#mimics test writing

[imitor]

houyi ..... i think i love all my bsd ocs on a degree that has me frightened

[marmorada]

I love waking up to my 67 year old father having a 14 year old girl style silent treatment bitchfit because he's decided overnight I'm faking my hand problems for mysterious reasons and I just love being humiliated by going to class without properly brushing my hair & also do it on purpose to, idk, screw him. Because somehow this has anything to do with him at all. I guess I need to be more understanding of his apparently grievous pain and ruin my hands even more so he can stare at my hair or whatever the fuck reason this bothers him so fucking bad.

[afatalovesong]

I am sending them to Circus Babys' next chapter for fun. its my fic and I get to pick how they get traumatized

[tsuyalovebot]

xia yi zhou / caleb x reader.

cw. untitled drabble (>500 words, one sitting — ignore any typos). sexually explicit content, mdni / ageless blogs dni. mc=reader. i'm still writing a long caleb piece, so please be patient with me. (_ _ ||| )

a part of my brain matter was taken away when i incorporated the position change of doggy -> prone bone in you're a catch 22.

genuinely. i think caleb hitting it from the back is a primal need that scratches the underside of one's brain so well. it's the pent-up nature of it, and the lack of tact that makes it so primal.

but the big, sentimental idiot who's spent the better part of his life craving your existence also loves intercourse in positions where he can see you. that physical connection and proximity is what cements that closeness to you. he grounds himself in the fact that your bodily warmth is proof of this all being real.

this man has you in a lotus position on evenings when he's craving you, his hands on your waist as he's whispering "i love you"s against your neck. more often than not, he has to leave bright and early the next day, so he makes sure to get his fill of you — not that you mind.

missionary is spent having staring contests where you inevitably tap out, hitting at his arms and back when he stifles his laughter against your collarbone because the one time he wins a staring contest is when he's balls deep inside of you.

he will never let you have peace when you're riding him, demanding you to keep those eyes on him otherwise he'll make you finish on your own while he touches himself in front of you.

all in all, this man is versatile.

you're marveling at your flexibility one day, eyeing the arch in your back when you mimic it in the mirror. there was nothing else behind the gesture, simply testing the bounds of your experience. maybe there were some perks to getting folded and kneaded like pretzel dough on the nightly.

so engrossed in your little experiment, you hadn't noticed caleb in the bathroom doorframe watching you, amused. you greet him when he slides into the space behind you, rubbing his tousled hair as he drapes himself over your body.

"mornin' to you too. need some help?"

you shake your head, explain your situation as his arms snake around you, his palms playing with his shirt that you wore. there's a subtle sway to how he hugs you close, his lips comfortably pressed to your hair. his eyes still hazy with slumber that lingers at the crinkled edges, a smile on his mouth.

"told you spending time together has its perks. and, y'know," he starts, mischief creeping into his tone. "we never tried it in front of a mirror before."

he's kissing along your shoulder before you can reply, and his fingers squeeze between your thighs so easily that you can't argue about it being too early either.

versatile — but you will never know peace after the first time he worships you like a deity, all the while pressing you into the sheets to keep you grounded with a mere mortal like him.

[vanillarosekiss]

stepdad!john | punishments

aaaand we're back to using capitals because i've figured out that i type differently on my mac compared to on my phone LMAOOO. also figured i should write for john since most posts have been abt simon recently.

warnings: taboo themes (clearly) however all consenting!!!, bratty!reader gets humiliated, impact play, overstimulation, degradation towards the end, john being mean, and many other things i cannot think of!

word count: 0.9k

(ps. went to type 'count' and accidentally typed 'cunt' sighh.. it made me giggle)

You knew it was going to come to this one way or another. You'd been testing his patience all day, relentlessly. Rolling your eyes when he speaks, mumbling silly incoherent replies under your breath, and snapping back with rude quips every time he asked you to do something. Maybe you were having a bad day. Maybe you just didn't care. Whatever it was, John noticed straight away, and he didn't appreciate it at all.

He tried to keep his patience. Tried to give you a chance. Warned you once. Then twice. But he knew you didn't care; you were going to push him to his absolute limits.

It struck a nerve when you'd mumbled something like "It's not like you're my real dad, quit bossing me around." Whewww... the minute that left your lips you knew you'd regret it. He'd heard, of course, and that was his final straw.

"Come here. Now." he said, before you started to walk away from him.

You hesitated - just for a second - but there was something wired in your brain that made your legs move to him before your brain could think and catch up. Maybe subconsciously, this is what you wanted. Either way, you were totally fucked.

You stood in front of him, arms crossed like you had something to prove. Fake confidence. He wasn't stupid, he could tell. That defiance you tried to mimic? It only made him smirk, knowing that you were really the complete opposite of what you tried to show yourself as.

"Got a real smart mouth on you today, hmm?" he started, his voice low and in control. "What did I tell you would happen if you kept talking back?"

You shrugged. Acted like he was taking up the most valuable 5 minutes of your day to lecture you in behaviour.

He raised a brow slightly. "I said I'd teach you a lesson. And you didn't believe me, did you?"

Before you could even answer, he grabbed your wrist, tight but not too hard, and pulled you down firmly over his lap. It somehow felt like a familiar territory, like he'd done this before. The way he held you down was so solid that all you could do was squirm and protest.

"You're not my real dad," you mock yet again, mouth muffled by his large bicep.

He flipped your tennis skirt up so you were exposed, the fabric of your tiny thong being the only thing that covered your cunt. His hand came down suddenly on your ass, hard and sharp. You gasped, the stinging feeling unexpected.

"You don't get to act like a brat all day and then try to dissmiss it," he almost growled, his frustration working himself up. "You want to play grown-up, you'll get treated like one, and you'll take your punishment like one."

Another slap. Then another. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to keep stinging so much that your breath fell heavier and you couldn't stop yourself from squirming.

"Count," he commanded.

You stayed quiet. Big mistake.

Smack. One that was harder this time, you felt yourself jolt forwards in his lap upon impact.

"Fine," you hissed. "One."

Smack.

"T- two," you gritted your teeth together, knowing it would only get worse if you didn't do exactly as he said.

He kept going, slow and measured. Not only did he spank you, but he also lectured you at the same time, his voice low and close to your ear.

"You think I don't notice the way you try to push me? Tryin' to get my attention like a needy little girl, hm?"

His hand stroked between your thighs, trailing up towards your now soaked panties, a little too high. He laughed when he felt the dampness of your skin.

"Look at ya," he murmured, fingers toying with the thong. "Bratty all day just because you wanted this? Wanted daddy to fuck you? Could've asked nicely."

You first blushed in embarrassment, and then glared at him for mocking you.

"Maybe I just like pissing you off." A challenge.

He chuckled, seeing straight through you. "Yeah?"

One arm wrapped around your waist, his hand slipped underneath the fabric, fingers sliding across your slit.

He almost groaned in victory. "Soaked. And all I've done is spank you. Filthy girl, aren't ya?"

You whimpered as he pressed down just enough on your aching bud, fingers still teasing you. He rubbed slow, cruel circles before dipping inside. The strech of his fingers made your hips buck, but he pushed you down, tightening his grip on your waist.

"Stay still. You don't get to come until I tell you to."

You tried. You really tried. But the pressure, the humiliation, the way he was watching you. It was sending you into overdrive.

"John- please-"

His fingers curled a little more as you said his name like that, all whiny. "You beg so pretty when you're not mouthing off," he muttered, fingers moving stronger inside you. "What do you want, baby? Wan' to come on my hand like a good girl?"

You nod frantically, but he tsks you, slowing his movements to an agonising pace.

"Gotta use your words. Hardly being a good girl right now."

"I wanna come," you whine again. "Please, John, I-I'll be so good."

The tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes out of sheer desperation and overstimulation may have eventually softened him up. Or they may have not.

there's a link that would go so perfect with this but i cant find it :(

update… i found the gif and not the link:

Tag list 𖠋: @punkkture @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @goldie-221 @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnee777 @bittersweetfig @mlthree @cupidswan @siphon07 @decaffeinateddelusionbread

[dollwrites]

WAAAAAAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT! You write Tokyo ghoul???? I NEED to be aware when you open requests again, I crave anything with my favorite Uta 😍🥰 I don’t see enough of him and I think you’d write him really really well!!!

ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴜᴛᴀ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!ghoul!reader, oral fixation ( fingers ), masturbation ( her! ), reader’s nonverbal, very very subtle pet play ( just the vibes i feel ), finger sucking, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ intermission [ oral fixation ]

“Gently,” Uta reminded you, without so much as looking up from his work. with his right hand steadily swirling obsidian spirals over his newest creation, his left had been outstretched for you, willowy digits tracing the shape of your parted lips before slipping past the threshold, only to be welcomed by your eager tongue. upon tasting the pads of his fingertips, you have the sudden urge to clamp your lips down around the extremities, to suck on them, and relish the flavor of your lover, but you heed his warning and simply stroke each digit from knuckle to nail with your tongue, mouth hanging agape.

“Still quite a feral, little thing, but mind those teeth this time.” his pointer finger twisted slightly, to tap against the shape of your canines, and test their sharp edges, but you had no real intention of biting him. of course, that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t do it by accident— which has happened before. you get a little too eager, a little too excited, and you snap your jaws shut like a hungry pup.

usually, you would grip his wrist with both hands, a silent plea not to take the taste of his fingers from your mouth, but right now yours were busy, too. they had both been occupied beneath the loose fabric of the oversized nightshirt you wore, one palming your breast, squeezing and pinching at your own nipple, whilst the other was shoved hastily into your panties, strumming your greedy pussy. you had become accustomed to Uta’s doting ever since he took you in; his constant touching on you, his affectionate lips and tongue seeking out your most sensitive parts, but when he worked you were utterly neglected.

so, you would find yourself in such a position, panting like a happy bitch on your knees at his feet, sucking and licking on his fingers as you tried to mimic the pleasure he could give you with your own hands. your skill paled in comparison to his, but it was all you could do to keep from interrupting him.

Uta knows this, which is why there’s a subtle tickle of pride in the way his lips creeped up, even as his crimson gaze remains fixed on the mask before him, at every sound you make. every heavy breath, every moan of his name. he knows that you’re needy, that your desperate for him, and he knows that to make you wait was probably a cruel punishment for a sweet, but ravenous little thing like you.

“Naughty, messy little girl.” he offers in a soothing tone, feeling webs of sticky drool tether his fingers to your tongue as you lick and suck on each one. the excess dribbles down your chin, either soaking into the fabric of your shirt or leaving a small puddle on the floor between your knees. “You can pet and pet that pretty pussy of yours, but you still can’t make yourself cum like I can, hm?” there’s a hint of arrogance in his soft chuckle, but it’s one well warranted. you shake your head, your tongue too busy to answer by forming words— drawing loops against the base of each finger, allowing the tips to reach deep into your mouth as they could, nearly gagging you as they prodded at your gullet. you rubbed your own fingers against your clit faster, pressing harder until you were squirming on your knees, scooting right up to his leg to press your whole body into it. your own, deep ruby stare flickered up to him, piercing… begging.

“That’s quite alright, I like being the only one that can tame you,” he offers, retracting his digits from your mouth. you let out a soft, disgruntled huff, attempting to follow them, to pull them back in, and worship them again with your tongue, but he doesn’t allow it. they travel downwards, and you watch as strings of saliva sever and drip from them and your own lips. grabbing the fabric of your nightshirt, he gives it a tug, pulling you upright, balancing tall on your knees, so that he can reach between your thighs without bending too far away from his mask in progress. your head swims, and you let out a little whimper as slick, svelte pads push your own away and tap against your puffy button, teasing you further, assessing your sticky sex. Uta lets out a soft, fond sigh, “There she is. Throbbing and swollen for me.” your tongue flicks and rolls impatiently just behind the seal of your couplet, desperate to be occupied, too, so your own fingers pry beyond the barrier created by your lips, leaving the scent and taste of your own cunt on them. you suck on them, purring in pure ecstasy at the sensation of Uta teasing your clit. it wasn’t enough to make you cum, but it was plenty to keep you right on the edge you’d led yourself to, so as not to sully your hard work with a ruined orgasm.

“But you’ll have to occupy yourself for a bit longer, little thing.” he said, resolved, gently pulling his hand back, sitting upright in his seat again. you whine, and -to keep from losing that built up tension- slam yourself down against his foot, grinding your damp panty-clad pussy against his shoe as you lean against his leg. he gives the top of your head an affectionate pat, before he immersing himself in his art. “I’m still busy, you know.”

[clemmmmmmmmmmmmmm]

Batboys x alien!reader

⸻

Scenario: “You’re an Alien, But They’re Falling for You Anyway”

You crash-landed on Earth during a low-stakes invasion and never left. You’re trying to understand human customs and hide your powers.

⸻

Jason Todd x Alien!Reader

• He’s suspicious at first. “What do you mean you don’t have blood?”

• Accidentally falls for you after you save a kitten using telekinesis and then ask if it’s “a young Earth predator.”

• Loves how unbothered you are by danger. “That guy had a grenade.” “Yes. I ate it.”

• You don’t understand flirting, so he keeps trying increasingly obvious moves until you finally ask, “Are you trying to initiate mating rituals?”

• Sweet Moment: You ask what “love” means to humans, and he just… freezes. “That’s a loaded question, space princess.”

⸻

Dick Grayson x Alien!Reader

• Thinks it’s awesome you’re an alien. “Can you fly? Do you glow in the dark? Can you talk to trees?”

• Teaches you how to dance and says things like, “Just follow my lead — Earth style.”

• You mimic him for fun, but accidentally do a perfect impression of him mid-mission. He loses it.

• Constantly curious about your world. “Do you have art? Do you have pizza? Do you have me there?”

• Sweet Moment: One day, you shape-shift into his form to understand his “human perspective” — and he sees it not as mockery, but trust. “You’re trying to understand me the way I want to understand you.”

⸻

Tim Drake x Alien!Reader

• Realized you weren’t human after you accidentally turned invisible in the middle of a stakeout. You just said, “Oops.”

• Becomes obsessed (lovingly) with figuring out how your biology works. He makes you do science with him in the lab like it’s a date.

• You speak a language that sounds like hummingbird static, and he learns to understand the tone shifts.

• Extremely flustered when you tell him humans are “visually inefficient” and that he is “especially pleasing in shape.”

• Sweet Moment: He makes you a communicator that automatically translates your real thoughts into English — because he wants to know the real you, not just the version you think humans want.

⸻

Bruce Wayne x Alien!Reader

• 100% stoic mode activated. Doesn’t flinch when you say you’re from another galaxy. Just says, “You bleed green. Got it.”

• Makes you go through twelve training tests before trusting you. You pass them all in minutes.

• You confuse idioms constantly. “Killing two birds with one scone?” He just stares. “Close enough.”

• Deep talks about humanity that end with him awkwardly patting your shoulder. You patted back once and accidentally dislocated his arm.

• Sweet Moment: You save Damian and nearly die doing it. When you wake up, he’s at your side. “I’ve seen a thousand kinds of strength… yours is the rare kind.”

⸻

Damian Wayne x Alien!Reader

• At first: ”Tt. Extraterrestrial filth.”

• Then: You stab a guy with your tail to save him — and suddenly you are “adequate.”

• You don’t understand sarcasm. He says something mean and you take it literally. The guilt ruins him for three days.

• You ask him to teach you “Earth courtship.” He writes a 12-page manual and pretends it was Alfred’s idea.

• Sweet Moment: You show him a flower from your home planet that only blooms when someone is truly trusted. You grow one in your palm just for him.

⸻

[etherealily]

ʀɪᴏᴛ // ᴛᴀɴɢᴇʀɪɴᴇ

This was from my poll .

Other fics of mine. If you have the time.

Tangerine + fem!reader. Cussing, but SFW.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : Situationship final boss.

(This one's for you, my twin @wintrrsoul / @wintrsoul)

..……......................................................................................................................

He may not have a heart, but he sure as fuck has a soul, and it's superglued to you, it seems.

It's in the way he's actually sort of worried you'll somehow end up in the general vicinity of his jobs and get obliterated.

It's in the way he doesn't like the fact that he can't just straight up tell you things about him.

"I like the colour blue." No, would lead to a question about how long he has and then he'd have to talk about a childhood he never had.

"I hate fast food." So, what do you eat when you're out on a job? Hang on, what do you do at your job?

See? No good.

But it's also in the way he nearly acquiesces to all of your requests. Like this morning's.

"Tell me your real name."

It's not even just that. It's the way you say it. Ask it. Your fingers are in his hair like you're scared he'll get mad at you and that's the only way you can insure yourself against him, or something. By showing him how gentle you are. It's barmy, but it's you, so he'll allow it.

"Tell me yours."

"You know my name."

Unfortunately for him, he does. He'd have actually loved to have looked you up and been unable to find a face to the name you'd given him, but it was you. Right there. Too trusting.

"The one you'd like to be called, I mean." He's stalling. He's deflecting.

"The one I'd like to be called? What is this, a test? I have to say 'yours' or summat?"

He snickers. It's a quiet one, and if you'd been anywhere but in his arms, you couldn't have heard it. "Humour me."

"Humour you? I'm afraid I couldn't come up with one if you gave me all the time in the world."

"No?"

"No."

"Shame, that.", he grunts, stretching as he turns to you. He's been up for hours. Luckily, you're too used to it to ask why he's fully clothed in a fucking suit this early in the morning. "You could have heaps of fun with it. Little activity, if you ever get bored of ghostwriting."

"I'm only bored when you're not here."

"I'm your only source of entertainment, then?"

"Cable without a subscription, yeah."

"I can't even fault that. That's a good analogy. See? You should write summat on your own. Instead of helping write for talentless pricks. Who get credit."

He's doing the thing he likes doing again. Giving you a couple of his rings to 'model'. He thinks it's funny, how they only fit on your thumb, because he has insanely heavy taste in rings.

"Not this again."

"Yes, this again! It's true, innit? Some loser who can't write needs you to do their homework for them, but they get the credit?"

"That's not how it works."

"It is, too, how it works. You told me yourself."

"All this because I asked you what your real name was."

"Not this again.", he mimics, ruffling up your hair. "Have you kept your promise and narrowed it down, then?"

"I have, actually, yeah.", you say, and he watches with a lazy grin as you sit up, the morning sun like a halo behind you, igniting your hair.

Though he's more focused on the fact that you're topless.

"Let's hear it, then."

"Nigel."

"Nigel? Like the fuckin' pelican from Nemo?", he scoffs, shifting to rest an arm under his head.

"Hold your horses, I've got more, I've got more. I've got Thomas."

"Like the tank engine? What's with you and creepy animations today, love?"

"I figure there's a reason your brother keeps talkin' about the show. Am I warm?"

He shakes his head. "You're in Antarctica.", he informs, watching you roll your eyes. Watching you. That's all he's ever done. And that's all he ever wants to do.

"I'll get it one day."

"Pray you don't. It's really hot, how pissed you get."

"I will get it, though, some day."

"Lie back down, relax. It'll come to you in a dream."

You do as he says, flexing your fingers to display his entire collection of (four) rings, glinting in the sunlight. "Arnold?"

"Fuck you, sweetheart, you're just tryna take the piss now."

He doesn't laugh much, or smile, for that matter, but he's sure one day you'll catch him off guard. Not today, though. Mm-mm. Because he feels like you're not about to let up today.

Call it a lover's intuition. But he feels like this might either be your last fight or your last fight. In short, either you never speak again, or he croaks and he really can never speak again.

"Where are you going next, did you say?", you ask, between sporadic, breathy chuckles.

"Tokyo." he reminds, leaning an arm back on the headboard while his other played with your hair like that was his next job and it paid in infinite quid.

"Can I know where?"

"Uh... just the train, it looks like."

You turn your hand around to watch the light bounce off his rings. "Will you send me another postcard, then?"

His eyebrows furrow. "Come again?"

"Like, the one you sent from Bolivia. It was tops. Alpacas and whatnot."

"I'm sorry, love — postcard?" Oh. Fuck. His brother. "Oh, yeah. Not much to do in a train, but if I find one, I'll send it over."

There's a sort of domestic silence, and for a moment, he's sure he can hear the rays of sun crash through the window, all tinkly. But that might just be the hangover.

"Why won't you tell me your real name?"

"Because I can't. You know that."

He sighs magnanimously, allowing you to rise to brush your teeth and freshen up or whatever you did to avoid the fact that his secretiveness pissed you off to no end. Which was fair, honestly.

"I just feel like we're past that point."

Any response he might have had dies on his tongue. That is fair. You have known each other near a year now. If he were you, he'd be peeved as well.

Once more, a silence flashes through the room, before he does, too, his arms crossed as he firmly leans against the doorframe.

He exhales deeply for a moment, before you spit out toothpaste, avoiding his gaze in the mirror. "Y/N."

"That's my name, yeah."

"Alright, hey—", he scoffs, moving next to you, watching you again in the mirror. "That's the last one of those you get, alright? Snappy responses or wha'ever. I'm not doin' that. The whole soft, concerned bit? Nah. That's not what we are, and we have rules. Yeah?"

"I know we had rules, and you've broken far too fuckin' much of them, but I can't break one?", you retort, unscrewing the lid of your stupid fucking bottle of Listerine. God, why did everything you do today set his teeth on edge?

"No, you can't, 'cause your ghostwriting doesn't kill anyone except your dreams. My job does. I'm not gonna receive a phone call sayin' that you're hangin' from some ceiling or some streetlight or summat somewhere, yeah?", he reminds, sternly, with a finger pointed at you, a hand on his hip, the whole shebang, before he turns back into the warmth of the bedroom, folding his suit's sleeve, now.

"Your job.", you scoff, under your breath as you gargle and then spit.

He cocks his head, raising a brow as he spins right the fuck back around. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

"'S what I thought.", he mutters, adjusting his tie, running his hands through his hair, standing in front of the window on the other side of the room — you know. Basically do anything to take his mind off how fucking frustrated he is.

You're being mildly unreasonable. But he supposes he can't blame you. "Contract killer" isn't a profession you can segue into a conversation. In your head, he's much nobler. A CIA agent.

"Fuck. You can't have a normal mornin', can you?"

'And you can't have a normal reaction.', you think.

"I heard that."

You snort, shutting the bathroom door behind you as you come back out. "I didn't even say anything."

"You were thinking summat, I know you were."

"I was thinking you should shave."

He's glad you're back to the jabs at him, because he can shake himself out of this odd prophetic revelation he's supposedly having about his death or your loss of interest in him. Either/or.

He grins when you finally come out, flicking your forehead as you cross paths so he can take his turn in front of the sink. He really needed some fucking shut-eye on the plane there, but for now, washing and scrubbing at his face should keep him awake enough, and— what the hell were you doing?

He dabs his hands in between a plush hand towel by the sink, as he watches you trying to get dressed, from the bathroom mirror. "No. None of that."

"I have work."

"Oh, yeah? Funny. Sit."

"I told you, I've got work."

"There's a couple hours till my flight, and I'm sure incompetent authors can wait. Sit down."

"What, it's all according to your 'timetable', then?!"

He hates this. He hates the way you've just said "timetable" like you're accusing him of lying to you.

He doesn't care about the lying allegations, but he does care about how much audacity you seem to have, even though you know that he has a gun on him every time he kisses you.

It means that you know he's, for some odd reason, toned down around you. Not even remotely likely to hurt you.

And that's not good.

"I don't see any angry fake-authors knocking at your door right now, so yeah, yeah, it's according to my timetable. Stay. Get back in bed, alright?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I actually have to go now, so."

He knows you're bullshitting. He's seen you when you're actually late, and that pretty little fuckin' vein in your head is nowhere near popping.

This is the only way you can get back at him for talking to you like that, and you're taking the chance.

How dare you do exactly what he would do if he were you?

"Hey.", he calls, but you're still rechecking that all your bullshit's in your bag. So, naturally, he moves behind you, his hands on your shoulders pulling you back while swivelling you around to face him.

"Why, hello, there. Go deaf or summat?", he muses, holding onto your face with both thumbs at your jawline.

"What?"

"Tell you what. You get to pick my codename for this job. Alright?"

"What?"

"Yeah. You already got some ideas, then?"

"What's the catch?"

You've abandoned your task of shoving things into your bag, and he can't have you achieve the satisfaction of coaxing a smile out of him twice in a row, so he kisses the side of your cheek and your shoulders to hide it.

"No catch."

"There's always a catch with you."

"Like what?"

"You'll reject everything with some bollocks reason."

"Nah, I'll give you a fair chance. Shoot."

"Like Dave? Or James? Or Aaron, or summat? It's like, casual, unseeming. Jane Doe, but for blokes, whatever it is. "

"John Doe. Right. But what if there's some poor bloke with the same name and description?"

"I just think the odds are terribly small."

He nods against your hair. Alright, that was fair. "Maybe my brother's done some weird shite.", he remarks, suddenly.

"Why do you say that?"

Mainly because his brother has just texted him, the absolute prick.

"He hates codenames, so he's probably sending a ridiculous one to piss me the fuck off."

🍋

Fucking what?

Excuse me?

CN. 🍋

CN. Codename. His codename was fucking LEMON?!

"I can't bloody well be James or Aaron now.", he mumbles, rubbing his hand over his jaw as he glares at the phone. You hear him, somehow.

"Why not?"

"My brother's codename for this job is apparently Lemon."

"Lemon? Like, the—"

"Yeah, like the fruit."

You snort. "So, what, you have to match, now? Uh... Melon? That would be matchy-matchy, no? Lemon-Melon."

"You're lucky you're hot, or I'd have shot ya just for that.", he comments, moving hair from your shoulders. "Look at me."

"No." It's a tease, he can tell by looking into your mesmerizing, beady little eyes.

"Why not?"

"Told you, you need to shave."

"And do what? Go clean-shaven like a fuckin' prepubescent?"

"No, I think you should get rid of the beard, go with the moustache only."

He lets out a sharp laugh of incredulity. "Not a chance in hell." He already knows he's going to do it. He's not too proud to cater to the female gaze once in a while.

You shrug, and he gestures for you to sit back down on the bed.

"I still don't believe you, you know."

He huffs, groaning as he runs his hands across his face. "What the fuck do you want from me, love? I'm not givin' you any form of identification, which, if that is what you want, is fuckin' stupid, considering the amount of times I've been inside you!"

You stare back, indifferent.

You have a habit of doing this - you leave him all huffy and red and angry and you just look at him like you don't give a crap, and it's unnecessarily sexy.

"Come on, we cross paths once in a couple months. Your job, sorry to say, is much less urgent than mine, so ju—"

"I don't even think you're tellin' me the truth."

"What? About my job?", he spits, exasperated.

"What sort of CIA agent is this flexible with their routine and, like...", you mutter, gesturing around at the hotel room.

"The good sort. You don't believe me?", he questions, sucking on the back of his teeth to hide his amusement.

"Don't you get government benefits or summat? Shouldn't you have a house?"

He raises a brow, and his mouth quirks for a second before he bursts out laughing. See? He knew you'd catch him off guard and make him laugh some day. So much for that not being today. "Government benefits. You're a riot."

"You're also not supposed to tell anyone that you're a CIA agent."

"No?", he asks, tilting his head. "Oh, I'll have to kill you then, don't I?"

"Please do.", you mumble under your breath, still acting like you have better places to be. And, in all honesty, you might. The vein is this close to popping now, so he may have been wrong about your lack of things to do.

He raises both brows as you sit there.

"Are you really still fuckin' angry?"

"I just want to know your name, what am I gonna do? Write it into a story?"

"Knowing my name will prove I'm a CIA agent, then, will it? How does your mind work?", he hisses.

"Lose the suit."

"What?" Oh, you were playing his game, with the subject changes, and he didn't like how hot that was, either.

"The suit. It's trash. That shade of green is trash. Go with blue."

"Go with blue? I need to go with blue, now do I?", he sputters, shoving you further back onto the bed, his medallion chain dangling in front of your eyes as if he were about to hypnotise you with it. "You're a riot.", he says, his fingers digging into both your cheeks.

"You said that already."

"You're gonna miss me, that's what this is." He says it like an insult, and, in this odd dynamic between the two of you, it very much is. "You're losin' your cable-with-no-subscription."

"I'm just saying the green isn't classy, not even remotely."

The grip travels to your hair, and suddenly, you're eyelashes apart. "Yeah?"

"It's trash."

"Mm.", he nods, in mock consideration. "Right."

There's a moment of silence.

"You know, if I die on that bullet train, you'll regret being such a cunt today."

"I think if you die, you'll regret spending your last morning being a cunt to me."

"So we're both cunts?"

"Apparently."

"Oh, darling, we're made for each other, then, yeah?"

You roll your eyes, and he kisses you.

Like always.

..……......................................................................................................................

Seriously.

He may not have a heart, but he sure as fuck has a soul, and it really is superglued to you, it seems.

It's in the way he's pretty sure you're making the worst stylistic choices for him ever — an extremely expensive wristwatch on a mission where he'll get multiple peoples' blood on it, but he'll let you pick anyway.

It's in the way he's sure it's supremely dangerous to text you in between jobs but he'll do it anyway.

How's by you, then?

Fine. How's the train? Did you do the coin thing?

No, haven't had the chance.

Who's the target? Or whatever.

If I could tell you that, we wouldn't have had the conversation this morning, would we?

Are you on a break or summat? How are you texting me?

He grimaces, looking up at the man out of breath opposite him.

Break. Yeah.

Did you go with my codename?

Ladybird, he thinks his name was. Can't remember, doesn't need to. The only codename he needs to remember is the one you set for him.

"Move.", he grumbles, shoving his foot away.

"Lady love?", he retorts back, nodding his head at the phone.

"Summat like that. What's it to you, virgin?"

The Insect chuckles at that, and he grimaces. His laugh's not like yours, and it's kind of disgusting to him, now. Fuckin' wanker.

Yes, I did.

How do I know you're telling the truth? Do you and your brother have name-tags?

No. Turns out, he wanted me to be Lemon. Told you he doesn't like codenames, so that was his form of revenge.

No way!

This is so unnecessarily fun, he wants to kill himself. He's about to be murdered by some Russian underworld crime-lord for losing a briefcase of money and a bell-end of a son, but he's here, talking to this girl about why his codename had to be a citrus fruit variant for this particular job.

He was really fucking priority-less.

But he's not going to acknowledge how much he needed this conversation.

Instead, he glares up at Ladybug. Or was it Ladybird? Oh, right, he doesn't care.

"I didn't even say anything."

"Again, shut up, virgin.", he scoffs, eyes darting back down to his phone.

Told him he's Lemon and that's that. I'm Tangerine.

Did you say why?

Yeah, like you said. 'Cause it's sophisticated.

Good job.

There's some old guy here tryna fuck up our chances at getting our paycheque.

He sounds like a right fucking arsehole. Stealing jobs from younger people like that.

He hides a grin at that, nudging the man with his foot.

"For what it's worth, you seem like a right fuckin' arsehole, and I'm glad you're gonna fuckin' die with me.", he declares, shoving the phone into his pocket. He knows he doesn't need to say goodbye or anything. Not with you.

Especially not now. Not when he could actually die.

It's just bad form.

Buggering hell. He's dressed head to toe in you, essentially. The suit. The watch, fuck. The rings -though they were his initially - have you all over them. The fucking facial hair. And he's still on the fence about who you even are. To him, that is. Who you are as a person? He's researched every drop of information about you. And sadly, he knows there's heaps more that he hasn't found out yet.

"That's nice.", replies The Insect.

Fuck. This wanker has Lemon's phone. Lemon's whereabouts are unknown. And he's sitting here, catching his breath like he'd never taken a beating before, and thinking about you. Idiot.

But honestly. All Tangerine could do was wait around, really.

"What kind of a name is Tangerine?", asks the tosser named Ladybug.

"Back off, my girl came up with it."

My girl. That's new. Moving on.

"Your girl's your handler?"

"My brother and I don't have 'handlers', we're outside contractors. Why do you have a handler? Loser."

"You know, you have the insults of a twelve year old boy. 'Loser'. 'Virgin'."

"Fuck you, mate."

The Insect shakes his head, chuckling as he picks off some semi-dry blood. "So. Why 'Tangerine'?"

"It's sophisticated."

"In what world?"

"The one you're about to leave if you don't fuck off."

He groans and clenches his teeth in absolute fucking agony as he moves to sit more comfortably. Oh, if you were here, you'd both laugh at him and help him get fixed up, wouldn't ya?

"Just curious."

"Yeah?"

"Do they even know what Lemon looks like?"

Huh. The Insect seemed to have some sort of sixth sense that was unexpected of him. He's going to impersonate his brother, apparently.

They could both die for this. Especially with the fake fucking case, and The Insect's god-awful British accent.

Fucking hell.

He rolls his eyes and yanks the phone out of his pocket again, scrolling, scrolling, scroll— ah, there you are.

I told him he was an arsehole.

Yeah? What'd he say?

He said 'your girl can go fuck herself'.

And what did you say?

'I'll go fuck my girl myself.'

Bullshit.

He loves making up stories and telling them to you, because you believe them all and eat it up.

He knows that by "bullshit", you mean the thought of him ever calling you "his girl", and he honestly can't fault that. But you are. Always have been. He just wishes you'd know that, without him having to tell you.

You're constantly on his mind, why can't you fuckin' read it, too?

I do have to go, now.

"You have to go? Where?"

A voice message. God, is it fucking amazing to hear one familiar voice that doesn't want to bloody kill him, maim him or torture him for not taking care of their son or their briefcase!

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me, Tangerine."

And then, it happens. You coax a full-blown laugh out of him. "That's growin' on me, y'know? I'll bring back a whole box of 'em and force-feed it to you."

"Get your brother lemons, too, then."

His brother. Fuck. "If I find him."

"What do you mean?! Is he okay?"

"Listen, love, I'll call you later, alright? I've got to go sort out this Lemon situation."

"Alright, yeah."

"I'll send you a postcard."

He doesn't know why he just said that, seeing as his survival would be nothing short of a miracle, and he's giving you false hope on a catastrophic level.

God, he was a pathetic little cunt. Wearin' his girlfriend's pick of jewellery and clothing and accessories and even moustache? Of course, it made him look good, but still.

And now he's sitting here, worried that he's lied to you, inadvertently.

There's a fuckin' limit, yeah?

"Oi.", he calls, tired and reluctant, but this has to be done.

"What?"

Tangerine licks his lips as he leans against the rumbling wall of the train car, arms crossed, muscles flexed. He wipes off a spot of blood from his nose, sniffing before he speaks. "If shite goes downhill. "Hits the fan", as your people would say it.", he mumbles, unable to fucking believe that this is what he'd come to.

His fingers rub desperately at his temples.

You (or Ibuprofen) would do a peak job at that, actually. But neither are in sight.

"Mm?" The Insect's dusting off the proxy briefcase as he responds, glancing at him from over his shoulder. "You lightheaded?"

"No, I've got a fucking migraine thanks to that ten quid water bottle you threw at me, mate!", he snaps, clenching his fists so he doesn't sucker punch this proxy-Lemon again.

He clears his throat. "If shite goes wrong, uh, would you help me send a postcard, to my girl?"

The Insect guffaws for a moment, fixing up the case as he turns, before raising both brows in astonishment. "You're serious?"

"Why the fuck would I joke about my girl?"

He holds up his hands in surrender, the briefcase glinting slightly in the fluorescent train lights. "I didn't even think you actually had a girl."

"Well, I do , alright? And if I die, just tell my brother to send her a postcard, uh, with my name on it."

"Tangerine.", he comments.

"No, you absolute stupid git, my real n— Lemon'll know what to do."

"What if he dies, too?"

Tangerine's eyebrows furrow, and his lips purse. "You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't ya? Fine, if he dies, too - he better fucking not have - you get my phone. Find my girl's address, send her a postcard with my real name."

"What's your real name?"

"Oh, fuck off, it's all in my phone. 'M not tellin' you now, and then if somehow we both survive, there's someone out there who knows my real fucking name, how much of a muppet d'you think I am?"

"Alright, alright. Done. What if I don't surv—"

"You better fucking survive!"

The train door jolts open right then, and honestly? The Insect's so lucky that happened.

"If your British accent's a stereotype, I will throw you under the train.", he growls under his breath as they both step off to 'prove' that the case is still with them.

He'll get a postcard to you, dead or alive.

At the very least, you'll get a story out of it and you can write some books on your own.

Ha. Ghost-writing.

God, you'd have loved that joke.

Ugh, fuck his luck to hell.

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Breaking the Formula - Han Jisung

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: scientist! Han Jisung x fem! reader

summary: Dr. Han Jisung takes his experiments very seriously. He's close to understanding the science behind human pheromones until one of the beakers breaks all over him and he soon finds himself consumed with an insatiable need...

warnings: pheromones! primal behavior, rough sex, breeding, toxic male

a/n: this is different from the usual stuff I write but now y'all get a glimpse into what a sci-fi nerd boy I am ^.^ I hope you enjoy!!

Dr. Jisung pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He was exhausted. His entire body ached. He pushed his glasses up into his hair and sighed deeply.

“What am I missing?” He groaned into the palms of his hands.

He glanced over the papers scattered across his desk. His lips moved as he whispered the different formulas aloud. His finger trailed across each line of data.

Simultaneously, his phone lit up and showed your name. He squinted at the screen and positioned his glasses back onto his nose. You asked if you had left your notes in his lab. He sighed heavily and stood up to have a look around.

You had been assisting him in this pheromone experiment for months now. And while he would never admit it, you were a pretty decent assistant. He was never good at interacting with people, especially with people as physically attractive as you were, but conversing with you came easily to him. He genuinely enjoyed your company. You had invited him out for drinks one evening a few weeks ago. He remembered the night clearly in his mind. You had asked so casually. He knew he couldn't do it. Couldn't speak to you in a familial way. So he declined.

Dr. Jisung continued to search his lab until he finally came across your notebook, laying there next to his most recent test subject. An unassuming plant. The Orchidaceae. Or a common orchid plant. This plant was the perfect test subject for what he wanted to accomplish. The orchid had an uncanny ability, their flowers resemble female wasps, and they emit a potent chemical that mimics the sex pheromone of the female wasp. This draws in the male wasp and makes it almost powerless to the desire to procreate.

He wanted to test this pheromone’s power and ability on other creatures and see how the brain neurons respond. But so far, the pheromone hasn't worked on anything besides other plants. Dr. Jisung grabbed your notebook and made his way back to his phone to tell you the discovered news. But something caught his eye. A number in the formula he had designed. But the number was misplaced, or miswritten… he stared at the formula for a long while.

“It couldn't be…could it?” His mind felt like it was being supercharged.

He quickly ran over to the concentrated liquids that he had isolated earlier from the orchid. He followed the formula exactly like before but with one differential factor. And all of a sudden, the normal blue solution he had come to expect was suddenly purple now. His eyes widened as he stared long and hard at the beaker in his hand.

“...is this it?” He mumbled softly, almost entranced with the liquid inside. He couldn't take his eyes off of it…

Bzz! Bzzt!

His cellphone. The vibrator broke his concentration and in turn broke the beaker he was holding. He cursed as the beaker broke onto the table, causing the liquid inside to pour out into his lap. The thick, purple ooze dripped over the edge of the table and onto his stomach and groin area.

“Shit!” Dr. Jisung shouted. He was so busy mourning the loss of his possible discovery, he didn't think about the effect this purple ooze was having on his body, not until it was already too late.

Dr. Jisung stood up from his desk and attempted to wipe the liquid from his lap. He looked down and the floor began to twist and turn a bit beneath his feet. He blinked a few times to attempt to regain his composure. He glanced down at his lap to see the purple solution completely absorbed into his clothes, not a trace to be seen.

His head suddenly began to pound and pulsate at an alarming rate, causing him to yell out in pain. A strange heat was pooling in the core of his stomach. He felt extremely… euphoric. Even though he was dizzy and wobbling while he walked, Dr. Jisung knew he had done it. Well, he knew you had done it and he had to call you and tell you the good news. He clumsily dialed your number and waited for you to answer.

“Hello…?”

“W-we did it! You have…have to get here…now. Test. Brain…” Dr. Jisung tried with all his might to communicate what he needed to say. Thankfully you understood, or somewhat understood, and told him you'd be there as soon as you could.

Dr. Jisung sighed in relief. He held himself steady against his desk, waiting for you to arrive.

However, when you did arrive, an intoxicating aroma traveled with you. You opened the door to the lab swiftly and stood there for a moment. Dr. Jisung's eyes hastily glued to your body as you entered the room. His brain, still somewhat in charge, pleaded with him to stay in control. Pleaded and begged not to let these urges get the best of him.

But that voice was speaking softer and softer the closer you got to him. So close now that he could practically feel the heat coming off of your body now.

“Stay…stay back…” he moaned as you continued to step closer. His moral fiber was clearly breaking and fraying with each new step you took towards him.

You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the pained look on Dr. Jisung's face.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Dr. Jisung backed away from you slowly, even though all he wanted to do was throw you onto his desk and taste you. God, how he wanted to taste you. He always imagined you tasted sweet, with just a hint of salt. He could smell your shampoo when you two would work together. He would close his eyes and take a deep breath and hold you there in his lungs.

You watched as Dr. Jisung backed away from you. You looked his body up and down to try to assess if he was hurt or not. Your eyes roamed over his waist and the growing appendage that was laying underneath. Dr. Jisung followed your eyesight and quickly saw what you were looking at. His face immediately turned a dark shade of red from embarrassment and arousal.

“I think you figured it out…the formula.” Dr. Jisung spoke in a husky, low tone.

The sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine. You slowly started to step towards him again. Not only were the pheromones working on him, but they were starting to do something to you as well. You continued your movement towards him, slowly but surely.

Dr. Jisung tensed for a moment, worried you didn't quite understand what was happening to him, until you started to get closer. He could see the fire burning in your eyes that reflected his own. You looked so goddamn incredible. And that small shred of moral fiber he had left had finally broken apart the moment your hand reached out to touch his.

You leaned in first, pressing your lips softly against his. He lets out a soft gasp, his lips tingling at the slight touch of your own against them. He's impatient though, so he can't help but lean his head forward, trying to kiss you deeper, trying to feel more of your lips against his. He just wants to feel you however he can, and as much as he can.

He grabs your waist and easily picks you up on top of his desk. He presses his body into yours aggressively as he begins to climb on top of you. Never breaking the kiss, you buck your hips into his as he completely envelops you with his body. He whines into your mouth, his mind completely fuzzy with pleasure. He just wants as much of you as he can get, wants to feel the heat of your skin, the weight of his body as he continues to press into you.

Jisung grips your thigh and pulls it up around his waist, his other hand already undoing his belt as his eyes stay fixated on you. All he can think about is mating. Mating. Mating. Mating. He needs it. He needs to make you his. His eyes are dark and primal as he finally, slowly, slides his cock out of his pants and lines it up with your entrance. The rips your panties away as if they were tissue paper, a primal growl escaping his lips as he does.

He holds the base of his cock and slowly slides it inside of your wet hole. The instinctually whimpers that pour from his lips are almost animalistic as he hastily begins pumping his hips into you.

You gasp sharply at the initial speed, gripping the edge of the desk for stability. Jisung grabs your shirt and uses it to pull himself further and deeper inside of you. His mind completely consumed with thoughts of filling your womb until his seed pools out of you onto the desk.

Grunts and groans are the only thing that comes from his mouth as he concentrates on fulfilling his need as the fertile male. You continue to moan and writhe on ecstasy beneath him, your mind and body overwhelmed with the pheromones you both share now.

Jisung's pumping rhythm hits a climactic high and ultimately ends with an explosive finish. He holds you by your waist until he has pushed everything out of him and into you. His body, now empty, feels weak and pliant. He falls down onto the desk next to you, the two of you still trying to catch your breath. He turns his head toward you and you do the same, the two of you look at each other for a long while until Jisung finally speaks.

“Go again?”

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcorecan @skz-smut-reader

[ducksido]

I keep asking things but i love your writings so..

How would the boys react to a reader/yuu who got exposed to magic that much (much like radiation) so they can do magic, they just don't realize, or just don't care enough.

Like, thanks to the overblots they got exposed to raw magic so they have a minor, kinda unusefull, ability (or a UM); like how Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle can make objects do something by asking them to do it

(a Yuu who’s been marinating in overblot juice, i only did the first 3 dorms)

Riddle: Absolutely cannot cope. “This is irresponsible.” He thinks it’s blot poisoning. You’re behaving like a wild fae creature! You can’t just ask a teacup to stay warm and it obeys you! That’s rule-breaking! He desperately wants you to submit to magical testing. He’s convinced you’ll combust. When you assure him, “I only do it when it feels right,” he panics more.

Trey: He doesn’t really get it, but he believes you. When you ask the oven “please don’t burn the crust” and it doesn’t, he gives you this blank stare and says, “...Did it work because you said it… or because you meant it?” He starts speaking to his kitchen tools just to test it. “Yuu’s magic is like kitchen luck,” he mutters. He never burns pie after you compliment his apron.

Cater: “Okay, sooo… we’re not gonna talk about the fact that your bag literally zipped itself when you said thank you?” He’s obsessed. Posts cryptic Magicam pics like “Yuu’s magic is ✨aesthetic✨”. Tries to trick you into doing cool things on camera. When you refuse, he pouts. He also worries. Quietly asks if it hurts when you use your “gift.” It doesn’t. He’s relieved—but still watches you closely.

Ace: “THAT’S MAGIC! YOU’RE DOING MAGIC!” You insist you’re not. He’s shouting. He’s flustered because he’s working so hard in class and here you are getting vending machines to spit out free snacks. At some point he starts trying to mimic you. He whispers sweet nothings to his textbooks. He begs the dorm fridge to make his milk cold. It never works. He’s miserable. “Stupid ghost magic…”

Deuce: Completely convinced you’re some kind of ancient spirit in disguise. He becomes so respectful. Like, he calls you “Yuu-senpai” even when you’re the same age. He asks you to bless his pen before exams. You say, “Pen, do your best,” and hand it over. He’s nearly in tears. He’s also the most worried you’re going to get hurt. Keeps telling Crowley to investigate it properly. Nobody listens.

Leona: At first, he scoffs. “Tch. That’s not real magic. That’s just you sweet-talking junk.” But the third time he sees a broken piece of chalk start writing because you said, “Can you help me with this, please?”, he stops mocking you. Quietly, he starts observing. Deep down, it unsettles him—a powerless human who got infected with blot and now reality bends when you whisper to it. There’s something ancient about it. He’ll never admit it, but he once tried whispering to his pen. Nothing happened. He was furious. “...I ain’t jealous. Just sayin’ it’s weird, that’s all.”

Ruggie: “HUH?? Wait, wait, wait—you told a mop to clean and it did??” He’s both amazed and mildly horrified. You’ve got this uncanny ability and don’t care?! He thinks you’re lowkey a cryptid. He’d love to exploit it (in the name of efficiency), but the magic is temperamental. You told the vending machine, “I wish I had a soda,” and it spit one out. But when he tried it? It jammed. “Yuu... are you cursed or blessed? I can’t tell.”

Jack: Jack is stunned. A bit spooked. “You can’t just… ask the broom to sweep and it does it.” You say, “Well, it’s nice to the broom. It deserves help.” He’s silently terrified you’re going to overheat and overblot from it. He tries to subtly monitor your blot levels. It doesn’t rise. You’re just... like that. You make him nervous in the way people fear forest spirits—kind of awed, kind of reverent, kind of unnerved.

Azul: “...You’re not casting spells?” He doesn’t understand how you’re doing this. Is it residual blot? Contract-based? Unlicensed magic? He’s both interested in profiting off this and deeply nervous about it. He tries to ask you to teach him. You say “I don’t know how, I just ask nicely.” It both infuriates and fascinates him. Eventually he adds a clause in your Lounge employee contract: “If an object obeys your voice, you must log the incident.” You doodle smiley faces in the logbook and leave out important details. He’s having a stress-induced existential crisis.

Jade: He treats you like a spirit of the forest. He’s delighted. “You must have absorbed wild magic, Yuu. A kind of natural resonance. Fascinating.” He doesn’t try to study you directly—he studies your environment, your emotions, your words. He quietly logs the way you speak to objects. When you say “please,” he smiles to himself. He catches a knife once before it falls and asks, “Did you tell this not to hit the ground?” You blink. “Yeah.” “Charming.”

Floyd: Thinks it’s hilarious. “You said ‘go away’ to a squeaky door and it shut by itself! You're like a talking remote control.” He loves testing your limits. He’ll shout, “Yuu! Tell the vending machine to give me ten candy bars!!” When nothing happens, he whines, “You’re broken today.” But if you whisper to his hood to stay up during the rain, and it does, he just grins. “Creepy little shrimp~ I like it.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One and Only

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You meet your biggest fan.

Based on response: She’s famous & he’s a stalker fan? 1940s au?

Characters: Bucky Barnes

This is #1 of the Valentines Roulette stories

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I’m sending the script this afternoon, honey,” Gerald promises through the speaker. You hold the receive to your ear and suppress a sigh. It’s a blessing that he can’t see your expression. ‘Honey.’  

“Sure thing, Ger,” you reply as you try to peer through the foggy glass pane. What a miserable February. 

“Screen tests start Monday,” he intones, as if you’ve not done this before. What number is this? You signed a contract for ten pictures, this is number seven of the lot. You cannot wait to shop around for a new studio. 

“Yes, Ger,” you answer dully. “See ya then.” 

“Three o’clock. There about,” he girds. 

“I’ll be around. Monday, then, Ger.” 

“Monday, honey.” 

You hang up. You arch your brow as your lips move with the retort you’re under terms and conditions not to say. ‘If you want honey, Gerald, go find a hive.’ You sigh to your content and adjust your rob beneath the satin belt cinched around your waist. 

There’s a knock at the door. You look at the clock in its ivory frame. It must be the mailman. You answer and accept his bundle. Some from those who watch your pictures and a letter from your sister. You shuffle through them and leave them scattered over the kitchen table. 

You pace. You’d hoped to have that script early. You might not be very happy with the films they’ve put you on but learning lines at least keeps your mind busy.  

As you sweep through the entryway, your satin robe catches the air and sends a breeze around the space. There’s a scuff along the hardwood that snags on the tassled corner of the rug. You must’ve dropped it when you took the handful from the mailman. 

You bend to pluck up the scrap of paper, folded in a tight square. When you untuck the corner, it forms a sort of accordion. You carefully unfold it, careful not to tear it. You reveal its sparse contents. 

The crosshatch of an inky nib has formed an image. One you vaguely recognise as yourself. The war feels like ages ago though it only just ended. It’s back to business as usual. No more tours through Europe, no more riding in cargo bays with the prettied up dances. Everything is all so dull these days. 

In the hastily scratched portrait, your hair is painfully twisted into victory rolls and the military cap pinned at just the right angle. You remember the soldiers, the worn gray palour and dark circles, the tatters in their uniforms as the complained for drawing lines up their legs to mimic the nylon these men needed to jump out of planes. 

You examine the torn edge and a few blots of ink and some other dark hue. There’s a scrawl in the corner. Loopy writing; ‘Happy Valentines. Only you on my mind. JBB’. Those messages are not unexpected. You are thankful for your admirers if not at time, perturbed by their assumptions of familiarity. Yet, you’ve chose the studio lights and camera lenses. It comes with the territory. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It’s three o’clock. Bucky’s watch is set, tightly strapped to his right wrist. Out of habit, he looks to the left and finds nothing. His shoulder is itchy where his muscles should tug but there’s nothing there. Just a pinned sleeve and frustration. 

He clears his throat and keeps the thick bound folder under his arm. The boy gave him no trouble, asked no questions. I’m the porter, kid, I’ll see it to her. No need to go bothering the lady. 

He marches down the winding stone walk. His car is near the sprawl of pine. He misses his motorcycle but he can’t figure how to steer it with one hand. Even the steering wheel gives him a bit of trouble. 

He presses his arm tighter to the script as he approaches the stoop. There’s a round stone platform before the door that forms steps up to the entrance. Moulds of ancient Greek statues stand in small alcoves beneath the lights on either side of the door frame.  

He stops before the door and bends his head as he tries to fix his hair. He shaved for this. It’s been a while. He spent long with the scissors, clipping through the shanks than he did with the razor. That’s another thing that’s harder. He struggled to get just the right angle around the left side of his jaw. There’s a nick there. 

He straightens up and stares at the arched door. He needs to knock. He has to step close and batters his knuckles on the wood. He backs up and looks down. He hasn’t worn a suit since he came home. They made him do it as they shouted ‘victory’ in the streets. 

He waits. No answer. He looks around. She has a bell. He shifts around then uses his nose to press it. Damn arm. 

He fixes his posture and smiles, then quickly wipes it away. You don’t want to look strange. No, not like some of the men they took off the lines. They got that glassy look. Some of them couldn’t do anything but laugh or cry. 

Her shadow darkens under the door before she opens it. She’s surprised by him. She bats her long lashes. They are naked, like the rest of her face. He’s just as stunned to see her in her natural form. No cosmetics, all her. She’s even more gorgeous. 

“Oh, I was expecting Stuart,” she greets him. “Pardon,” she tries to fix her hair. She wears a satin robe and slippers with feathers. “You have it?” 

She gestures to the script. He looks down at it and slides it down to his hands. He examines the cover. 

“Uh, yes, ma’am, miss,” he forgets everything he meant to say. All those lines he rehearsed in the dark theatre. The script he wrote when he lay restless in his bed. 

“Thank you, sir,” she reaches for it. He hesitates to hand it over. 

“I saw you. In the Hague,” he says as she latches onto the spine. He doesn’t let go. 

She looks at him. She has a serene look on her face, even as her eyes wander down to his pinned sleeve. She almost seems to brighten. 

“With the company?” She asks. “You saw me on stage?” 

“You’re real funny, miss,” he bounces on his heels. “Charming.” 

“Well, it’s the least I could do for your men. You gave so much,” she keeps a hold of the script. 

He looks at his left shoulder then at her. 

“Some things were taken,” he grumbles. 

She blanches, “pardon me, sir, I didn’t mean--” 

“I just wanted to say,” he overrides her apology. She doesn’t need to be sorry. “When I was in the medic’s tent, all those weeks, it was you. You got me through. I saw ya in the magazines. They were old, you know? Don’t get them hot off the press in the field.” 

“Sure,” she utters, he feels the tension in the folder as she tries to wiggle it away. “What’s your name, sir?” 

“James,” he answers. “James Buchanan Barnes.” 

She smiles, “that’s a lovely name. I do appreciate you coming to give me this. And for everything else.” 

He lets go of the folder. He expected more. She might invite him in for a drink. He did lose a fucking arm so the ladies could keep their precious slippers and robes. And he came all the way down her to give her that lump of papers. 

“You have a good day, sir,” she slowly inches the door forward. 

Where are her goddamn manners? 

He slaps his hand against the door and she squeaks in fright. He keeps her from closing it in his face. He cleaned himself up nice for her, he sent her a letter. He’s sent her at least a hundred. He signed them all JBB. She knows him. 

So why is she trying to shut him out? 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stumble back as the man shoves the door out of your grasp. You gasp and the grip the script with both hands, like a shield. He steps inside calmly. 

“James,” you say his name, “what are you doing?” 

“The least you can do is ask me in, doll,” he snarls. The sudden shift in his demeanour fills you with dread. 

“No, James, I did not. You need to leave--” 

He swings the door shut and marches toward you. You raise the script and bring it forward, aiming it at him in a desperate attempt to fend him off. He knocks it away easily. He's strong. Still a soldier even in street clothes. 

“James,” you hold your palms up helplessly, “please, forgive me if I’ve--” 

“Shhhh,” he reaches between your hands and grabs you by the jaw. “I just... I want to... did you get my letters?” 

“Letters?” You gulp, writhing in his hold as you gently touch his forearm. “Well, James, I get many letters--” 

“I write to you every day,” he hisses. “It’s me. JBB.” 

“James,” you murmur. 

“Stop saying my name,” he sneers. 

You shut your mouth, your lip poking out as it trembles. You stare at him, petting his sleeve, hoping you can calm him. The war changed a lot of men. It stole a lot of them too. 

“I just... I love you, doll. You got me through. You kept me breathing,” he growls as he walks her backward. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.” 

You whimper, “why don’t you let me go and I’ll pour you a drink?” 

He stops and his brows pinch together. He looks to his left, where your liquor cabinet stands in the dining room. Where your phone is... 

“No,” his eyes flick back to you. “No, I don’t drink.” 

He pushes you until your heels meet the bottom stair. Your right slipper falls off and he tips you over the incline. You fall beneath him as he follows you down. You push on his chest and wriggle. 

He straddles you beneath him as he looks you up and down. His knees are on the step by your hips, his heels two down. You brace the sharp edge and whine. 

“James...” 

He hushes you as his thumb rubs beneath your cheekbone. He stares at your body, his chest rising and falling heavily. You push yourself down into the stairs. 

“Open your robe,” he demands. 

Your lip quivers violently as you bat back tears. You do as he says. You unknot the belt and slowly draw it open. You tug the satin apart and reveal your silky nightgown. The fabric cling to you like water. 

He shudders as his jaw squares. He bites his lip and shifts over you. He leans in slowly and your eyes meet as he gets closer. They are blue and deep like the ocean. You shiver as his nose touches yours. 

He exhales and brushes his lips against yours. 

“Show me the bedroom,” he growls.  

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He lets her up cautiously. She steadies her feet and turns up the staircase. She limps up, click, clap, click, clap. He bends to pick up her slipper and follows. 

As she reaches the top, he stops her with her name. She pauses. He gets down and she doesn’t react until he shows her slipper. She puts her foot through. He stands and points her onward. 

He couldn’t climb to see through the bedroom window. He only ever saw the first floor. She hugs herself as her robe flutters around her figure. She opens the door at the end of the hall. She steps back to let him through and he tuts. 

He makes her go in first. She enters and sweeps around, far from him. He elbows the door shut. She cowers by the wall as he strides around.  

There’s a phone beside the bed. He grabs it and yanks it free of the cord. Her slippers suddenly click in a flurry. He drops the phone and catches her at the door. He crushes her against it so it snaps back into the frame. 

“Doll, don’t be doin’ all that,” he warns as he pinches her neck and urges her away from the door. She whimpers and he turns her to face the bed, “robe off.” 

He lets her go. She pulls away and drags his hands down her neck. She shyly pushes the robe from her shoulders and peels it off her body. The silk nightgown swathes her perfectly. Her shape is so full and soft. 

She drapes the robe over the bedpost and shies away. He clucks and snaps his fingers. 

“Doll,” he looks down at himself. He has the whole getup. Jacket, vest, tie, shirt. All for her. “Need your help.” 

She faces him. Her eyes glimmer like gems. She watches his hand smooth down his jacket and he unbuttons it. 

She nears him. She smells like vanilla. She brings her hands up. They shake. She must be excited. How could she not be? Finally, they’re together. 

He grabs his lapels and guides the jacket back. She’s tender with the folded sleeve and tickles his hemmed shirt beneath. She carries the jacket to the seat by her vanity and returns to him. He can see her pulse in her throat, it’s going just as fast as his. 

She unbuttons his vest and slips it off him. Her touch is soothing. Then she undoes his tie, her fingers brushing his throat. She unveils him, piece by piece, as his stomach clenches and unclenches. 

She stalls as she gets to his trousers. Her fingers twiddle just before the button. 

“It’s your first time,” he drawls. “Dont’ gotta be shy, doll.” 

She looks at him and swallows. She nods stiffly then puts her eyes down. The unplucks the front of his pants. He can make it nice for her. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

First time... 

Nope. You won’t say you haven’t made mistakes. Still, you won’t chance angering this man. Not more than you already have. You can keep up the act if it pays off. Not in money this time, no, your life. 

You stand back as he’s naked before you. Your wipe your damp palms on your nightie. He hangs his head. You can’t help but stare at his scars. The tortured flesh around his shoulder that extends onto his chest. Looks like a burn. 

His eyes startle you. You meet them. He steps closer. 

“Your turn,” he growls. 

You look down and reach for the thin lace straps of the night gown. You slide them down and shimmy the silken sheath down your figure. Your chest peeks over and he inhales audibly. As you push the fabric past your hips, he groans. 

Your eyes wander up for an instant. He's hard, bobbing shamelessly as he nears. All at once, he herding you back against the bed. You fall over the foot and bounce on the mattress. 

He crushes you. He kisses your lips then your cheek, smearing saliva across your face with his frantic hunger. You close your eyes and go rigid as you let him do what he pleases. 

His voice escapes him like silt. He nuzzles and nips along your throat. He shifts onto his side and feels up and down your torso. He fondles your tits and his mouth trails his touch. He seals his lips around your nipple, swirling his tongue around and around. 

He hooks his leg around yours. He pulls your thighs apart and his hand traces down your stomach and pelvis. He slips his middle finger between your lips and strums at your clit. You tense and twitch as your nerves stir. 

Your breath hitches as he rubs firmly. You turn your head and bite your knuckle as a moan escapes you. You arch your back as the sparks turn to a flame. You shake through your orgasm as he drags you through it. 

He pushes another finger between your folds. He rubs up and down, smearing your juices around as he hum. He lifts his head and nuzzles your cheek. 

“Kiss me, doll.” 

You pull your hand away and press your lips to his. His tongue delves into your mouth as his fingers slide into your cunt. He growls and smothers you as he rocks your pelvis. The heel of his hand rests against your clit and your toes curl as you writhe. You bend your legs as he lights another fire in you. 

He tilts his hips, rubbing his cock on your leg as he humps you in time with his fingers. Your walls squeeze and tremour and your climax again. You whine into his mouth and he drinks it in. 

He drags his fingers free and wipes your pleasure on your thighs. He parts from your mouth and heaves himself onto his knees. He kneels between your legs and traces the curves of your body with his hand. 

“Doll, please, you put me in,” he orders. “Be careful, don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You reach down without hesitation. You want this over with. You just hope he leaves after. 

You grab his cock and angle it down against your cunt. You flinch as his tip brushes your clit and you push him further back. You line him up with your entrance and he shakes. He grunts as he tenses and inches into you. 

He grits his teeth and exhales through his nose as he impales you. You constrict around him. He’s big enough to make your walls ache. He leans over you, planting his hand next to your head, and thrusts until he’s buried to his limit. 

You slap your palm against his chest and puff out through your locked jaw. You quake around him as he pulls back. His eyes fall to the crux of your bodies as he watches himself push into you again. You dig your nails into his skin. 

He snarls and bends his arm, holding himself on his elbow. He covers your mouth with his once more and rolls his hips. You whine and nearly gag around his tongue. He pumps again and again. You press against his sides as you squeeze him between your thighs. 

The bed shakes as his rhythm picks up. You push on his stomach and thigh, begging him silently to be nicer. He doesn’t heed your pleas. You give in to the ravaging of your body as he ruts wildly. You hook your hand around his bicep and clamp down to keep from biting his tongue. 

Just a bit more and it will end. Almost there. Almost free... right? 

[ofstarsandvibranium]

I saw a blurb recently that turned my brain to mush and I think a lot of the people you write for would be perfect. The idea was the reader getting gas when usually it’s the partners job and they’re like “??? What are you doing that’s my job I take care of you??? Imagine Roy Kent or Bucky they’d just be flabbergasted

ooouuuu ok ok. i think i'm gonna write for Roy bc i can just imagine how confused and annoyed he'd be.

_____________________________

Roy was driving, but it was your car that he was using. Despite it being your car, Roy insisted that he'd drive you everywhere since, as he's explained it, "I'm your boyfriend. I'm supposed to drive you everywhere."

Although you never expected that of him. In the beginnings of your relationship, you had to get used to Roy opening your door, carrying your things, letting you enter first, things like it. You thought it was ridiculous at first, however, you grew to love it. Especially since you were used to doing everything and never really had someone in your life be willing to do these little mundane things for you.

Now years into your relationship with Roy, you were used to him doing everything for you. Did his mates say he was whipped for you? Yes, but he didn't fucking hair a bit. He loves you so he'd do anything and everything for you.

This time around, you'd test to see if Roy would get upset if you tried to do things for yourself again.

It started off small like opening the door for yourself or insisting that you could carry your own bag.

You'd see how confused Roy would get, his bushy brows furrowing as he'd try to figure out why the sudden change in your behavior. But he stayed silent on the matter. Until now.

He rolls up to the petrol station and before he can even unbuckle himself, you quickly release yourself, hopping out of the car. Wallet in hand, you're ready to pump the gas into your car until Roy rushes out.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" he asks gruffly.

You look at him confused, "I'm gonna fill up my car?"

"Get the fuck inside. That's not your job."

You chuckle, "Roy, it's my car."

"Yeah, but I'm driving it, so I pay for it."

"You don't have to."

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, the leather jacket he likes to wear, tightening around his arms, "I'm your boyfriend. I'm supposed to take care of you."

You mimic his pose, "I can take care of myself."

"I know...but you don't have to."

You can't help but drop the act and wrap your arms around Roy, "Fuck you and your heart of gold, Roy Kent."

"The fuck? What the fuck is up with you?"

You pull back a bit to look at him, "Nothing. I was just testing you."

"Testing me? Fucking hell..." he asks with a cock of his brow, "Did I pass?"

"With flying colors, babes," you lean in and peck his lips, "Now fill up my car."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "Right. Of course."

[eddiehaley]

I want to talk about one of the most incredible art books that Disney (though somehow not published by Disney themselves) has ever put out: The Art of the Hunchback of Notre Dame in 1996.

I wanna preface this by saying that my 14 year old obsessed self found a copy on EBay in 2005 (me realising right now that was 20 years ago????) and the only person in my household with an EBay account was my grandma, so I saved up all my pocket money transferred it to her and we got it for I feel like 60 dollars or so from an American seller all the way to here in Australia. It’s since traveled with me to three different cities, across the world to France (ironic) and then all the way back to Australia. Is this information relevant? No, but when I pulled it out to snap these very quick photos on my phone it gave me a sense of holy shit 20 years can fly by so quick. Anyway!!

Photos and info below the cut so I don’t destroy your dashes!

This book is BEAUTIFUL. Whoever did the layouts so perfectly matched it to the 90s does medieval vibe of the movie. That purple? The gold pages?? I’m back in 1996 with my Esmeralda barbie on Christmas Day.

The interior title page has a blown up frame from the movie and I’ll tell you what, I would’ve never have thought of putting a pink outline to mimic the glow of the afternoon sun on those birds. 20 years and I’m still inspired by the artists/animators on this film!

There is SO much concept art in here, as well as rough animation test frames, colour keying, etc. I’m especially enamoured by this concept art of Frollo on the right, in a very Rasputin inspired vibe. Let’s be honest - he’s way more frightening as an average looking white French man wielding the power God to hide his sexual fantasies.

I wish I knew more about the artists that were working at Disney at the time; a lot of us who grew up on the Disney renaissance and became artists are familiar with the big animators, but these concept artists have fallen by the wayside and I hate that. Look how much detail and movement there is in these two sketches!!

I’m fairly certain by 96 most Disney animations weren’t cell shaded anymore. But I’m loving how rough these finished lines are? Really gives a lot of character to something that could’ve looked too polished and clinical with colour done digitally.

Any of these concepts were infinitely better than the Phoebus we got in the movie.

Full disclosure: Frollo is absolutely my favourite character in the movie. Disney writing a complex villain that deviates in the best way possible from his source material? Iconic. I had to have a quick look through my harddrive to see if I had any of my old art of him hanging around, and alas I do not. Which just means I'll have to draw him now (for the first time in nearly 20 years lol).

Speaking of Frollo; I love the way the author has written the plot here, because honestly I did not think of the movie like that at ALL and yet it's so right??

Also love that they included a gate fold in the book JUST for the storyboards for Hellfire. Look at this!!

Kathy Zielinski the woman that you are. She also animated Tzekel-Kan in the Road to El Dorado which absolutely tracks.

Good Lord these drawings.

I'm closing out with these two images because 1) Tumblr won't let me put any more and 2), looking back through this art book for the first time in probably a decade, after having played some iconic medieval-styled games like The Witcher 3, Kingdom Come, Dragon Age, Avowed etc etc - it's made me realise how much the art style of this movie has influenced a lot of other pieces of work within this genre. Sure, it's easy to see where the historical references fit in and come from - but the 90s had such a medieval revival that had a very specific flavour that I feel can be traced back to the production of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Especially in the way the concept artists defined their use of colour, which is a big point in the book in relation to Victor Hugo's metaphorical colour/light play in the original novel.

Or maybe I'm just sitting here going, wow no wonder you like medieval stuff you unhinged idiot. Anyway! Cue me reverently placing this book back onto my shelf until the next time I need to be inspired.

[ailithnight]

Howdy y'all. Have a snippet that is completely unconnected to anything else I am writing or will write. Feel free to do with it whatever you please.

But first, important warning! TW: Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault of a Minor

Seriously, this actually might be a brand new kind of fucked up even for the Danny Phantom fandom.

"Oh. I don't think you need to worry about, uh… that stuff."

"Oh? Why not?"

"It's just. Um. Y'know. The, the scientist were always fascinated by, um, by my 'mimicry of bodily functions,' right? They wanted to test how far the, 'the mimicry' extended. If I'd 'mimic' things like, digestion and immune response and, and um, excitement."

"Excitement." Flat. Not really a question, but a question all the same.

"Yeah. You know…" Danny makes a couple hand gestures. Wiggles his pointer a couple times; then holding his hand in a loose fist and giving a couple jerky, twisting pulling motions. Kind of like… Oh. Oh god. He's just 15. It's such a painfully 15 thing to do, dancing around the topic like this. All awkward and nervous.

But also, god, he's so painfully 15. Jason is suddenly wishing he'd made a lot more bullet holes when they took those fuckers down. He would have if he'd known just how far their depravity sank. If he'd known they had-

"They sexually assaulted you?" Dick's voice is high and strained. Jason winces. Everyone knows, Dick hasn't told them, but they've all seen the signs, they know he has some personal traumas there.

Danny full body flinches, recoiling as if Dick had just slapped him.

"What? No! It wasn't. They didn't. It's not like they were, like, getting off to it or anything. They were just. Testing reactions. To, like, stimuli and stuff. Same as when they'd test how my body responded to different temperatures or lack of oxygen or various drugs. It wasn't. It was just an experiment." Danny looks down, fidgeting his hands in his lap and refusing to look up. It's practically textbook denial. Dick is probably fighting flashbacks right now. Jason would try to help him if he wasn't trapped somewhere between horror and rage.

After a long moment of silence and fidgeting, Danny sighs. Still refusing to look at anyone, he leans back and studies the cieling instead. "Anyway. It was just another expiriment, but it still kind of killed any interest in… that stuff." Young. Young. So painfully young. "So I don't think I really need the whole… y'know… talk."

[crappydrstoner]

Senku in Africa writing home

Subject: Specimen Observation: Bactrododema tiaratum Attachment: stickbug_photo1.jpg

Yo.

Caught this guy clinging to the mesh above our field station sink at 03:47 this morning. Almost mistook it for a twig someone used to prop the window open until it blinked at me. Classic.

Observed Specimen:

Species: Bactrododema tiaratum (local ID confirmed with regional biodiversity database)

Estimated Length: ~18.2 cm

Behavior: Motionless for approx. 14 minutes before minor locomotion triggered by ambient vibration. Defensive drop reflex observed and recorded. No chemical discharge during encounter, though posterior gland ridges suggest capability.

Location: Western Uganda, edge of Kibale ecosystem, elevation ~1100m

Notes:

This stick bug’s mimicry is textbook perfection. The thorax segmentation, leg angle articulation, and even the sway mimic branch behavior under wind stress (which was nonexistent at the time). Evolutionary pressure clearly produced peak efficiency here. You could walk past a dozen and never notice unless your pattern recognition’s tuned to ridiculous levels (like mine, obviously).

Also—its eggs mimic plant seeds. Which means they’ve hacked ant behavior to move their offspring underground. Science is ten billion percent amazing.

Anyway, I’ve attached a photo. If I wasn’t surrounded by mosquito-bitten chaos and broken lab fridges, I’d have collected the molt and started testing its tensile strength. (Still might.)

Hope your weeks are boring and predictable. Mine isn’t.

– Senku

P.S. Yuzuriha: You’d probably try to make it a pet. P.P.S. Taiju: Please don’t ask if it’s edible. P.P.P.S. Old man: I already named it so don't send back any dumb ass suggestions.

(Moments from new chapter in my fic where Senku apparently sent stuff to Yuzuriha, Taiju, and Byakuya a little expanded. CLICK HERE)

[sissylittlefeather]

So... I had this dream about Elvis.

It's a little blurry and my English isn't perfect, nos, but I can remember the important bits.

I (the reader, of you wanna write about it ;]) was working as Elvis's assistant and practically loved with him. There where some feelings between us and, eventually, we ended up in bed together. The things were getting heated up, he was rubbing himself through his pants and i was grinding against his thigh.. and just when things where going to get good...

I woke up.

Oh, sweet, sweet nonnie. Your fantastic dream sparked a whole thing for me. Please enjoy this fanfic that resulted from this ask:

Return to Sender

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, dry humping, thigh riding, p in v sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation

Word count: ~3.3k

Also decided to base it loosely on this gif:

You were so nervous in your interview that you actually knocked a cup of something off of his desk. As a result, you were pretty sure you did not get the job. But what you didn't know is that he found your stuttering and fidgeting endearing and when you bent over to clean up the cup you spilled, the view he got of your ass made his decision for him.

That's how you ended up as Elvis Presley's private secretary. It's 1959 and he gets so much fan mail these days that he can't manage it all himself. So, he hires you to help him out. He's pleased when you prove to be useful and supremely impressed when you show him that you can mimic his signature perfectly. Still, his interest in you is far from purely functional.

He's not sure how to go about making his first move, especially since you work for him and he'd hate to lose you. You're really quite effective, so he'll have to play this just right. He doesn't want to offend you and run you off for good.

Instead, he spends a lot of time watching you and smiling at you when you catch him looking. You can't figure out why he keeps looking at you. You're not dumb, not even naive really, but it still seems outside the realm of reality that he might be into you for more than your typing skills.

He tests the waters a little with some flirtation here and there, and you don't seem to turn him down, but you also don't seem to reciprocate. He confuses your nervousness with disinterest and tries to stay focused on the task at hand any time you're together. But as time passes, you get more and more comfortable with each other and eventually a kind of friendship forms between you. It's easy to bond as you laugh about some of the crazy things the girls write to him, but you really start to get close when he begins to talk to you. And not just about the letters. Without meaning to, he tells you about his loneliness, his fears, and how much he misses his mama. You're a good listener and he needs you more than he realizes.

Eventually, you get to the end of his time in the service and know he'll be headed back to the states soon. You're not exactly excited about seeing him go, but there's not much you can do to change it, so you take it in stride.

He's not so resigned, though.

If there's even the slightest chance that you might want him, he's not going to let the opportunity pass him by. The night before all of his big army-ending interviews, he asks you to come over. You assume he needs you to get through some letters or something before he leaves, but he has something else entirely different in mind.

“Hey, honey, thank you for coming over so late.” His voice is quiet, shy almost. The room is dimly lit and there's the faint smell of cigar smoke in the air. He sits in a large armchair, watching you as you stand in the middle of the room. You nod and tell him that you don't mind.

“You have some new letters that you need help with?” He shakes his head sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

“Not really. I just wanted to see ya before I leave.” You blink a few times, confused.

“I'll be there for the interviews tomorrow.” He nods. This is not a surprise, but he wants to talk to you without people around.

“Yeah, but…” He fumbles over the words, trying to say exactly what he feels. The hesitation is heavy in the air between you and it's almost as though the words get caught in his throat when he tries to speak.

“But what, Elvis?” You look down at him and he sighs deeply, drumming his fingers on his knee anxiously. Without warning, he stands up and walks to you, grazing his fingertips over your cheek gently. There's a moment of nothing but being between you and you see the conviction enter his eyes.

“Oh, fuck it.” And then his lips are on yours, soft and needy. At first, you're so shocked that you stand there with your eyes open and his mouth on yours. You can see his eyelashes where they settle on his cheeks and feel him breathing as his chest rises and falls so close to you. He pulls back and notices the look on your face. “No? Was that…?”

“Do it again.” A smile creeps across his face and he leans down and kisses you again. This time your eyes close and you melt into him. The taste of him on your lips is exquisite, something between mint and man, and it feels like you'll never get enough. He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth, his hands drifting to your hips as he pulls you in close to him, your bodies flush against each other. You moan softly as his lips move down your jaw to your neck and his hands slips down to grab your ass through your dress.

“I've wanted this forever.” His voice rumbles against your throat. You feel his hardness where he presses it against you, the urgency in his hips becoming more obvious.

“Took you long enough.” A little giggle escapes your lips as his hands continue to roam your body, squeezing you where it pleases him. He takes your breasts in both hands and lets out a small whimper. The need for more of him burns inside of you, manifesting in the ache in your center. His cock is so hard it hurts as he rolls against you, tangling one hand in your hair to hold you still as he dips his tongue into your mouth again. You start to pull at his shirt as he walks you backwards through the house toward his bedroom, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible.

You fumble with buttons, fingers trembling in anticipation. All of a sudden, it seems like his shirt has a hundred buttons and you groan in frustration. He pulls back, chuckling and pulls it over his head, dropping it to the floor. In the hallway, he turns your back to him and puts your hands on the wall, dragging his down your back to your hips. The ache between your thighs is quickly becoming unbearable, your body burning up with the intensity of your need. His hands grip your hips as he ruts against you, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. Then, you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he unzips your dress, pushing it forward off of you to let it pool at your feet. He turns you to face him, eagerly raking his eyes over you hungrily as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He takes a moment to really appreciate your body in just your underwear and bra.

“What?” You ask playfully, noticing the spellbound look on his face. He shakes his head a little, basking in the scent of your perfume as it mixes with the heat of your body.

“You're even more beautiful than I could've imagined.” He runs his fingertips down the side of your stomach and grips your hip tightly. The last ounce of inhibition leaves you and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to yours. Every ounce of him hums with insatiable desire as his soft mouth moves on yours passionately. He pushes your back to the wall and presses his body tightly against yours, his thigh on your center. Without thinking, you start to rub yourself on his thigh, your body begging for friction against your swollen clit. He groans and starts to roll his hips against you. “Goddamn, baby. Don't stop that.”

Your hands slide around to his back as you pick up speed, grinding your clothed pussy on his leg.

“Oh god, Elvis.” A deep moan floats up and out of you as your aching bud reacts to the delicious sensation of his pants.

“Fuck, baby. That's a good girl. Make yourself cum on me.” He grips your hips and helps you rut against him, chasing your orgasm. The wetness seeps through your panties, soaking the fabric under you, but he doesn't care. He wants you to cum, needs you to cum, his hips stuttering against you as you rub on him.

“I'm s-so close.” It's more of a whimper than a sentence, but he gets your meaning. His grasp on your hips is almost bruising as you grind on him faster and harder. The familiar bubbling heat gathers in your lower belly as the sweat drips between your breasts. He captures your lips in a desperate kiss and then mumbles against you.

“Come on, baby. You're right there. Let go.” And then, like your body knew to listen to him, you cum on command, shuddering and trembling as the orgasm rushes through you, sending bolts of pleasure to your extremities. He starts to slow the rolling of your hips as you go floppy against him. “Good girl. So pretty when you cum.”

“Think I might've ruined your pants.” You whisper and he chuckles.

“They'll wash. Can you walk?” You look at him, your eyes hazy with your post-orgasm daze.

“Huh?”

“I'm nowhere near finished with you.” He smirks.

“I'm not sure-” You don't even get the sentence out before he bends down, throwing you over his shoulder. A squeal escapes your lips as he carries you to the bedroom and drops you unceremoniously on the bed. He turns on a small light on the nightstand, casting a kind of orange glow around the room. You look at him standing there, the small patch of hair on his chest, his angelic face, and the small wet spot where his dick has leaked precum onto his pants and continues to stand at full attention. He looks at you spread out on the bed and decides at that moment that he'd give you anything you wanted, even his last name if you asked for it.

“I need you, baby.” He palms himself over his pants and you nod, reaching back to unhook your bra. You slip it down your arms and drop it on the floor, moving to push your panties down your legs. He grunts when your pussy becomes visible, moving his hand on his cock a little faster. When you spread your legs, he bites his bottom lip and moans.

“What are you waiting for?” You coo. His eyes are glued to your glistening pussy as he quickly unbuttons his pants and lets them drop. Your mouth waters a little as his cock bounces free, big and uncut and weeping precum. He climbs on top of you, arranging himself against your entrance and taking one of your legs onto his shoulder.

“You ready for me, honey?” He asks desperately, rubbing his tip through your wet folds. You nod and he groans, slowly pushing into you. The feeling of his dick stretching you out is overwhelmingly good. Finally, he groans, his whole cock buried deep inside you, balls pressed against your ass, as he resists the urge to pound you silly. Your hands clench around the silky sheets and you breathe, trying to adjust to the feeling of him. He looks at you with his eyebrows knit together in concern. “You okay?”

“God, yes.” He smiles down at you and pulls his hips back, sliding his now-wet cock out of you and then rolling them forward again, plunging himself into you. Your eyes roll back and you moan loudly as he starts to pick up a steady rhythm of slamming against you. He kisses your ankle gently and fucks into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as the scent of your sex hangs in the air. Your breasts bounce with every thrust and he grunts, his release gathering in his balls. The headboard starts to bang against the wall and the little light on the nightstand rocks with the force of your lovemaking.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Such a tight little pussy.” His hair is sweaty on his forehead and you revel in the smell of him as he wraps your leg around his hip and leans down to kiss you, his cock sliding in and out of you. In doing so, he shifts the angle a little and begins to rub against your g-spot. Now, you whimper and moan with every movement of his hips, clawing at his back as he pounds you. You devolve into just a body, soaking in each sensation: skin pressed together, sticky and wet, his tongue in your mouth, insistent and deep, and his cock filling your pussy up again and again. He does the same, sinking into the waves of pleasure, your tight heat wrapped around his dick, squeezing him just right. Everything is sensual as you mix together and quickly lose track of whose sweat is whose.

“Elvisssss…” You whine, another climax crashing into you and burning you up from the inside out. He moans with the feeling of your pussy tightening around him.

“Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum. Fuck. Gonna… oh fuck!” He pulls out of you at the very last possible second, shooting cum all over the inside of your thighs. His cock throbs and pulses and he collapses on top of you, sticky ropes pumping out of him onto your legs. When he finally finishes, he groans loudly and picks up his head, kissing your lips softly. You giggle and push his hair back off his forehead. He chuckles. “I made a mess.”

“Yes, you did. But I helped.” He laughs and kisses you again.

“Yeah, I'm gonna blame this one on you.” You giggle as he rolls off of you and fetches a washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up. When he's done, he crawls back into bed and pulls you onto his chest. “Stay with me?”

You look up into his eyes and it's obvious he doesn't want to be alone tonight. Honestly, you wouldn't leave him even if you could.

“Of course.” He smiles and nuzzles into your hair. You settle in to sleep with him wrapped around you.

***

When you wake up the next morning, he's already dressed in his full uniform. He moves around the room quietly, but he notices when you stir and smiles softly.

“Hey, baby.” You lift your head up and yawn, stretching.

“You're leaving?” He nods and then sits down on the bed to put his shoes on.

“Yeah, I have those interviews. You comin’?” Again, it's clear that he wants you there, so you nod back.

“Oh yeah. I just have to run home and get dressed, but I'll be there.”

“Good.” He leans in and kisses your forehead before standing up. You're still naked from your activities last night and he looks down at you hungrily. He pulls the covers down a little so that he can see your body. “Goddamnit. I hate to leave ya.”

You're not sure if he's talking about this morning or forever. You reach out and take his hand, kissing it gently and then placing it on your breast.

“Fuck.” He climbs into bed in his uniform and pulls you onto him, kissing you deeply and running his hands all over your body.

“Thought you had to go?” You ask between kisses. He groans and buries his face in your neck. The sweet scent of your sweat and sex lingers on your skin and he breathes it in, trying to commit everything about you to memory. He mumbles into your hair.

“Yeah, I do. Just wish I could keep you naked in my bed forever.” For a few more seconds, you just hold each other, trying not to think about the future. Then, he pulls away from you and gets out of bed. “I'll see you at the interviews.”

He turns and leaves before he can get back into the bed and stays there until he dies. You sigh and get up, gathering your things and getting dressed. Something is missing, though. You cannot find your panties anywhere. Sighing again, you check your watch. You don't have time to keep looking. At least he'll have something to remember you by.

******

At the interviews, you stand behind him sipping your coffee and watching. The press are snapping photos like crazy and the flash bulbs are almost giving you a headache. You wonder how he stands it. The room is filled with noise and people, but you can't take your eyes off of him. He looks better than he ever has before, but maybe that's because you've seen him naked and know how beautiful he is without clothes. Your eyes drift down a little and you think about what's hiding under his pants, rubbing your thighs together. And that's when you see them: your panties, just barely peeking out of his pocket.

Your mouth pops open, but you shut it quickly. That little shit. He stole your panties! And he has them with him!

You grab a pen and a scrap of paper and scribble out a note. Motivated by his boldness, you walk up behind him and then lean forward, slipping the note into his jacket. He looks up and realizes it's you, his heart stopping in his chest. Still, he plays it off for the press and keeps going.

However, the second he's able, he pulls out the note and reads it eagerly.

You thief. I see what you stole and I want them back! Call me before you leave.

He grins widely, kisses the note, and folds it up, adding it to the pocket where your panties are. His intention was only to keep them, but now his blood is pumping with the possibility of seeing you again. A thought hits him and he sits with it for a bit. By the time he gets home, he's determined to make it a reality. He picks up the phone and dials your number.

“Hello?”

“I'm not givin’ em back.” Your face breaks into a smile.

“You better!” He chuckles.

“Alright, you can have ‘em. BUT-” He pauses for effect and you just about die with anticipation. You hear him take a deep, steadying breath before he continues. “You have to come get them in Memphis.”

Your mouth drops in shock. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't that.

“In Memphis?”

“Yes. Come home with me.” His heart is in his throat as he waits for your response. He twists the phone cord around his finger and bites his lip. If only he could see your face. The suspense is killing him.

“Okay.” What else could you say?

“Okay?” He asks excitedly, standing up with the phone.

“Yes.” Your heart is racing, but there's nothing that important keeping you here. Not if he's asking you.

He does a silent fist pump and thanks God that you said yes.

“I'll come get you on my way to the airport. Pack to stay for a while. Like, forever.”

“Elvis…”

“Listen, baby. It took me a long time to find you. I'm not lettin’ you get away anytime soon. You gonna argue?” You think for a second about what you're agreeing to and then decide to take a leap of faith.

“Not at all.”

“Good. And baby?”

“Yeah?” He hesitates for a second, his nerves getting the better of him. Then, he just says it, unable to keep the words from tumbling out.

“I love you.” Your heart stops.

“I love you too, Elvis.”

******

The End

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