Nate and Madi. Chris and you both in his room as you finish your makeup. Standing up you go to figure out an outfit but knowing you purposely but on a lingerie set that you knew made Chris go insane, you take off your shirt and sweatpants. You feel Chris’ eyes on you as you search through the closet, making sure to take your time.

“What about this dress?” You ask showing it to him.

“That one’s nice” He replies, barely even looking at the dress and instead looking at your body.

Knowing your plan was working you walk closer to him.

“Are you sure? You think the colour is okay?” You knew the dress was fine, you just knew getting closer to him would only turn him on more.

“I know what you’re doing Y/N” Chris says to you, ignoring your questions.

You bend over so your face is hovering above him as he lays on the bed, pushing your chest closer to his face, “Yeah? Is that why I can see your hard on and I haven’t even touched you?”

“Put the dress on before I fuck you so hard you can’t walk to dinner tonight” Chris replies.

“But then you’d lose the bet, wouldn’t want that would we?” You smirk at him, going further and straddling him. There wasn’t any denying that the feeling of his hard on was turning you on, but you focused your attention back to just him.

Chris groaned at the contact from you sitting on him, placing his hands on your hips and slightly pushing you down harder on himself.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now, I’m not losing the bet sweetheart. I might like what I see but I’ll have you begging for it” He smirks.

Not sure of what to respond, you connect your lips and begin grinding yourself on him, causing both of you to moan. You knew even by just doing this you could get him close, and that was exactly your plan. You continued grinding on him, honestly enjoying it just as much as he was but when you could tell he was close, you got up.

“Now I should probably put this dress on so we can go!” You smile.

“Fucking hell, there’s no fucking way you just did that to me” Chris says.

“Did what?” You reply innocently. “Can you zip this dress for me?”

Chris stands up and walks towards you, “Don’t act all innocent, I could feel how wet you were. You want me just as badly as I want you”

You shrug in response, kissing his cheek before leaving the room to leave for dinner.

Now at dinner, Chris is on some tangent about god knows what, and you decide to place your hand on his thigh. Instantly causing his body to tense up, and his eyes to flicker over to you.

“No Chris continue I get what you’re saying” You say, wanting to see just how much you could get away with.

Chris continued talking, and you began palming his dick through is pants.

“Well yeah b-but” Chris stumbles on his words, not being able to fully focus on what’s he’s saying from what you’re doing.

Nick takes over the conversation. You now put your hand under Chris’ jeans on top of his boxers, continuing to palm him.

“Fuck sakes” He mumbles.

“You okay baby?” You smirk up at him as you put your hand under his boxers, grabbing his dick and swiping the tip with your thumb noticing the pre cum that’s there.

Chris let out a moan, immediately covering it up with a cough. No one else really paying any mind to it.

“You know, I took off my parties before we left” You whisper in his ear.

That was Chris’ final straw, he didn’t give a fuck about the bet any more. He needed you.

Cutting Nate off Chris tells the table that you aren’t feeling well and that you’re both going to get an Uber home. You apologize for ‘not feeling well’ and you both say your goodbyes. You knew what this meant - you won. You started walking towards to exit before Chris grabbed your hand.

“Not a fucking chance, bathroom, now. I’m not waiting any longer. Fuck the stupid bet” He demands.

You were surprised by this, Chris had never been so needy that you did it in a public space. Getting into the washroom he pushes your back against the door and immediately starts making out with you.

“God you’re a fucking whore, doing that to me in front of everyone” He says with his hand wrapped around your throat. You moaned back in response.

You were getting exactly what you wanted, you loved seeing Chris like this. He’s wasting no time, he bends you over the counter and pulls his pants down and pulling up your dress.

“Chris” You whine out as he rubbed his dick against your entrance, teasing you.

“Oh what? You don’t like being teased?” He replies.

“Please just fuck me” You reply.

“Oh I’m going to, and you’re going to watch yourself in the mirror while I fuck you like the whore you are, got it?” He says while lining himself up.

“Yes yes just please” You moan out.

With that Chris slammed into you his pace already fast.

“God I’ve missed your pussy, so fucking tight” He groans out. Continuing to slam himself into you, each thrust hitting you in the perfect place.

“Chris you make me feel so good” You whine out, feeling your legs starting to tremble.

Unaware that you had even closed your eyes, Chris grabs your hair and lifts your head back up, “I told you to watch yourself get fucked by me, keep your eyes open”

“Yes yes I’m sorry, please keep going” You slur out, now watching in the mirror as Chris picks up his pace even more.

“You miss this baby? My dick deep inside you?” He asks, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it.

“God fuck yes Chris I’ve missed it so much” You whimper, “I’m close”

“Good, come for me like the whore you are” He replies and moves his hand around you and starts rubbing your clit.

Any sentence you tried to get out from that point on was incomprehensible, the pleasure not allowing you to focus on anything else.

“Oh my god, I’m coming Chris don’t stop” You moan out. Not caring how badly your legs were shaking or how loud you were being, letting yourself ride out your high.

Chris too was about to come, meaning he was going as hard as he possibly could now, well aware there’d be bruises on your hips from how tight his grasp was.

“Such a pretty girl, you gonna let me come in you baby?” Chris asks.

“Yes” You whisper through slight pants.

You feel Chris’ dick twitch inside of you and him release himself. His pace slowing down as he moans out in pleasure.

After helping you clean yourself up, Chris stops you momentarily, “we are never doing a bet like that again, I’m never going that long without you, I’ll go insane”

“Agreed” You laugh.

You walk out ahead of Chris, him waiting a couple moments before leaving himself. What you both weren’t expecting was for the group you told you were leaving due to you ‘not feeling well’ to be standing at the exit.

“What the hell you guys are still here?” Nick asks.

You and Chris both look at each other, your cheeks heating up as you both tried to come up with an excuse.

[idliketobeatree]

dead boy detectives characters as art objects and sculptures; extended ---

hello, i remembered i made some subjective explanations and notes on few of my choices for this post, and i thought some folks might enjoy it. soo let's get into it.

1.

monty finch

author: anders krisár

pretty self-explanatory; it's a moulded male torso with visible inprints on its skin.

anders krisár’ artistry explores the themes of loss, separation, and the condition of the psyche through the lens of a human body in duality: perfectionism meets unsettlement, skin meets marble and bronze and polyester, to create sculptures spanning geological time far beyond the living's capabilities.

monty's creation by esther was already stripped of any human agency. "he was made a boy, not a person", small, almost doll-sized, with a singular purpose: to seduce and entice the chosen dead boy into their doom. the naked skin and specifically the position of its arms are mildly erotic, but in a way that makes your skin crawl. the imprints are intimate, placed possesive; notice the thumbs digging close to especially sensitive areas like nipples and the belly button.

the latter seems to connect the "creator" to the subject, the navel here as a symbol of cruel, invasive motherhood. the fact that the torso is cut off in the middle and at the neck furthers the uncanny valley feeling of a young male body, but then again. this is a realistic portrayal. so was it ever a person? what does it have inside to make dents so profound? how deep you can press until it breaks?

--- i'm leaving out crystal and edwin (for now?), but @nicheoverhere brilliantly noticed that it was the same author for both. that was intentional! because glen martin taylor is all about taking kintsugi, which is a beautiful art form of repairing fine china and generally delicate things with veins of precious metals, but with materials like— nails. scissors. barbed wire. all ugly. the repair after a great shattering is seldom pretty after all, they really are similar in this regard. ---

2.

charles rowland

author: robert hudson

okay, strap in. this funky dreamy world belongs to robert hudson, and i picked it for charles rowland because it's all first impressions. the colours? the composition? they give you the 80s vibes, almost; like something a kid would design if you asked them what a time machine would look like. it could probably move in several ways. the pieces seem mismatched, but hold themselves together surprisingly well. or maybe you underestimate it?

it's neither big nor small. you can't tell its size at all. it's a bit overwhelming to look at, at first, and at second, and after a while, but it carries that comfortable familiarity and nostalgia for— well, nothing in particular, because the longer you look, the sadder its past seems. the bold pops of contrasting colour are fighting for your attention. they want you to like it! and yet, the major material seems to be just. rusted steel. made from tools.

and look at that botched up sphere, it wants so badly to be a perfect sphere and it knows it'll never be one. fine!! perhaps it could be a football ball instead! or maybe a head. if you close your eyes, that is. and this facing-up horseshoe? a lucky charm, made to collect good luck and keep it from falling out cause god, it needs it.

---

3.

niko sasaki

author: justin cloud

---

niko sasaki, now how do i describe her? let's start by saying— she's cleary a her. this one is a she. and there's something to be said about blooming, and femininity, and delicacy, because pink is a hopeful girly colour and a surprise and a delight.

what are you doing in a gallery, little flower, shouldn't you be at home? in a field? look how pretty you are! mind you, of course there's something wrong with her as well, but you're not sure if that is because someone messed it up, or because of a different entity alltogether. was it always half-electric? its elegance seems purposeful— the iridescent metal fits all too well with the white-pink petals— but also uncanny. and oh suddenly you can't stop looking at the stigma from which a pollen should release aaany time now.

when i look at her, at her black artificial stem and the small leaves imitating the real ones, i wonder if she doesn't want to lure me into a trap. is it her fault?

the beautiful petals seem like the only thing left real of the flower. whichever way she turns, it will probably mean— death. and flowers are ephemeral. what is a flower mounted to a wall, fortified with steel, connected with cables and enfused with electrical energy, then?

i think she's a self-preserving survivor. ---

4.

the night nurse

author: elizabeth turk

---

now. the night nurse.

of course it's the only piece in the collection where the background needed to be dark. no one here is older than her. there is no inoffensive, fading-into-background white for this absolute pillar of truth. or maybe something like a totem, quite protective in nature. and it's terrifying, 'cause you're immediately hit with the feeling that you're looking at something out of this realm, something you're not supposed to witness. the perspective is all wrong. is it downwards or upwards? why does it seem unstable when the pieces are so perfectly centered and seemingly well-balanced? child, you should calm down, it's not like you will destroy it with a stronger puff of air. will you?

this sculpture is called "tipping point — echoes of extinction", and it's actually a mix of technology and sculpture and sound, with elegant visualizations of the lost voices of birds and sea mammals. the author said it "was conceived in reverence to the astounding lives the species which envelop humans have lived and the mysterious ways they have contributed to our well-being. the shadows of their memory, whether a shape or a sound, have inspired this project." so the piece deals with death. moreover, it deals with murder. it records the harsh reality and makes sure the ones that suffered horribly at the hands of humans are, in a way, celebrated. but also— categorised. like epitaphs. the birdsong, once a living sign, is only visually represented by the lines of varying lenghts in 3D, and you can do nothing about it anymore, right, you can't bring back the dead, you can't help the innocent dying in any way other than— stacking them on top of each other and moving on.

---

so that's for now, i might someday write more if anyone's curious. :")

[skelliko]

Tokyo revengers |°- random head cannons that I had stored

๑ Hanma ironically and out of nowhere 'sang' twist by Korn next to kisaki to get his reaction which caused kisaki to immediately whip his head over at the doofus with genuine fear in his eyes, he took a step backwards from Hanna, hands up and everything. but after a few seconds of staring at the 'possessed' specimen he just annoyingly does a "what the fuck is wrong with you..."

๑ ran doesn't crack his bones/knuckles often but if someone's around him that absolutely despises the sound of cracking bones he'd do it continuously without a care and finds major enjoyment in watching the person's face scrunch up in discomfort, sometimes he snickers too

๑ while chifuyu was in his 'major delinquent era, thinking he's better than everyone else' he was walking down the school stairs all cool and trying to be intimidating but then slipped on one of the stairs and fell on his butt. only one person saw but the amount of embarrassment he got from that when they made eye contact made him want to disappear from earth -this caused him to always be slow and actually look out for the steps so that it doesn't happen again.

๑ seishu finds it hilarious to fake a laugh at someone's awful joke for a second or two but then immediately go dead silent and just stare at the person with no seen emotion at all

๑ seishu is amazing at cooking, he's like a chef. but where'd he learn all this from? he doesn't answer, it's basically a mystery. but in his room he hides written down recipes that he copied out from books and other places

๑ when Baji was younger he decided to try and cook his own food for himself but accidently set a kitchen towel on fire by mistakingly setting it on top of the wrong oven circle -out of panic he got rid of it by quickly throwing it out the window in a panic making it land on someone's car windshield

๑ kazutora is actually quite close with Baji's mom. at some point he slipped up when calling out for her and accidentally called her 'mom' and sure enough he got embarrassed real quick and by a lot. ryoko took pride into that title tho, knowing that she mistakenly got called mom by someone else other than her own son made her feel oddly happy - although she mentioned that kazu is fine in calling her 'mom' he never did it again cause he still finds it embarrassing

๑ kazutora secretly takes photos of his friends crushes and sniggers about it while showing it to his friend. it's basically his little thing whenever he's told that someone has a crush, he doesn't do it to a big extent but just one of two pictures and it's usually just from the back or the side. he's been told multiple of times to quit and delete them but secretly they all knows he's doing them a favour cause when kazu sends them the photos they don't delete 'em

๑ peh holds grudges against people just for the sake of it, if he met someone and they had accidentally done something like step on peh's shoe then the next time they see eachother he would death stare them until they walk past and out of eye view, sometimes he just randomly feels like making enemies even despite being on 'silent and mutural' terms with someone.

๑ when akkun first had the thought of becoming a hairdresser he attempted in cutting his own hair and it actually turned out pretty good, cause of this he ended up cutting makotos hair however akkun had purposely cut his hair badly out of revenge for leaving 'filthy magazines' in akkuns room where his mom had found- making him to be unintentionally framed by makoto

๑ kisaki has a shit tone of books about manipulation and how to read people, how to carefully plot plans and use everything and anything to his own advantage even if things don't work out

๑ the reason why shion get frequent stomach aces is cause he has a bit of sweet tooth, he doesn't get hungry often so he forgets to actually eat a propper meal sometimes but when he sees something sweet and colourful he can't help but take more than a peck at it.

๑ at some point mitsuya accidentally knocked over a massive jar of beads over at the sowing club and took 2 hours collecting each one

๑ when taiju first started mending to his restaurant he had a bit of a high temper and would crack easily to his new employees if they spilled something or cut up a carrot with incorrect sizes, but after getting used to owning a business he somehow became the 'best boss' and grew to be pretty chill even if someone does a mistake - unless if it's a continuous mistake, then he'll get pissed

๑ taiju had a massive fixation with sharks and cool, colourful looking fish when he was younger. going to aquariums on a daily basis and as a kid he had collected little figurines of sharks, orcas and killer whales that he displayed. up till now he still have one of the shark toys displayed on a shelf since it was his all time favourite.

๑ yazuha hates bugs (cannon) and at some point she saw a weird looking incest in the bathroom and was begging hakkai to kill it or simply get it away for her but even he was disgusted by it so they kept on going back and forth about what to do about it before they both decided to team up and tackle it together. yazuha put a cup over it but while doing so the cup got knocked over from her shaky hands causing the both of them to scream as the bug started to move about but hakkai quickly put the cup back over it. they had to take a small breather and relax a little from the nerves before following through any more.

๑ Hina has a small collection of cute keychains, some of them are small plushies and a few are her favourite characters and others are random, small objects. she has some hanging on many different bags, her keys and a few hanging on thumb tacks that are stuck in a cork board on display

๑ Hina is really confrontational about anything that bothers her for other people's sake, in class most people try not to say anything rude about other people knowing that she'll over hear and they'll get their ear bitten off by her. cause of this she's kinda like the school hero against the bullies.

 ♡---

[itadore-you]

pairing: nanami kento x fem!reader c/w: implied smut, not canon events but it should be w/c: only 600 words today sorry <3

The way how Nanami tears off his clothes when he gets home: his tie already loosened the second he gets in the car; the dents at the back of his stiff, expensive oxford shoes because he can't be bothered to take them off properly; the trail of clothes left along the hallway as he finally reaches you. You've been waiting for so long for him to come back home, to be in your arms again. All those hours spent in a dull trance, wary and anxious that he's been badly injured from this mission.

The second that the hallway lights spill from underneath the door, you stand up giddily, knowing that he's back.

'My love...' Nanami says breathlessly, the chill from outside still burning on his cheeks. You rush into his arms, relaxing at his touch.

'Thank god you're back, Kento, I missed you so much.'

'I know, honey. I missed you too.'

You help him to unbutton his shirt, knowing how much he hates being in his work clothes. Nanami is eager to kiss you the moment it drops to the ground, hands circling your waist to bring you in closely.

'I quit today. It's all over now,' He pants between your kisses. 'You don't need to worry anymore.'

'What? What's over?" You're praying hard between each second you hold your breath, the day has finally come -

'I quit the job. No more fighting, and no more curses. Today was the last day.'

With his words, you can almost feel how each and every fibre of muscle in his body finally relaxes, how something comes back to life in his eyes again when he looks at you. Something about loving someone so deeply has imprinted on your soul, to a point where you start to think that maybe you become your other half somewhere along the way. Maybe emotions aren't all for one to bear - when one's away, you can still feel the other's suffering.

'When Nanami's happy, you're happy' is an understatement. The two of you are euphoric as you hold each other; Kento sweeps you off your feet as he's unable to contain his joy.

"I might have to burn these clothes forever. I never want to see them again," He sighs after eventually setting you down.

"I know it'd remind you of the past, but Ken," You watch as he kicks the shirt, tie and harness to the side - "I do always love seeing you in a nice suit and tie."

He raises an eyebrow in response, making you giggle. "I'll just have to find a new signature colour for you, won't I?"

"I'd love that, Kento..."

"Come, let me show you how much I love you."

With one swift motion, he's got you in the closest room possible, making sure that the surface he pins you against isn't too uncomfortable - it's a little indecent that he could barely keep his hands off of you in the hallway, but with the way how you look tonight (it's simply the radiance that happiness gives you), he can't help himself. Kento Nanami is a lost man until you give him purpose.

Just as he nips at your neck, he pulls away, blond hair falling into his eyes. "I apologise for coming on so quickly, I just-"

"No need to ask Kento, I want you right now."

He nods, pressing a fervent kiss to your lips, almost shaking when he eventually pulls away. "Mhm?"

"And I'd want you again. And again. It can all be tonight or tomorrow, whenever," You pant between kisses. "We have all the time in the world."

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

Death comes to many too often, and even the life of a regular person can be cut short in an instant. Smaller threats outside of jujutsu sorcery still exist. But what's the point in thinking about that? In comparison to Nanami's previous daily life, it feels like nothing can harm him now.

Maybe, just maybe, both of you can grow old together, like this.

[bluelockmaniac]

BEYOND THE PALACE WALLS (ft. alexis ness)

royal/fantasy au - princess reader x wizard alexis ness

no kaiser in this story– feeding ness simps ♡

wc; 1k

"in which a bored princess seeks a wizard rumoured to possess extraordinary healing abilities to find a cure for her ill father"

you were the princess of the vast empire of anastas, a land blessed with fertile soil by the gods themselves, a formidable army, and advanced architecture. an empire revered by allies, feared by foes. but, beneath the deceiving facade of prosperity, there beat a restless heart, longing for the thrill of exploring way beyond the palace walls. you badly wanted to set foot in the crowded markets in town, where street vendors promoted their goods, where the overwhelming aroma of spices filled the air and vibrant tapestry gave the town life. your parents forbade you.

fate, however, had plans for you. sure– the concern for your father, the emperor, had weighed heavily on your heart when the royal knights announced he had fallen gravely ill, and that not even the most skillful of healers in anastas could cure him– but, as sickening as one might think, you felt a strange feeling of excitement after getting the reluctant approval of the empress to finally leave the palace and venture into the ancient forest with a purpose; to seek the mysterious wizard rumoured to possess unrivaled healing abilities, ness.

you began your journey into the forest and it was beyond comparison to the royal gardens in your wing of the palace–no offense to your gardeners. large trees and colourful plants and flowers decorated the area and the scent of wet earth was lingering in the air. it was very quiet, and only the sounds of rustling leaves and frequent chirps and squeals of creatures you have yet to see can be heard.

however, this ancient forest did not align with the rumours. it seemed as though some mysterious ‘force’ was attentively tending to every leaf and branch of the forest. the fierce beasts you had expected to encounter weren’t there. neither were the giants or tiny, cunning, elf bandits that your mother warned you about. everything was well preserved– from the mushroom on the soil to the ladybug climbing the tree.

you had absolutely no clue where you were going, only guided by the subtle hints of ness’ whereabouts. and finally, you reach an ancient tower–cracks and crevices on its withering stone walls along with overgrown ivy draped tightly around it. suddenly, the man you were looking for emerged from the tower as if he had sensed your arrival. it was him. it was unmistakable, plain as daylight.

he had an exceptional, distinctive aura, an aura that surpassed even the best mages of anastas. despite your best efforts to appear composed, you could not help but feel suffocated by the tension of the atmosphere that… he involuntarily portrays?

“sir,” the words trip awkwardly out of your mouth as you look at him with twitching lips, a failed attempt to smile at him, “y-you must be ness, the legendary wiza–”

“oh my, the princess herself–the embodiment of royalty– graces me with her presence,” he chuckles and walks closer to you, bending slightly as he gently takes your hand and presses a soft kiss on it, “please, fret not, my princess,” he grins, “it’s been quite a while since i’ve last seen someone.”

pulling your hand away, a soft blush spreads across your face, tinting your cheeks a rosy pink, “ness, i desperately need your help,” it felt strange. despite experiencing this gesture from countless tedious suitors who seeked your hand in marriage, you had never felt your heart race as much as it does in this moment. “...my father, the emperor, has fallen ill and is in critical condition,” you utter with desperation, tightly clutching onto his cloak as you look at him pleadingly. “please, help my father,”

“oh,” a soft sigh escapes his lips as he holds his elbow and rests his head against his palm, “i suppose i can heal the emperor, princess,” he starts, a smirk playing on his lips, “but, naturally, nothing comes without a cost. my assistance is no exception,” he adds as his fingers gently lift your chin to meet his gaze.

you feel your heart drop as you prepare yourself for the conditions he is about to lay out. is he some sadistic bastard who’s going to make you fight to your death with a monstrous cerberus he summons? with reluctance, you gulp, “n-name your price, i’ll give you whatever you wish for– be it a thousand white horses or a million gold bars,”

he adjusts his coat, dismissing the material offerings, “horses? gold? far too ordinary, not my style,” he laughs, his fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear, “what i’m really after,” he teases with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “is a kiss,”

you pause, shock washing over your face. did you hear that correctly? or was your mind playing games with you? “a… a kiss?” you stammer, your heart was beginning to beat uncontrollably against your wishes all over again. you felt conflicted, unsure of how to respond to ness’ unexpected demand. “why? a kiss won’t benefit you all, so wh–”

“says who?” he laughs, patting your head gently, “dare i say, i’m certain any man would be thrilled to have the opportunity to share a kiss with the princess, hm?”

“...i…” what you feel for this man is unlike anything you have ever felt before– your racing heart, the warmth spreading across your cheeks, the sudden consciousness of your own appearance– they’re all sensations you remember your palace nanny describing in fairy tale books, sensations you thought were only for the characters of the novel. you once dismissed those feelings as mere fantasies, but now you couldn’t deny it any longer, “ness, it’ll be my first kiss,” you gaze deeply into his magenta-coloured eyes, looking for assurance, “make it good.”

grinning playfully, he tenderly rests his palm against your cheek, pulling you in closer by your waist, “your wish is my command, princess,” he murmurs softly before pressing his lips affectionately against yours. his lips felt distant, yet strangely familiar, as if you had not just met this man a few minutes ago. your arms instinctively find their way around his neck, pulling him even closer until your chests were pressed together.

you still vividly remember the day you granted his request– the day his hand guided you towards the enchanted tree of healing and extended its branch to you. it’s been three years since that encounter, yet you still find yourself gazing out of the window of your palace chambers, yearning for the day when fate would reunite you once more.

thank you for reading!! comments appreciated ♡

a/n: this was so much fun to write, i've been obsessing over manhwas lately and thought i could somehow incorporate ness' backstory in a royalty setting.

[bluemirrorangel]

MORE random dead poets' society modern(ish) headcanons

Because i have a new hyperfixation and too much free time

Neil:

 I feel like even if his dad was supportive of his acting career, he’d try and control that too

His favourite season is summer

Terrible at mario kart

Him and Charlie used to try convince people  they were twins

His favourite colour is orange

knox:

Has a INSANE amount of playlists on spotify 

Learnt everything he knows about romance from books/movies/tv and magazines he borrowed(stole) from his his older sister

Spent the entirety of year ten carrying a skateboard around despite not knowing how to ride it.

Terrified of heights

Let Charlie pierce his ear in the school bathroom but vomited so badly after seeing the blood, that he was off school for a week.

meeks:

Brilliant at operation 

Can no longer drink coffee because he drank so much he gave himself an anxiety attack in the middle of study hall

Owns a boomerang 

Really good at flags 

Used to have braces

Loves star trek hates star wars

Brilliant at remembering historical dates 

pitts:

Can play the recorder 

Can do the worm 

Falls asleep last at every sleepover

Used to have one of those razor scooters as a kid

Knows everyone's business, not on purpose people just assume he’s not listening. 

Todd:

Can cook really well but never gets to because there are never any ingredients in his house.

Stealthy af not even on purpose, he sneaks up on the other poets all the time

He remembers  EVERYTHING no matter how small the detail is. 

Writes poetry about Neil

Can’t ride a bike

Great at keeping secrets 

Charlie:

Takes peoples clip on ties 

Hide and seek champion 

Has complicated feelings towards Cameron

HATES broccoli with a passion 

Owns a pair of heelys

Cameron: 

Has a part time job as a babysitter

Has really fancy handwriting, like borderline calligraphy 

Only writes in pencil 

Is the closest to Charlie out of all the poets 

Lives off of hair gel 

Loves classical literature 

Can draw a perfect circle.

leave a ship or fandom suggestions and I’ll do headcanons for them if you want :)

[lovlive]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ midnight insomnia' - c.yj

SYNOPSIS - its the middle of the night and you have 2 problems; no.1 you cant sleep, and no.2 you miss your boyfriend. PAIRING - choi yeonjun x f!reader GENRE - fluff, established relationship WARNINGS - reader is depicted with a pink colour, reader is called ‘baby’ and ‘girlfriend’, just yeonjun and y/n being really cute with eachother <3 requested from anon: hi! i dont think you've posted yet, maybe your busy or just dont know what to write about since your a new blog, but i want to put in a req.. could you do reader x yeonjun with the prompt “i can’t sleep, come to my bed” id actually die AAH im so curious what you could turn this into, thanks :}

notes: thanku sm for the req! yeah, i havent been writing yet since my brain was blank tbh i had no ideas for a fanfic in mind 😭😭 but now youve added fuel to my fire and ill try start writing more often :3 (and yes, the 127 in the fic was on purpose)

The moon cast a soft glow through the small sliver between your curtains, painting the room in hues of silver. In the quiet of the night, you tossed and turned under your soft blanket, unable to find solace in slumber. As you battled with your insomnia, you just couldnt keep your mind off of one thing; Yeonjun. You couldnt stop thinking about the way he would hold you through these chilly early-spring nights, and how much you missed his warm body next to yours. At this point you’ve realised just how starved you were from him despite only seeing him a couple of days ago.

You gave up on your slumber, rolling like a log from one side of your bed to another to pick up your phone. The sharp glow from the screen hit your eyes, your face instinctively scrunching up since you werent used to the brightness. Your fingers lazily glided over to the message app icon, and then tapped on Yeonjun’s contact. The time at the side of the screen caught your eye, and your realised it was 1:27 AM. You were a little weary of texting your boyfriend at this late hour; you knew that he was probably tired after a long day of practicing and you didnt want to seem selfish or too clingy. But you shook off your bad feelings since you knew that Yeonjun wasnt the type to be able to fall asleep easily either. You began to type your messages…

“jjunieeee..”

“baby… ☹️”

As expected, Yeonjun was of course awake. Your one word messages were opened by him a minute later. He looked at the texts, a little confused on why you’d be texting him right now. Any how, he started typing back.

“y/n? why’re you still up. you better not be up to some weird shi 😐”

“jjunie, i cant sleep. come to my bed.”

“baby, its half 1 in the morning.”

“please..😔 i really cant sleep and i need sum1 by my side 😞”

“y/n you’re going to be the death of me... but what wouldnt i do for my beautiful girlfriend”

“ill be there in 5”

“yippee! 😇 i love you ❤️”

“love you more baby ❤️”

Your face lit up as your boyfriend agreed to come over. You immediately put your phone back on your side table and plugged it back into charging, then quickly tossed the dirty socks that were lying on your bedroom floor underneath your bed to appear a little tidier. After a little while, you could hear a quiet knock echo through your small apartment; your face lighting up once again. Your feet quickly brought you to your hallway, where you rummaged your drawer for your keys. Eventually finding them, you jammed the correct key into the keyhole, twisiting it and gently opening the door. As your boyfriend appears from behind the door, you immediately pull him into a hug, shutting the door behind him. “Whats up with you today?” He teases as he feels your arms lock around him tightly, wrapping his arms around your waist in response. “Just missed you baby.” You responded, taking in his soft scent which you missed badly. “Y/n, we just saw eachother a few days ago..” His chuckle landed right in your ear, warm breath brushing right up against your ear. The sensation of course did not fail to make you blush a little. “Yeah, but ‘just a few days ago’ feels like an eternity to me.” You whisper into his shoulder, finding comfort in just burrying your face in his shoulder and hiding from the world. You feel his hands come away from your waist and up to your back, rubbing small circles. “You really arent a patient person, are you? Now, lets get you to bed.” He whispers as he takes your hand in his and begins to lead you over to your bedroom. You obviously dont resist, and grip his hand back as you walk behind him. None of you made a sound as you walked to your bedroom. Both of your social batteries were drained from the long day you’ve survived today, and all you wanted to do was to hold eachother in peace as you tried to fall back into a slumber.

You walk into your bedroom, and Yeonjun leads you straight to your bed. He lets you crawl in and under the covers as he takes off his jacket and throws it onto the chair you have by your desk. He came just wearing his pajamas, since he knew all you were going to do together was snuggle and sleep. He climbs onto your bed, arms wrapping tightly around your body as your face hides in his chest. His hand runs through your soft hair in a consoling manner, trying to get you to feel more tired and sleepy. His hands work like magic, your eyes beginning to feel heavier by the minute. But before you fall asleep, you give his hand a gentle squeeze and manage to whisper a set of three familiar words.

“I love you.”

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by... - LadyLondonderry -

[1]

When the moon finally reaches directly overhead (which Louis mostly notices because Niall grabs his hand and squeezes it like he’s trying to pop the eyes off a trout), Lady Oich swims up before them and recites the ceremonial vows, her mermaid tongue twisting the words into a haunting song about being bound for life to one’s lover. Louis shivers as the words wash over him, at the magnitude of their meaning. 

When she ends her speech, Louis suddenly realises he wishes badly that he wasn’t one of the best looking omegas here, because he really doesn’t want to be first. 

But then Lady Oich makes eye contact with him and raises her hand, and Louis’ heart nearly stops in his chest. She’s signalled that he’s first, and that his choosing begins now. 

[2]

He’s been up at the Help Desk for about half an hour when someone in a fireman uniform who is not Liam comes up to him.

This man, this not-Liam man, is probably the most attractive man Harry has ever seen. Did he say the other day that Liam was hot? That was a lie. No one could hold a candle to this perfect human specimen right in front of him. He’s got soft chestnut coloured hair that Harry would like to run his hands through, a bit of stubble that defines the set of his jaw, the cutest button nose Harry has ever seen, and the curve of his neck… This man cannot possibly be a mere human. Perhaps this Christmas is the second coming of Christ, because this man is compact perfection.

“Hello,” Perfection says when he reaches the counter.

Harry squeaks, and tries to cover it up with a cough.

“I’m Louis,” says Perfection. He sticks his hand out and… shit, is this what Liam felt like? What hand does Harry use? Which is the right one?

[3]

By the time Harry gets back to the office, Louis’ arrived and is sipping coffee from his signature fox mug. He waves at Harry. “You’re not dead!” 

“I’m not dead,” Harry agrees. “Just had to go rescue my roommate.”

“Ah,” says Louis. “Nick said you had one hour vomiting sickness.”

“That too,” Harry says. He sits down and goes back to his stack of plans that he had barely started copying. His head still hurts. He doesn’t want to have to go stand at the copier for the next hour fighting with it, so he takes the six that were successfully copied and brings them up on his screen, indexing and archiving them. 

The plans that Harry copies are supposed to have no paperclips, no staples, no sticky notes. 

The people who create these packets are what Mitch likes to call “incompetent nutters”.

On the wall behind him, Harry’s started a collection of sticky notes that he’s pulled out of the copier when the pages jam. He cuts them up to protect privacy information which makes them unique and wonky and wonderful. He takes a moment to flip through the six on his desk, and adds two to the collage; Please add blood and dissenting opinion. That’s satisfying at least. 

[4]

Now trying to distract himself from the faint salmon smell that seems to be growing stronger, Louis starts people-watching with a purpose. There’s a woman with a young child in her arms who has a stuffed bear in her arms, and all three of them are in matching blue dresses. The person now sitting opposite him has purple hair and earrings that hang past their shoulders in a tangle of tiny glinting beads. Louis wonders how often they get stuck on things. He can see what he thinks is a soulmate tattoo just below their jawline, something short. Good for them. 

There’s a man at the far end of the tube who is wearing a chunky oversized sweater, colourful knit squares patched together like a clown outfit made for winter. Louis isn’t sure, but he thinks it might be hideous. The guy is turned around, though, so he can only see the back of it. 

- answers below -

[1] Moon Dances Over

Louis knows that his tail is, frankly, stunning. His iridescent blue scales shimmer in even the slightest sunlight, and his fins have grown since he presented, delicate and almost transparent in their webbing.

He also knows that that means he’ll be one of the first to pick tonight, as the most beautiful omegas are blessed to pick their mates first. It’s considered a huge honour, since the guppies they’ll eventually birth will certainly be beautiful as well, bringing favour on the whole clan.

Louis has a stubborn streak, though. He’s always been rather a fan of mating for love, and there’s someone he’s had his eye on for a long time now.

[2] Frankincense-ational

Harry Styles works at the Hillsyde Library with his friend Zayn and best mate Niall. It’s December, which means Christmas, which should be the happiest month of the year…

Except Niall just broke up with his boyfriend, Zayn needs to let up on the rules a little, and the library is getting their fire alarm system replaced, which means that for the next few weeks there are going to be firemen patrolling the library ‘looking for fires’ while the system is down.

Harry almost hits one of them with his car right off the bat - and of course he’s the hot one.

Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

A 2017 Advent Fic

[3] Give A Little Sing To The Singles

Harry Styles is an adult now, with a real adult job (and benefits! Whatever those are!). He spends his days at the copier. Copying things.

That being said, no one told Harry that being an adult came with a confusingly chaotic boss, a copier machine that would be hell-bent on ruining his life, and a coworker so good looking that Harry might just have to quit. After all, Christmas is coming and if their office doesn’t win the decorating contest, Louis has threatened to break several laws and kneecaps in retaliation.

Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

[4] Things Unsaid

"That chunky oversized sweater is like a clown outfit made for winter."

It feels like time slows down.

Those words echo in his mind, familiar. Why are they familiar? The— the sweater he saw last week. The one with all the knit squares.

The train slows to a stop and Louis just— he doesn’t move. He feels frozen in place as people surge around him. Suddenly everyone is moving too fast and then just as suddenly the car is near empty, taking off again.

The man is gone.

His soulmate is gone.

Or, where you have a tattoo of the first thought your soulmate has when they see you.

[sunnynwanda]

Hey!! Sorry I am always in ur requests box bahaha

If you want to, could you do a story where a supervillain typically goes easy on a group of rookie heroes, as he usually fights them just for fun, and could destroy them if he wanted.

He just lets them think they can beat him.

Then, something happens (maybe they cross a line, and one of the heroes tries to stop their team from crossing that line but they don't listen) where the supervillain shows them just how powerful he actually is? ❤️❤️

Ruin

Warnings: power of destruction, grafic injuries, blood, torture (in a way?), mentions of killing.

Shadows danced across the wall, earning a dark chuckle from Supervillain. Heroes were never much of a threat, more like a bunch of bothersome and overly persistent pests that had flooded the city. The clock struck midnight a few minutes ago, but here they were - attempting to creep up on Supervillain for a surprise attack. As if. 

They'd tried this tactic a multitude of times, none of them were a proper attack or even a surprise. 

Amateurs.

Superillain sighs in exasperation, pulling his gloves on to avoid fatally wounding anyone just as two masked heroes appear in front of him. 

"Evening," Supervillain's smirk is met by two identical scowls. "To what do I owe the pleasure tonight?"

One of the heroes growls, speaking through gritted teeth. "You're under arrest. Surrender." 

Supervillain cocks an eyebrow at the pair, holding back a laugh. Holding back was something he had to do on a daily. And he was growing tired of it. "You think it's going to be that easy? There's only two of you." 

"Two is more than enough to contain you," the other hero speaks up, their expression as sour as their friend's. This time, Supervillain fails to hide his laugh. This seems to make his rivals' blood boil over. "We will destroy you." 

You think you can? Supervillain thinks but keeps his lips sealed shut as he nods, deep in thought. Wish you knew how badly I want to unleash my power. 

But he could not. They were kids. If he didn't know better he'd think the city council sent them on purpose. To test Supervillain's patience or to provoke him. Until he slips up. Until he does something unforgivable. Until he falls prey to the cruel scheme. Supervillain can find no other explanation for sending rookies to fight him, of all villains. It was a death wish. A clear one. How could anyone expect them to conquer a supervillain who has destruction spewing out of his fingertips?

"Cut it out and go home," Supervillain runs a gloved hand over his face, shutting his eyes for a moment. He can tell something is off because they always attack in four and stick together. So where are the other two? "You're just kids."

Someone lets out a bark of a laugh behind him, but there's nothing light about it. Supervillain turns his head, glancing over his shoulder - only to freeze in place. His eyes widen, lips pressing into a thin line when his gaze lands on the sleeping form of his younger brother. He looks peaceful in the arms of one of the heroes, but Supervillain... Supervillain is anything but peaceful. 

"How dare you..?" He cuts off, not even finishing his thought when he sighs, determination setting in. That's one too many lines crossed. 

"Guys," the youngest of the heroes speaks up, their voice weak and shaking. "Guys, seriously. This isn't fair." 

Supervillain can't help throwing them a glance, taking note of their scrunched eyebrows and trembling lips. The heroes ignore their friend entirely.

"Oh, we dare," one of them responds to Supervillain's question, sadistic sarcasm lacing their tone. "You will surrender to us." 

"Still think we're kids?" The other one chimes in, snickering at the thought. Oh, Supervillain doesn't see rookies or kids anymore. Now, he sees enemies. 

He knows what he does to enemies.

"Guys, please..." The same hero pleads, their eyes full of tears. Supervillain almost smiles at them.  

"Shut it," another sneers, irritation colouring their features. They turn to Supervillain with a self-satisfied smirk. "If you want your brother to remain unharmed, you'll get on your knees and beg for it."

"You're taking this too far!" Their friend laments, despair overtaking their otherwise delicate features.

Don't you worry, little one, I'll wreck them. 

"Return him to me," Supervillain demands, rage flaring to life in the depths of his eyes. His voice is hoarse from restraint as he battles his inner demon for every second of delay. "Now."

"Make us," the one holding up the sleeping kid snorts, grinning in the most smug way possible. 

I will ruin you, Supervillain thinks, I'll completely obliterate you. 

"If you can, that is," another hero scoffs. Supervillain glares at them with narrow eyes, pressing his lips together until they turn white. He can feel the piercing coldness of his wrath coursing down his limbs towards his trembling hands.  

"Oh, I can just fine," Supervillain hisses, slowly pulling at one of his gloves, watching it slide off his blackened fingers. He sends the youngest hero a glance - a warning of sorts, before lunging forward.

His fingertips graze the forearm wrapped around his little brother, making it weak enough to let the kid slip down from their hold. The hero lets out a low groan, not quite registering the source of the pain yet. Supervillain's movements are quick, he brushes his fingers over the side of the hero's thigh - the sharp jolt brings them down to their knees with a choked cry - just in time for Supervillain's brother to land safely on the ground. 

The two heroes behind his back seem to snap out of it, jumping onto his back and taking Supervillain into a chokehold with one of his arms pinned to his side. Unlucky for heroes, they restrain the gloved one. 

Supervillain sees the youngest hero take his little brother into their arms, stepping away from the fight, their eyes wide with fear. Their knees are buckling under them at the horrifying sight that plays out, so they lean against a nearby wall.

Supervillain mouths a 'thank you' before bringing his free hand up and dragging his fingers along the arm around his throat. The hero screams in agony, their eyes watering at the sudden pain as they watch their arm turn stiff and black. "What the f-" 

Supervillain doesn't wait for them to finish, twisting around and pressing his open palm to the other hero's stomach. They bend over in an instant, clutching their middle and coughing out dark clots of blood.  

"What the fuck? Is that what you wanted to ask?" Supervillain asks, tilting their head to the side as they watch their enemies on the ground, wallowing in the unfamiliar ache that's taken over their bodies, their flesh twisting and turning into something akin to coal. 

When no words come from them, Supervillain lets out a dark chuckle, crouching to be face-to-face with them. Grabbing one of the heroes by the chin, he sneers. "This is becoming radically boring. Answer me." 

"H-how?" The hero tries to jerk away, tears springing from their eyes as they wheeze through every inhale. Supervillain's fingers are cold against their clammy skin.

"Fuck, it hurts so much..." Another one whimpers out, wiping at their eyes and biting into their lip to suppress a groan. The ache subsides agonisingly slow.

"I know. That's the point, darling," Supervillain smiles, forcing them to meet his gaze with a finger under their chin. "The worse, the better."

The heroes nod, trying to muster up a sliver of courage. They don't manage, because their friend is the first to speak. 

"Stop! Please. Please, stop now," they plead, coming to their knees next to Supervillain, his brother still in their arms. "Here. He's safe. Still sleeping." 

Supervillain stares at them for a moment, considering his following words. "I won't end them. Solely for you." 

The hero's shoulders drop in relief, waiting for Supervillain to pull his glove on before passing his brother to him. 

"Will they... will they be okay?" They ask, concern lacing their tone. Supervillain nods shortly, and the hero almost smiles. "Thank you."

"Now you know why no one dares to cross me." Supervillain informs, clutching his brother to his chest as he stands. "I advise to make use of that knowledge."

With that, Supervillain walks away, leaving the hero to tend to his injured friends while he carries his brother back home.

Supervillain knows this won't be the end of it. He knows a new group of shockingly young heroes will be sent after him sooner that these can heal. He knows they are nothing but brainwashed martyrs.

He also knows the only way of stopping this madness is chopping off the head of the snake.

A/N: Hi! First and foremost, thank you so much for this request! My mind was reeling when I first read it. Never say sorry for requesting, I love doing your requests! This one was extremely inspiring, as always, so... thank you for sharing your amazing mind 💛✨️ I'm not entirely happy with the way this turned out, but I still hope you'll enjoy reading this.

Love you, guys :)

xo Sunny

Masterlist

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[anachilles]

[INJURY]: after having been badly wounded themselves, the sender tries to reassure the frantic receiver by cupping their face and comforting them.

Oh my god I love this prompt list! Requesting ^ with Gale and John if you’d like to write it ☺️

same, buddy! and i'd love to. hope you enjoy this one! 🫶 -> prompt lists i'm currently accepting requests from: [ x ] [ x ] <-

“Holy Mary Mother of God! Buck, are you hit?! Are you hit?!” Curt screeched from the co-pilot seat, having just been thrown sideways with the great lurch the plane gave as the other man momentarily lost control of the craft.

For a single heart-stopping second, Gale presumed that he had been.

It sounded cliché to say so, but the burst of firepower, hot on the heels of Curt’s frenetic “Fighter, 10 o’clock!” warning, truly did feel like it came out of nowhere. They weren’t far off the chosen industrial targets in Abbeville, and had gotten eerily lucky with the flak up to that point, a couple of solid knocks but no major casualties or issues reported from the crew. For all intents and purposes, it should’ve been a clear run to the IP.

Whatever Luftwaffe pilot, speeding down from the clouds above, that happened to catch an opening to get a lucky shot in at the side of their fort, however, had other ideas. When all's said and done, it could’ve been worse; the couple of bullets that actually made impact having just about caught the metal frame bracketing the port-side window rather than shooting straight through the window itself. But all the same, the pane still shattered in a blinding spray inward. His reflexes quick, Gale had managed to duck his head and avoid the worst of it, but…

“Oh, God” Curt squeaked out, the last of the colour draining from his face when Gale turned to look at him.

Although in reality only taking place over the course of a couple of seconds, it stretched on what felt like several minutes when he saw it in his peripheral vision, swallowing down the wave of nausea that threatened to break over him at the realisation of the little shard lodged into the corner of his forehead through the lined leather of his flight cap. As if he’d needed to see it to activate the relevant neural pathway, only then did he feel the warm, sudden wetness of blood on his face, soaked into his bangs where they were flattened against the cap.

Alright, turned out he was hit.

Beneath the rush of blood in his ears, the roar of the engines, and the rattling of the ship's frame, he was distantly aware of a frantic flurry of chatter in his ear over the radio, but for that little pocket of a few moments it may as well have been miles away.

“Major Cleven, are you hit?!” “Is Cleven down?!” “Bombardier to pilot, what the hell’s going on up there? Curt, is Buck hit? Over.”

Disregarding the demand of the voices echoing in his own headset, “A-Are you okay?” Curt stuttered, blatantly making a real effort to look him in the eye and not at the shard just above his eyeline, whilst still keeping one eye on the sky in front of them as Gale remained holding the fort steady.

Gale blinked hard, and allowed himself half a moment to consider it, taking brief stock of all his senses. Could he see? Yeah. Hear? As much as he could before over the general racket of piloting this thing. His cognition seemed to be fine beyond the shock, his hands were trembling a little, but they were still held firm on the yoke with a mindless but steeled determination. The adrenaline was clearly preventing him from feeling any sort of immediate pain from the wound beyond the sticky dampness of the blood that...

...he also realised had stopped actively flowing. Long-forgotten lessons from first aid classes ranging from his Boy Scout days right up to mandatory medical training through basic and at flight school flashed through his mind with a violent jolt. The shard mustn’t have lodged too deep, the cap likely softened the impact a great deal, and the wound must've already started coagulating around it, like a stopper in a bathtub plughole. He just could not take it out, despite how every natural instinct he possessed screamed and banged from the box he'd locked them up in in the back of his mind to get it the hell out.

Surprisingly, he surmised he actually was okay, relatively speaking. Enough so to get them to the target and with as much chance of getting them back as he ever did.

With a deep, fortifying breath and a hard swallow to push down what remained of the urge to panic, Gale engaged his radio, addressing the entire crew. “Pilot to crew, I’m fine, boys,” he reported, willing his voice into the steadiness that the rest of the men had come to expect from him. “Mission continues as normal. ETA, um… 15 minutes or so to the target, so bombardier, standby.”

Curt was looking at him, pale faced and wide-eyed, like he’d lost his mind, but there was no time to argue about it, as enemy fighters continued to dog what was left of their formation on the approach to the target.

What else could Gale do, though? What other option even was there for him other than to bear down and carry on, especially when he was physically able to do so?

So they carried on, only a little bit chillier and more blustery than they were used to thanks to the broken window.

"It's probably good I get a spot of fresh air, all things considered..." Gale had tried to joke at one point, when he feared the stony silence after all of the commotion was getting to Curt. He didn't seem to like that one, though.

"Yeah, well, crack open a window next time rather than have it shot through."

They did eventually make it to Abbeville, they hit their targets, and then by some miracle limped their way home back across the Channel, through more Kraut fighter fleets and a floating minefield of flak. All the while, Buck grit his teeth against the constant, corroding paranoia about moving too fast, knocking his head on something, forgetting it was there in all his blind determination to get the job done and get them back, or accidentally jolting the shard, goading it to shift and allow it to start bleeding again, properly this time.

The wary, concern-filled glances Curt kept sending his way, even as he was clearly doing everything he could not to throw Buck off his rhythm, weren’t helping. They just kept reminding him that it was there, something sticking out of his goddamn head that wasn’t meant to be there.

That thought became more and more pervasive, growing vines and burying deep into his subconscious the closer they closed in on the Thorpe Abbotts runway, unable to be avoided now even if he tried as the ache gradually started to set in. Gale wasn’t the squeamish sort, but even he couldn’t help the queasy feeling as he went through the motions of the landing procedures. Every time he shifted now, he felt it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Curt reach for the little pocket where they kept the flares.

By some miracle they’d had no other significant casualties.

“Don’t bother with a red flare, Curt” Gale said, steadfast gaze fixed on the runway as it grew closer below them.

Curt froze, his hand slowly retreating from the pocket, looking at him like he had three heads. “You’re kidding me, right? You're as white as a sheet.”

Gale winced and let out a pained huff of a breath, the wound twinging as the altitude dropped on the descent. “Some of the other boys got chewed up rightly out there. Clearly, I’m surviving here. They need the priority for triage.”

“Major,” Curt said, tone imploring and although referring to him by rank, it was imbued with an unmistakable, desperate kind of affection. But Gale just didn’t have the capacity for it right now, to think about anything other than getting them on the ground after getting them this far. He’d apologise for any liberties of manner later. Later, later, later…

“Look,” he snapped, voice rigid and brittle. “I’m landing this damn plane, and then I’m gonna get up and walk off it of my own volition. Is that understood?”

Curt looked momentarily surprised, and like he wanted to put up a bit more of a fight about it, but it must’ve been clear either in his expression or tone that Gale wasn’t for having his mind changed. Curt gave up with a dissatisfied huff, settling back down into his seat.

“Pilot to crew, prepare for landing. We’re home, boys. Over.” Gale said, hands shaking but sure of themselves as he went and landed the damn plane.

With a shard of his port-side window lodged in his head.

There was blessed finality in the sensation of rock solid tarmac under their wheels as they taxied into their ship's designated spot, and Gale resigned to let himself sit in that for a little bit, breathing, breathing, trying to get his bearings about him as well as letting all the other men clamour out first.

With the crushing weight of duty and the mission and getting the boys back safe above all else lifted from his shoulders, it quickly relocated itself to right on top of his chest, that sickly, queasy feeling trickling back in until the trickle became a flood and it started pooling in his stomach. He realised was cold all over, but all clammy at the same time. He didn't want to get up, was starting to fear it, not trusting his feet under his own weight, but he knew he couldn't just sit there.

"You go on Curt," he drawled out, just as final as the Earth under their landing gears, but... Curt being Curt, who'd pointedly lingered behind as the other men departed, gave him an incredulous look. "I'm right behind you," Gale insisted.

He went, albeit muttering 'crazy son of a...' under his breath, and then louder, "I'm waitin' outside, y'know!"

Gale knew there was going to be a whole big to-do when he did emerge, even just the thought of the flap and attention itching uncomfortably under his skin before it'd even happened yet. Christ, when Bucky sees him like this...

Gale hoped like hell he hadn't landed yet, that he could slip away to med without him having to see.

God his head was hurting now.

Sucking in a lungful of air, he forced himself to stand through the light-headedness, forced himself out of the cockpit and out the hatch, down onto the tarmac under overcast British skies through the dark spots that were dancing around in front of his vision. The world grew fuzzier around him with the harshness of the drop down, the organised chaos of ambulances and shouting and bodies running to and fro suddenly sounding far away, like he was listening to it with his ear pressed up against a door that separated him from it.

Gale bit back a heave and tried to put one foot in front of the other, in what direction and with the intention of going where he didn't quite know (he just needed to go, he knew that much), swaying a little until a hand caught him under the forearm. He turned his head to see where the hand came from, who it belonged to. Instead, he caught a slightly warped, blurry reflection of himself in the shiny metal of the fort's shell in between the flak holes, actually saw with his own two eyes the piece of that plane stuck in him, melding itself with his flesh, making itself a part of him. He dropped down onto his knees then, falling under the weight of some invisible force acting against him as the last of the blood in his head drained away.

With seemingly one part of his fortitude giving up the ghost, others took that as the cue to follow, his stomach finally committing to rebelling properly, as he promptly fell forward onto his hands and vomited down onto the asphalt.

*********

"Ooooh, Jesus" Bucky had winced in sympathy as he inched the yoke a little to the right, adjusting them so they were properly in line again where they were supposed to be in the formation (he could always tell - just knew in his gut - when they weren't properly positioned), his gaze cast out the window and down to the left. "Who's fort was that? That hit looked nasty."

He'd heard the garbled "Fighter, 10 o'clock!" from one of their gunners and snapped to look, but by the time he had it had already swooped down and set upon one of the ships below, the fort lurching in an all too telling way that whoever was piloting it was in some sort of trouble. In the next second it was gone though, zipping away to circle back around again and likely have another go.

Beside him, Brady paused for what felt like a deliberately extended few seconds, like he knew the answer to the question but was still considering his words and if he really wanted to say them. The nosedive Bucky's heart took down to his stomach started before Brady had even had the chance to grit them out as his eyes remained scanning the horizon.

"That's, uh... Cleven and Biddick, I think," he said, in that plain, no-nonsense way of his that Bucky actually to some extent appreciated most of the time.

He hated when they assigned Buck and Curt to the same goddamn plane. Like they deliberately placed all of Bucky's eggs in one tiny, fragile, threadbare basket that was ready to come loose at the seams any second.

His jaw tense, Bucky chanced another look down at the fort in question, safe in the knowledge Brady was watching the rest of the skies while Bucky watched out for them, unable to leave it alone until he could see with his own two eyes they were alright. The knot in his chest loosened to find that they'd seemed to quickly correct course. Brady's eyes followed his own, leaning over a bit as he strained to get a look.

"I think they're fine though, Major. Looks like they mustn't have hit anything important."

Bucky allowed the reassurance of that to wash over him, tide him over for the time being, if only for the sake of being able to focus back in on the mission. Buck and Curt, they hadn't dropped out of formation, they were keeping pace, they hadn't radioed any of the other crews for assistance, their engines weren't trailing any smoke. All signs pointed to them being okay. He could live with that. He'd have to.

*********

The world around Gale was muted and muffled like he was hearing it from underwater, narrowed down into a single point like he was trying to look through the eye of a pin as he tried to catch his breath after heaving up his breakfast. The chill he'd felt creeping in before was now permeating his bones, his teeth beginning to chatter with it. His head was killing. He wanted to stand up, to move away from all the commotion, but the strength it would have taken for him to do so seemed to have abandoned him.

As if in slow motion a pair of legs came into view from the corner of his eye. He couldn't hear the stamp of the boots against the ground but it was almost like he could feel them reverberate through the tarmac they were hurtling towards him so fervently. That's when he knew who it was, and all at once the thick fog of the disorientation began to clear, Bucky's stricken face coming sharply into focus, bringing the chaos of the world around them with it. He wasn't sure whether the ache he felt was distress or relief.

"Bucky..." he murmured dumbly, uselessly, his name the only word clear in his mind as he tried to will his tongue to conjure the right words, whatever they were, as the other man immediately fell to his knees beside him. Gale lazily followed Bucky's eyes as they scanned his body first and then his face. He was able to pinpoint the moment he must've forced himself to look at the head wound, take necessary stock of it, all that blood, his nostrils flaring, breath catching in his throat as his complexion paled to a sickly greenish-white. Now he looked like wanted to throw up.

In the next breath though, one strong, decisive hand found purchase in between Gale's shoulder blades, rubbing gently in precaution, though the gagging had now stopped. When he yelled out into the crowd, it came out rough and strangled. "We need help over here!", and sent a couple of the younger lieutenants running. The other hand pressed gently then into the centre of Gale's chest, pulling him back so that he was leaning onto the support of Bucky's body.

"How the hell did you manage that, huh?" Bucky stammered out through breaths that were coming quicker and quicker, gesturing vaguely to it, his gaze flitting between the crowd rushing around in front of them and Gale's face. He'd had to strong-arm himself into looking just a minute ago, now he couldn't seem to look away from the angry red outline around the embedded crystal shard, the dried up blood tacky and dark crimson where it stained down the side of his face, his nose, soaked into the once fair strands of his hair.

Head injuries always bled much more than they were worth, somewhere just unreachable they both knew that, even the most superficial of flesh wounds likely to give most people a scare at first glance. But Bucky looked like his very foundations had been shaken.

Knowing he needed to do something, but clinging onto what little thought he had left in the moment for relative propriety, Gale hooked a hand around Bucky's forearm where it was still crossed against Gale's chest, giving it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. "Bucky, I'm fine, I promise," he said, voice gravellier than he would have liked.

The other man nodded jerkily. "You're fine. Of course you are, why wouldn't you be? We're going to get someone over here," he echoed, raising his voice and projected it outwards, "...and then you're gonna be fine."

Gale could feel the other man's unsteady breathing in the uneven rise and fall of his chest against his back. He flexed his fingers, held tighter. "I'll have you know I got us to the target, back from France and got two wheels down on that very runway like this; I'm fine now," he insisted, faux-annoyed and trying for humour to snap him out of it, soothe his nerves. But it clearly didn't help none, a crease of worry just crossing Bucky's face before he looked back out again into the distance, eyes slightly wild, waiting for someone, anyone to emerge from the pandemonium. To fix this.

Pulling himself up a little so he was sitting up straighter, Gale twisted round in the other man's hold. It was lost on him in the moment just what violence was apparently necessary to make what they were doing now acceptable in the eyes of society rather than repugnant. It was something he'd ponder later, when he had little else to be doing than laying up in the infirmary. Now though, he brought a still-trembling (but still equally sure) hand to cup Bucky's pallid cheek in his palm. He even dared, in a beat of pure uncharacteristic recklessness and capitalising on the chaos, to swiftly swipe his thumb across the handsomely sharp angle of Bucky's cheekbone.

Gale's gaze snared Bucky's in his own in that moment, refused to let it go in the name of sitting down, shutting up, and listening to him.

"John," he damn near pleaded, his voice low and slow, heavy with purpose and meaning, leaving no room to be denied or argued with. Miraculously, it seemed to cut through, go some way to grounding him, the frantic edge of Bucky's movements suddenly sanded down, right down to the sharp swivel of his eyes up, then down, then up, and back down again. "It's all going to be okay. Trust me."

Bucky was powerless to do anything but nod in his palm, just about restraining himself from pressing a most definitely and irrefutably improper kiss to the centre of it, before Gale lowered his arm once more, robbing him even of the chance to ruin them both. Spoilsport.

Somewhere in the not too distant future, when he was feeling more himself, Gale would look back on this and be mortified at the scene he was causing; the dramatics. Half-fainting, on his hands and knees heaving on the ground on account of a non-fatal injury while other men were being pulled from their forts with limbs missing, flesh torn apart, maimed irrevocably.

It felt like both seconds and hours, though it was likely only minutes, before Curt, who'd promptly disappeared as soon as he arrived by Gale's side, returned with an ambulance crew. The sight released a shuddering breath from Bucky he hadn't even seemed to know he'd been holding.

"Look, if there are other guys worse off needing help, I can hang in here-" Gale dared to start from below his chin, ever the martyr, only to be unceremoniously cut off by a much more robust, bordering on menacing bark from above. Gale wasn't sure whether the tone was meant for them, or him.

"Get over here, now."

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Sweeter Than Candy - Bob Floyd x Reader

pairing: Bob Floyd x reader

warnings/content: hotel room sex (p in v), oral (f receiving), cursing

word count: 2.2k

You pressed your back against the stone exterior of the hotel, the cool breeze hitting your face as you turned to look up the street. You pulled out a compact mirror from your purse - waiting always made you nervous, and you knew you’d have to touch up your lipstick from biting your lip so often as you watched for him. Your blonde curls framed your face perfectly, the sexy, tousled look suiting you for this occasion. Your ruby coloured lips pursed as you tossed the compact back into your bag before turning to face the glass window to your left. You used the reflection to adjust your outfit - your tight black jeggings hugging your waistline, the low neckline of your lace bodysuit teasing just a little peek of your bra, while your dark blue denim jacket left the rest to the imagination. Your red-bottomed heels completed the look, giving you that sexy-in-charge kind of feel that drove Bob completely wild.

He wasn’t outspokenly sexual, on the outside he was sugary sweet, his always sunny disposition was what he was known for, but he reminded you of one of those candies that were sweet to start, until you managed to suck the sugary coating off and reveal a sour centre. It took time, but normally whenever the two of you met now, just the sight of you was enough to get him going.

He’d been wanting to keep your meetings secret - a way of keeping you entirely to himself. He lived life under a magnifying glass for the most part, but his love life was something he preferred to keep under wraps this time around. For all intents and purposes, you were entangled in a romantic relationship with one another - he’d send you flowers, take you out, but everything was done so quietly that really, sometimes you wondered yourself if you were really dating.

Finally, you got the signal, a text message disclosing his room number and where to meet him. You quickly slipped inside, heading straight for the elevator like you’d done this a thousand times before. You extended a manicured finger to press the button, gently chewing the inside of your mouth as it turned a bright white colour. The few seconds you had to wait for it to reach the lobby felt agonizing as you thought about Bob - his touch on your skin, his blue eyes staring hungrily at you as he kissed your lips, his voice soft and low as he told you how badly he wanted you right then and there.

The elevator was empty when it arrived, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped on, pressing the button for his floor. Just as the doors were closing, a hand reached between them, prompting them to open once again. Bob grinned slightly at you as he walked on between the doors. His navy blue suit was perfectly tailored to his frame, the open jacket showing his tight, white dress shirt that hugged his body. His navy blue tie was loose as it hung around his neck, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted to tug on it and pull him in towards you.

“Mind if I come along?” he said, flashing you a wink.

“Of course not,” you smirked, biting your lip as the doors shut behind him.

“You didn’t think I’d let you get all the way up there by yourself, did you?” he whispered as he stood beside you.

The smell of his cologne encircled you as he rested a hand on the wall beside your head. He turned your face towards his, his lips pressing to yours with a sense of urgency, like he needed your kiss in the way he needed oxygen. You slid your tongue over his lower lip tauntingly, and Bob let out a groan.

“Darlin’, don’t tease me,” he growled.

You whined as his hands began wandering over your body, grasping for your breast as he slipped beneath the thin layer of lace that rested on your skin. He mumbled something into your sensitive skin, his lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses along your neck. He squeezed your breast in his hand as he groaned, trailing his mouth to the sweet spot of skin just above your collarbone. He knew that kissing you there drove you wild, and he loved how you reacted when he did it - your toes curled in your pumps, your head tilted to the side as your hair flowed down the left side of your neck. You felt his fingers pinching at your nipple as his lips worked at your collarbone, a soft groan escaping your lips as you heard the bell inside the elevator, signaling that you’d arrived at your floor.

Bob took your hand, leading you down the corridor quickly. You felt like it was partly because of the secrecy surrounding you relationship - the need for him to have something, anything that felt normal in his life, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that there was more to it than that. He hurriedly shoved his keycard into the slot, the door opening as a row of green light flashed above the handle, an automated beeping notifying the two of you that the door had unlocked.

Bob practically dragged you inside, shutting the door quickly behind him. He slid the deadbolt into place quickly so that no one could disturb you, before turning back to face you. His blue eyes were dark, filled with lust as he shoved your body down on to the bed. You giggled as he did, taken aback by how he was taking control. Normally he was pretty laid-back about sex - he always enjoyed it, but usually it resulted in a mild mishap or two that would interrupt your actions with a small outburst of laughter. Tonight however, was totally different.

He leaned over your body, resting two hands either side of your head to hold himself up above you. His signature grin formed on his lips as he ducked his head down to kiss you. He sat up, his legs either side of your waist as he worked at removing your jacket. He threw it into the dark void of the hotel room, God knows where.

“Fuck,” he groaned, taking in the sight of your lace covered torso.

“You like it?” you teased, running your hand up his thigh.

“Like it would be an understatement, darlin’,” he grinned as he slid his slender fingertips along your the delicate fabric covering you.

Bob rested his hands on the waistband of your jeggings, fiddling with the button that currently kept him from having you right then and there. He bit down on his lip as it popped open before tugging them down off your legs. You could hear his breath catch in his throat as his eyes ran over you.

“Jesus.”

He shook his head quickly before pushing the fabric that covered your slit off to the side, gently running his fingertip in circles over your sensitive nub. He grinned as you squirmed in pleasure, your toes curling as he traced shapes over your skin. His eyes watched your face intently, looking for the reaction he was hoping to get from you. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as you moaned his name, your hands gripping fistfuls of the bed linens beneath you.

He ducked his head down between your legs, going to work at your clit with his tongue. Fuck, he was good at that.

He knew exactly how to make you scream, but you could tell that tonight he wanted to tease you more than anything else, and after a few open mouthed kisses and a couple of flicks of his tongue, he pulled his mouth away, giving your clit a soft, passionate kiss as he did, making you moan out his name as he pulled off of you.

Bob quickly unbelted his dress pants, dropping them to the floor as he stood up at the foot of the bed. Unbuttoning his shirt, he grinned at you as you lay there, waiting for him. Your teeth sunk into your scarlet coloured lips, your eyes trailing down his body, resting on the now tight, elastic fabric of his boxers, appearing as though it were about to burst if he didn’t get them off soon.

He shoved his boxers down off his waist, his hardened member springing forward as it came free from the restricting fabric. He tugged his hand along himself a couple of times, enjoying the view he was currently getting. He knelt back down on the bed, his fingers working at unclipping the bodysuit from where it fastened at your centre. He grunted as he tried, unable at first to get them undone.

“How the fuck do I get this off?” he laughed, “I can undo a bra in under three seconds, why can’t I figure this shit out?”

“Five, maybe,” you teased before erupting into a fit of giggles at his failed attempts to remove your bodysuit, “here,” you nodded your head once before reaching your hand down to the row of fasteners. You carefully popped them open, smirking at Bob as you did so.

“See, Lieutenant?” you teased, “it’s easy.”

You didn’t know why, but calling him by his full rank seemed to turn him on more than any amount of dirty talk you could use. It was like he craved being in control, and calling him Lieutenant gave him that authoritative feeling he so badly desired.

He signalled for you to get on all fours, and you did so obediently, your centre absolutely aching for him by this point. His hand rested on your back as he stood up at the foot of the bed once again, giving himself the perfect angle. He gave your ass a playful tap before giving it a tight squeeze.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he said, his voice in a low growl, “I love seeing you like this.”

“I bet you do,” you quipped back, your voice soft and seductive as you spoke.

You felt a shiver down your spine as he gently ran his hand along your slit, your wetness soaking his fingers. You could practically hear him smirking, you knew exactly by the soft, grunting sounds coming from behind you what he was doing.

“Fuck, I love how you taste” he said softly as you felt him lining his cock up with your slit.

He guided his tip along your wetness, a soft grunt escaping his mouth as he pushed himself into you, just barely allowing his tip in. You whined in pleasure as you felt him, but you wanted more.

“Bobby,” you whined, “I need you.”

“Mhmm, is that so?” he grinned as he gently thrust himself further in, taking his sweet time as he entered you, making it more agonizing than anything else.

“Please, Bobby,” you whined at him as he pulled himself out.

He grinned as he straightened himself up, wasting no time as he pushed himself into you at full force. You let out a soft yelp as your body tightened around him, tilting your head back. You felt him grab a handful of your perfectly tousled curls, gripping them with a gentle tug as he began to thrust into you, his movements sharp and quick as he built up a rhythm.

You braced yourself by grabbing onto the sheets, gripping them tightly, your knuckles turning pale as he thrusted hard into your centre. You could feel yourself getting close, the pleasure brewing in your stomach as Bob shoved himself sharply into your body. A scream escaped your lips, and you knew at that point you wouldn’t be able to hold it together much longer.

“Gonna cum for me, darlin’?” he teased as a sound escaped his lips, some kind of mix between a moan and a laugh, before reaching a hand down to play with your clit.

“Fuck,” you screamed out as you hit the breaking point.

Bob grunted, each thrust becoming sloppier and less calculated as he began to reach his own high, a loud groan coming from behind you. You could feel him fill you as he climaxed, breathing a loud sigh of ecstasy as he pulled out of you, before collapsing down on the bed, completely breathless.

You rolled onto your side as Bob cleaned himself up before laying down beside you on the covers. His arm draped over your naked curves as he buried his face into your hair, breathing in your scent as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.

“So how did you get that thing undone?” he asked.

“The bodysuit?” you laughed, before realizing he was serious, “there’s little plastic snaps, you just grab each side of the snap and pull it apart.”

“Seriously?! That’s it?!”

Bob burst out laughing before shaking his head as he snuggled in close to you.

“Those things look hot and all, but next time I’ll let you undo it, because I can’t figure it out.”

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev

— — —

When the morning sun bleeds into the room, it wakes Keith up alone.

It’s a strange way to wake up; being exceptionally aware that you are alone. He has woken up alone for most of his life. It is not something he usually notices. But this morning, in a strange bed that he has slept in for who knows how long, in a room he has recovered in for who knows how long, on a planet he had only intended to visit, he wakes up and has the distinct thought: No one is sleeping next to me.

He gets up carefully, gentle with the comforter, gentler with his injured leg. He’s intimately aware of how much he would appreciate a wash, or a change of clothes. His own clothes, even, although he realises with a lump in his throat how impossible that truly is. 

He limps slowly out of the room, wincing at the loud creak of the floorboards. The walk down the hallways is less daunting with the late morning light, although this time there’s no one busy in the kitchen. Confused, Keith backtracks some, peeking into the other rooms that branch off the hall in search of the man he’d slept with last night.

Well. Slept next to. Whatever.

The first room is small, a pantry of some kind. The many shelves are lined with jars of preserves, brightly coloured labels stuck crookedly on the glass. A variety of dried plants and meats hang from the ceiling, along with some other things that Keith doesn’t recognise. The next door is what must be the guest room that was the source of last night’s argument; the bed is under the window instead of perpendicular to it, and admittedly is too small to fit Keith comfortably. It’s much sparser than the other bedroom, too, although there are still shelves lining the wall. 

Keith checks a couple other rooms, none of which seem to have a specific purpose, until finally he opens the door to what appears to be a bathroom. With a shower. 

He’s inside and locking the door behind him before he can think otherwise. His hand lingers on the doorknob for a moment, shifting from foot to foot with indecision. This isn’t…his house. Every step in the unfamiliar environment reminds him of that. But he also needs a shower so quiznacking badly. His fur is matted. He swears he can feel his skin crawling, even though he knows he’s been cared for. He needs to wash between his ears.

He makes a decision, and steps away from the door. 

The bathroom is well-stocked. In a cabinet next to the door Keith finds several fluffy towels, of which he takes two – they’re human-sized. He finds several dozen bottles of various soaps, none of which he recognises, so he just chooses the one he thinks smells the nicest. He spends more time than he is willing to admit trying to figure out the knobs to get the water running (why don’t Earthlings have buttons for everything like normal people) but standing under that steaming spray is – relieving, to say the least. He spends a decent chunk of time just standing under the spray, letting the high pressure undo some of the knots in his back. He tries to stay conscientious of the water, though, figuring it’ll shut itself off soon, so he pulls himself out of the spray and starts to lather himself up.

It takes a long-ass time to untangle his hair. Long enough that the water gets cold – which is not something Keith expected in the slightest and made him actually genuinely scream – and Keith shuts it off to work the soap through the snorzlak’s nest that lies on top of his head, as his mother would say. Once he’s rinsed all the suds out of his hair and gotten used to the water, he lets his injured and newly undressed leg soak under the spray for a while, cleaning off the blood and scabs and other disgusting shit Keith’s can’t look at without wanting to throw up. The cool water does feel nice on it, though, clueing him into just how painful it really has been.

By the time he’s finally clean and stepping out of the shower, he’s so loose and relieved that he’s practically goo. The towels are soft and fluffy and blissfully abrasive as he scrubs it through his hair and over his skin, tying two together at his hips once’s he’s no longer dripping. He pokes around the bathroom in search for a fangbrush, finding something similar behind the mirror next to a tube of something called ‘toothpaste’. Keith shrugs and puts a dollop of the goopy stuff on his finger, rubbing it all over his teeth and following it with the fangbrush.

He gags.

“Dat thit ith dithguthting,” he spits, hunching over the sink and using the fangbrush desperately on his tongue. The horrible paste only lathers, spilling out onto his lips where it burns, so he twists the faucet on full blast and sticks his mouth under it.

“Why ith it burning more,” he despairs, spitting the water out and scraping the nasty stuff out with his fingers. His mouth still smarts and stings. He’s never has anything like that in his life – it’s spicy, but cold? Somehow? It’s fucking disgusting. Why is that the flavour of a – of a tooth cleaner, stars above. 

Mouth as normal as he is going to get it, he dries off his face and steps away, setting the fangbrush neatly on the counter and shoving the hellish ‘toothpaste’ back where he found it. He frowns at his pile of discarded clothes, debating putting them back on, but ultimately can’t make himself. They’re half-ripped and kind of gross. He’s newly cleaned. Walking around in a towel isn’t ideal, but maybe there’s spare clothing in the bedroom? He’ll figure it out. 

Making note to come back and clean up his clothes for later, he unlocks the bathroom door and steps into the hallway, shivering at the sudden blast of cooler air that makes his fur stick up more than it already does. He pads down the hall back to the bedroom, pushing open the slightly open door and –

“Oh, Jesus.” 

Eggs splat on the ground as a basket tumbles out of startled hands. The human makes a scrambled, aborted move to catch it, but it’s far too late, and yolk stains the wooden panelling and what feels like half the room in a stark mirror to last night. His face is bright, supernova red, and he looks everywhere but at Keith.

Keith swallows. “Um. Hello.”

“Hello,” the man responds, but his voice dips and cracks more times than Keith would think possible in one word. He says nothing else, still looking resolutely away.

“I took a shower.”

“I can. See that.” Then, under his breath: “Believe me.”

“I hope that was okay,” Keith says nervously. If that’s the problem, then things are going to get awkward. Is it – rude, in Earth culture? Keith’s not sure. His father had told him more things than he could ever remember, but he wasn’t a great source on etiquette. 

“No, it’s fine. I just.” The human clears his throat. “Your clothes weren’t in the best shape, huh?”

Keith inclines his head. “Not really.”

The man looks up at him, finally. He meets Keith’s eyes for a brief second and then his gaze drops to his chest, where it stays. Keith frowns. He’s been informed that he tends to – glare at people, when he doesn’t mean to. He makes an effort to soften his face, although he’s not sure it does much. 

“Do you have – pants, or something? I don’t know that they’ll fit, but I can –”

“Oh, fuck, yeah, hold on.” Some of the strangeness of the human’s expression thankfully seems to fade as he rushes over to a folded set of clothes on a chair, holding them out to Keith. Keith takes them gratefully.

“I didn’t – know your size, obviously. And I didn’t want to leave you here alone. So. This is technically a toga. That’s my bad. It should cover, though? Hopefully. It worked for the Greeks.” He laughs nervously. “You don’t know who the Greeks are. Um.”

“I know who the Greeks are,” Keith says, smiling. The human meets his eyes and then quickly looks back away, redness making his cheeks glow again. “My father used to tell me all kinds of stories from Ancient Greece. I liked hearing about Artemis most.”

The human looks Keith up and down, gobsmacked. “Your…dad.”

“Yes.’

“And your dad was a…frequent visitor of Earth?”

“Oh, not really,” Keith dismisses, unfolding the soft material and holding it up to his chest, trying to find somewhere to put his head. “He never bothered going back once he was wormholed home. To Daizabaal, I mean. But he told me lots of stories growing up to make sure I was familiar with my heritage.” 

“You’re human?”

“Half, yes.” He finally finds the hole and tugs it over his head, smiling triumpahntly. He drapes the fabric over his shoulders and cicnhes it at the waist, letting the towel drop. It’s a tad bit shorter than he would like, but it’s better than before, so he shrugs at lets it be.

“That’s – you’re fucking – I didn’t know – okay.” The human holds up a hand. “Okay, time out. There is egg on the floor. I keep dropping shit. You have – really nice legs, holy shit, that is not the focus. I’m gonna.” He points to the door. “I’m gonna go take five minutes to calm my shit. Then I’m gonna come back here and clean up these eggs before they cement themselves to the floor. Then I have – questions, okay. Lots of them.”

“I don’t know what cement is,” Keith admits. “But, um. Sounds like a plan. I’m gonna look around, if that’s okay…?”

“Knock yourself out,” the human says, sighing, then leaves without a word.

Keith blinks. Then he smiles, a little sad around the edges. He hasn’t heard that idiom in many years. As out of place as he feels right now, pieces of home – pieces of his father – keep popping up everywhere. It’s a nice reminder for why he came, even though it feels like everything has changed in a small amount of time. 

Conscious of the timeline the human gave him, Keith searches the room quickly in hopes to find his pack, and sees it hung on a row of hooks on the back of the door, burn holes carefully patched with neat stitches. He lifts the bag gently, swallowing back the lump in his throat at the familiar rough texture of the fabric, and heads back out towards the kitchen and living room area he saw last night. He sits gingerly down at the corner of the couch and unties the top of the bag, pulling out each piece and laying it on the low-laying table in the middle of the room. 

The pieces of his comm are the first to come out. There’s no spiderweb cracking of the screen, no chunks missing, just a clean crack down the middle – Keith has no idea how that one happened. A laser shot of some kind, maybe, although he doesn’t remember hearing any fired as he was shot out of the sky. Next is his field journal, a little singed around the edges but mostly unscathed, then the shrinkpacks of supplies – food, water pouches, a bedroll, some clothes. He’ll have to regenerate them later, see if they’re still useful. Hopefully.

Finally, cradled at the bottom of his back, are his photos – he lets out a huge sigh of relief. They have, miraculously, seemed to have taken no damage from the crash. In fact they’re more pristine than Keith himself. He brushes his finger over the oldest one, of his mother and father right after Keith was born, holding him. The shape of his mother’s hair and his father’s smile have been smudged over the years, from years and years of his – often dirty, he was a messy child – touch, but it is familiar and grounding and reliving to have with him. 

“So,” says the human, startling him as he sits heavily on the couch, “The world is a weird goddamn place.”

He looks weary. The bags under his eyes are marginally less heavy than they were last night, maybe, but tiredness still sags at his shoulders, sallows his skin. His blinks are long and heavy, like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. Despite that, he looks at Keith with brown eyes bright with determination and attention.

“It is.”

“I’m Lance.”

“Keith.”

Lance’s eyebrows raise. 

“Odd name, I know. I can go by Yorak if it’s easier –”

“No, no, Keith is actually quite –” He pauses, eyebrows raising even farther. His mouth gets pinched with poorly concealed amusement. “Yorak?”

Keith sighs. “It was the name my mother intended to give me. My father was insistent on Keith, though. It’s okay. Most people just call me Yorak, anyway. Keith is a bit of a mouthful.”

Lance loses his battle, head tucked to muffle his giggles. 

“No, Keith is fine. It’s your name, after all. It’s just – I think I know nineteen different Keiths. I wasn’t expecting such a common name for someone so –” he looks up, smile suddenly shy – “extraordinary.”

That…makes a lot of sense, actually. Somehow Keith had never considered that his name might be common on Earth. He figured his dad just made it up. Seemed like something he would do.

“...Oh.”

“I can call you Yorak, if you like,” Lance offers. His mouth twitches again. “I promise I can do it without laughing. As soon as I stop hearing 80s anime villains in my head every time I hear it, we’ll be set.”

Keith has no idea what any of that means. But he waves a hand anyway, dismissive. “Keith is fine.”

Lance sticks out a hand. Keith stares at it. 

“In some cultures on Earth, humans greet each other by shaking hands,” Lance explains.

Keith tilts his head. “But we’ve already met.”

“Officially, I mean.”

“Oh.” Keith hesitantly reaches out and wraps his hand around Lance’s. His hand is soft, and his fingers are cold. “Like this?”

Lance smiles, softly this time, lifting and dropping their joined hands in an intentional movement. 

“Welcome to Earth, Keith.”

———

next

more in the universe

[lc-holy]

when i joined the ml fandom i was surprised there were such strong opinions about adrien's shoes lol I think they're overhated too, i actually really like them! I think they're cute :)

Same xD

Before I joined the fandom, I used to watch Miraculous on my own and I never really paid much attention to the colour of Adrien's shoes. Besides, for me, the rules of fashion in cartoons aren't the same as in real life. Yes, the clothes of the Miraculous characters are a bit strange and if real people wore the same clothes, it would look weird. But I like that. I also like fictional characters to be "badly dressed", it gives them personality.

I still enjoy seeing characters redesigned by the fandom, but I don't really like it when it looks like a "fashion show". When I see ALL the characters dressed too well, I find it strange.

But it all depends on the purpose of the cartoon. If it's a fashion cartoon or a cartoon designed to sell dolls with pretty clothes, etc… then it's different.

As for Adrien's shoes, it's an amusing debate in the fandom. Personally, if Adrien's orange shoes came back, I wouldn't mind at all.