#fake nose bridge piercing

[riconastyfan]

#rico nasty #fake nose bridge piercing #fake piercings #monster energy tour #2023 #pink eyeshadow #makeup details #anastasia #pink makeup #braids #black braids #braided cuffs

[nibeul]

i think he’s chainsaw man

[id: It’s 5 drawings of Denji on a fake magazine spread. The title of the page reads “5 reasons to love Denji, this talented devil is totally cute, but here are a few more reasons why you should love Denji.” The listed reasons are all “He’s Chainsaw Man”, and he is holding up the corresponding number of fingers to the reason in each drawing, one to five. He is drawn with tan skin, a lip scar, a crooked nose that also has a scar over the bridge, and a singular silver lobe piercing. He also has some discoloration around his right eye. /end id]

#based on that one josh magazine spread that had me cry laughing the other day #in a bit of a csm mood #csm #chainsaw man #hayakawa denji #nibeul art

[seokgyuu]

growing up with heeseung, jay and sunghoon you never once imagined them being anything more to you than your childhood best friends - and to some extent you're correct: they remain your gross boy best friends up until college, when suddenly things start to feel different. with all of them.

✧ heeseung x fem!reader, jay x fem!reader, sunghoon x fem!reader ✧

✧ childhood friends to lovers, fake dating trope, college setting, story begins in childhood and leads us through all the important phases ✧

✧ this work contains: intended lowercase, poor tries at comedy, simp!hee, simp!hoon & simp!jay as well as very oblivious reader, jake as the first ever boyfriend, hanni, chaewon and beomgyu have a cameo ✧

✧ warnings! mentions of bullying, smut (MDNI), more to be added if needed. ✧

hi! for my very first enha fic I have decided to open a taglist! You can join it by sending me an ask, so that I can keep track.

taglist: open

current word count: 4k

estimated word count: 15-20k

posting date: tba

taglist: @kgneptun, @deobitifull, @lovelickies, @tinie03, @moon4moony, @sousydive, @jebetwo, @haechology, @wooziswife, @havetaeminforbreakfast, @vannabanana1995, @nctislifue , @wiley199, @lovgfrd, @heegyuwrld, @caravm, @adoredbyjay, @notevenheretbh1

teaser

the principal's office could really use an interior designer, you think. or just a whole renovation at this point. the ceiling is showing signs of leakage, there is paint peeling off the walls behind the desk. and the desk itself, jeez, principal higgs should have gotten rid of it ages ago, you keep telling him!

“how many visits will that be for the week?” he doesn’t even look up from whatever he was writing as he says this. you shift on your seat and look to your left where jay is tapping his fingers on the armrest of the uncomfortable chair and heeseung next to him is just staring at the principal’s receding hairline. meanwhile sunghoon to your right is silently plotting your death.

since none of the boys speak up, you clear your throat.

“the fourth, sir,” you say with a smile you think is charming but it actually isn’t. principal higgs sighs and puts his pen down as well as his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“thank you, miss y/l/n,” he replies, “and how many more times are you planning to sit in these horribly uncomfortable chairs this week?”

“none, sir,” you continue, the smile still playing on your lips. the older man behind the desk closes his eyes for a second.

“you say that every time and yet here we are again. so, what did you do this time? did you accidentally fall and hit mr. park in the face again?” he looks at jay, who rolls his eyes at the reminder, “well, he doesn’t look like he got a black eye. so, what is it?” 

when even you don’t respond, avoiding the principals eyes as he opens them again and the boys are all hopeless cases anyways, mr. higgs takes a deep breath and puts his glasses back on. 

“fine. let’s see,” he pulls on the stack of papers he has gotten from his secretary and looks at it with his lips pursed. all four of you shift on your seats now.

“alright then. mr. lee, as it seems you… put several worms in mr. sim’s locker?” higgs eyebrow pierces up and heeseung coughs. 

“and mr. park, jay, you… sabotaged mr. sim’s chair so that he fell on to his backside and then told him to “go suck it”?” jay snorts, still tapping against the armchair and not looking at the principal. higgs takes a deep breath.

“mr. park, sunghoon,… you held out your leg for mr. sim to fall over… almost twenty-three times in one day.” 

sunghoon has to concentrate not to look too proud of himself.

“and finally, miss y/l/n. you yelled at mr. sim in front of your whole class, saying, and i quote “you’re a stupid asshat anyways, i hope you trip and break your butt, you ugly little worm”.” 

you smile innocently. 

“you also kicked him in the shins, as a grand ending gesture, as mrs. james was kind enough to write down for me.” 

he puts the notebook down and looks at the four of you.

“come on you guys, i know you like to play harmless pranks on teachers. like to make one joke too many in class. but this? if mr. sim’s parents hear about this, and they will, there could be consequences that even i can’t hold back.”

#enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #jay x reader #heeseung x reader #sunghoon x reader #jake x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen imagines #enha x reader #enha fluff #enha smut #enha fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen au #enha au #enha imagine

[itspyon]

drawing realism is pretty funny because you start hyperanalizing your subjects' traits and find out fun details about them that you don't perceive at first (or originally thought of them differently)

anyways here a list of dnf anatomy details that i've collected through intense studying:

1. dream does not have a large jawline actually. his top one is just completely straight, and his bottom one has no side downward curve. usually human skulls will have the top jaw sit at about a 30° angle, but his is just flat. it makes his bottom jaw look a lot more out. this carries all the way up to his forehead too. his bottom jaw is also almost completely straight from the mandibular angle to the chin.

2. george has THE HIGHEST CHEEKBONES. he just has an equally wide mandibular angle (meaning, his jaw doesn't taper in as much), so it doesn't look like it until you compare his cheeks to his side brow bones

3. george also has very long lips horizontally, and a very angular chin, which gives him this constant almost pouty look, so when he smiles he just has a beautiful lip shape

4. dream has a very consistent beard. no splotchiness whatsoever.

5. he also has a mole immediately below his jawline on his right side (or the side of the ear that is not pierced)

6. one of george's eyebrows is significantly taller than the other one on the arch. the start of his eyebrows are also fairly thin and sit pretty low. (he is not escaping the eyebrow plucking/threading allegations imo, they are so incredibly clean)

7. dream's nose looks almost cartoonish from the side from how soft the curve is. from the front, the tip sits pretty low compared to his nostrils

8. george's is a little more hooked AT THE END (he does not have full hooked nose, his bridge is very inwards on the top half), and from the front the tip and nostrils sit at the same height. it makes it look kind of like a tiny wide triangle

9. they both have very long cupid's bows, george a bit more than dream (see late point 8)

10. "dream is puppy coded" and it's because his eyelids are diagonal in the same way puppies have diagonal eye curves ! he very literally has dog eyes

11. dream's middle lashes are very long, and they get darker as you go out. george's are long all around and VERY full. they both have pretty crazy bottom lashes

12. i am once again highlight george's bottom lip. what a beautiful man

13. cameras need to stop hatecriming dream's freckles. set them free. (they mostly sit directly under his eyes next to his nose. he also has some on his chin, it's very charming)

14. gnf comes from the miranda cosgrove school of fake wasians. having deepset eyes, extremely hooded eyes and consistent, very deep aegyo sal will do that to you. (i say this as an asian with much love). don't be scared to draw his eyes properly, he's not beating the wasian allegations, you're allowed to post your "concerningly asian looking" gnf fanart (whoever says this to you send them to me i will beat them up). that's just how he looks. just make sure his nose is right and you're good 👍

15. dream is a LOT larger than what you think in the horizontal axis. door width. huge forearms. his waist is just "small" (average male waist size). don't let it deceive you

that's all for now i'll reblog with more as i find them have fun arting

#pyon talks #dnf #dnf art tips #this is a thing now

[addthespaghetti]

She’s Mine

i’m not even going to lie, i listened to so much pierce the veil while writing this. so the ending is based of off a match into water because i can.

warnings: drinking, sexual reference, angst, fluff, and violence

1800+ words

You love your job. You do. Saving people, working together closely with people you consider family, and most of all, it led you to meet the love of your life, Emily Prentiss.

When you met Emily, it was like your life finally made sense. You worked hard to get into the BAU, ignoring your social life and, most importantly, your love life. You felt like you had no other purpose than getting into the BAU.

You thought you would feel fulfilled, finally getting the job of your dreams. Once you got that call that you got the job, you had the feeling of etterath. You got the job you gave up your entire life for, but now you have no one, no friends, no family, and no one to celebrate your accomplishment with.

The day you started at the BAU, you were excited for the first time in years, but you still couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness.

You felt it the entire time it took you to get ready, aware of it as you drove to the FBI building in Quantico and on the elevator ride up to the BAU.

While opening the big glass doors to enter the bullpen, you heard a woman laugh, a laugh you were immediately captivated by. You looked to find a source of that laughter, and that's when you saw her sitting at her desk, laughing at something someone said. Usually, you would be interested in what she was laughing about, but you couldn't focus on anything but her beautiful smile and gorgeous dark brown hair.

After that day, your crush on Emily grew, but you could never figure out if she had feelings for you back.

Until one girls' night, Penelope wanted to go to a bar that had just opened because she had heard they have good drinks. So you and the girls stayed out late, drinking away the stress from the last case.

You woke up the next morning naked in a strange bed, confused by what you did. You weren't the type of person to have random hookups. When you finally decided to look at the woman's bed you were in, you were shocked to see your coworker, Emily Prentiss. You weren't surprised that you hooked up with Emily. You would have done that if she asked. You were more shocked that she hooked up with you.

Fast forward six months later, and you and Emily have been dating for five months. You could not be happier, and neither could Emily.

Just because you love your job doesn't mean you don't have moments where you hate it. Like right now, you are in Emily's lap, making out with her when your phone rang.

"Fuck!" you groan as you get out of her lap to grab your phone.

Emily, stretching out her arms, trying to pull you back onto her lap, she states in an irritated tone, "Just let it ring. If it is so important, they will call back."

You look at Emily, debating your options. You really wanted to continue to make out with Emily, but you know that is probably Penelope calling about a case.

"Emily, we can't. You and I both know that call is Penelope with a case." You look at Emily with an apologetic look as you pick up the phone.

Emily sighs, "I know, but you look so good right now."

You duck your head, trying to hide your blushing face from Emily as you answer the call from Penelope.

"Yes, Penny?" You speak in a calm tone.

In a very energetic and fast tone, Penelope tells you, "Case we have a very yucky awful case."

"I figured, oh, and Penelope?" You ask.

"Yes, my favorite fruity friend?" She asks in the same energetic tone.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, "Garcia, how much coffee have you had today?"

"Technically, I only had one," Penelope said while shaking from the caffeine.

You look at Emily with an exasperated look on your face. You weren't trying to get annoyed at Penelope, but her fake math concerned you with how unhealthy it is most of the time.

Emily stood up and grabbed the phone from your hand, "Garcia, we are on our way, and when we get to Quantico, I am taking away your caffeine and switching you to decaf."

"WAIT WHAT, ARE YOU DOING WI-" Garcia yells into the phone before Emily hangs up.

You stand there surprised at what Emily did before she looks at you, "What? You better start getting ready. We don't want to be late." She tells you with a smirk on her face.

"That was hot," you fake cough, "We might be sick and need to stay home from this case." You try to grab your girlfriend, but she walks away to get ready.

You groan and decide to get ready. Grabbing your phone, you connect it to your speaker and start to play music.

You and Emily get ready quickly with only minimal distractions. You couldn't stop teasing each other, but luckily, you learned to get dressed fast during high school.

The car ride to the BAU was filled with lengthy touches and quick kisses. Emily wouldn't let go of your thigh while she was driving. She almost caused an accident because of it.

After getting to the FBI building, you and Emily walked in together, talking about random stuff while riding to the sixth floor.

As soon as you both walk into the round table room, you and your girlfriend are immediately questioned by Hotch, "You late. Where were you?"

You look over at Emily, having no idea what to say. You and Emily decided not to tell the team you were dating yet, but that can cause issues like now.

"We went out last night, and she stayed at my apartment. When we got the call from Penelope, I had to drive her to her apartment so she could grab her go bag and get ready." Emily quickly responded to Hotch.

"That is fine. Just don't let that happen again." Hotch said in his usual serious tone.

You do not know where your girlfriend got her lying skills, but you were lucky she had them because Hotch believed her. You and Emily quickly sat down in a seat to not get reprimanded by Hotch.

After Penelope explained the case, everyone went to the bullpen to grab their things, striking up a casual conversation here and there.

Thirty minutes later, the whole team, minus Penelope, was on their way to the sunny state of Florida.

This case was crazy and took many unexpected turns, but you shouldn't have expected any less from a Florida case. Still, you were surprised when what was supposed to be a routine talk with a witness ended with you getting stabbed. You were also left with a sizable scar on your chest as a result of that.

On the way back to Quantico, the jet was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

You sat in the back of the plane alone, with your headphones in, listening to your favorite songs, trying to stay awake. You haven't been able to sleep without having a nightmare since your attack, and you are worried you will have one on the jet if you fall asleep.

What you don't notice is your girlfriend staring at you from across the jet, worried about how you are coping with your attack.

Rossi moves across from Emily, "You know, just staring at her is not going to magically make her better, kid."

"I know, I just don't know what to do. I wish I could take all of the pain away she is feeling," Emily says, looking at the older man.

"You love her," Rossi says more as a statement than a question.

Before Emily could squeak out a defense, Rossi quickly spoke, "Emily, I'm not going to judge you, but you know she has been through a lot now and in her past. You need to be there for her, be the shoulder for her to cry on. Make sure you remind her how much you love her. You cannot take away her pain, but you can help her cope and learn to grow."

Emily looked over at you before she spoke again, "I will. Thank you, Dave."

"It's no problem, kid. You learn a thing or two after three marriages," He jokes.

Emily grins at his joke while turning to look at you again. This time, you notice her and give her a weak smile. She smiles back at you. She looks at your tired features that highlight your lack of sleep and feels a sense of worry wash over her.

After the jet lands, Hotch lets everyone go home early. Before you could leave, Derek invited everyone out to grab some drinks. You didn't want to say no because everyone said they were coming, and you felt bad being the only one not going.

So now you sit at the bar alone. Drinking when you definitely shouldn't because of the medication you are on. All because Hotch and JJ left early for their kids, Rossi and Spencer left because it was past their bedtime, and everyone else is dancing.

When Emily finally comes to the table and sees you not having a good time, she decides to call a cab and take you home.

It took her a while to get you to her apartment because of how drunk you were, but as soon as she opened the door, you immediately walked to the couch to sleep. Since Emily is an incredible girlfriend, she got you up and dragged you to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

After she washed your face and brushed your teeth because you could barely walk, she went to unbutton your shirt to change your bandages, but you immediately stopped her.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Emily asks, concern in her voice.

The alcohol in your system was making you honest, "I'm ugly. The scar ruined my body," you said with tears rolling down your cheek.

"You are not ugly. You are as gorgeous as ever," Emily reassures you.

"But-" before you can finish your sentence, Emily kisses you to stop your self-deprecating.

Emily breaks apart your kiss and speaks against your lips, "You are the most beautiful person I have ever met, and no scar will ever make me feel different."

"Change my bandages, Emily," you look at Emily with tears and love in your eyes.

Emily unbuttons your shirt slowly and takes it off your shoulders. She slowly peels off your bandages and grabs the supplies to clean the wounded area. After she disinfects the scar, she leans down and kisses the mark.

Emily looks up at you, "Your so beautiful, and I never want to lose you. You are my best friend."

"I love you too," you say with tears rolling down your cheek again.

That night, you fall asleep in Emily's arms without one nightmare in sight.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #paget brewster #criminal minds #self insert #no y/n #angst #fluff

[tickle-bugs]

But You Were Mine

Summary: Still hung up on the fit of Bruce’s body against his, Clark attempts the oldest possible ritual: getting to know his pseudo-sweetheart. Too bad Bruce Wayne is the most unknowable man on Earth. Sequel to Chase the Memory of it Still.

Yet again, blame @fickle-tiction for this. Doing a midnight post and run so I don’t have to look at this in the morning lol. Also warning for mild barely even lukewarm makeouts. Probably tamer than Part 1 lol. 

Also also: the beginning scene with Clark and Lois works best if you imagine that Lois doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman but suspects him, all while thinking Clark doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman. So she’s trying to protect him from being lied to and Clark is like ‘but Lois I love him’

“Clark Joseph Kent, you’re a grade-A idiot.” Lois thwaps the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper. 

“I know,” Clark groans into the surface of Lois’s desk. She thwaps him again. 

“So, let me get this straight.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You somehow conned your way into a fake relationship with Bruce Wayne of all people, and now you have feelings for him?” 

“I’ve always had feelings for him,” He mumbles, suddenly feeling very small in his seat. When he looks up at her, she’s glaring at him. Ah, he’s in trouble. 

“You don’t know him.” She spreads her hands on the surface of her desk, knocking aside a few Daily Planet pens. He picks them up and puts them back. 

“Yes I do.” Clark frowns. 

“He’s an airhead playboy with zero priorities. You deserve someone who’ll be honest—“

“Oh? Like Selina?” 

Lois gets very quiet. Her stare pierces like a fine needle through his throat. A few battered emotions flicker over her face, leaving in their wake a rare and unguarded Lois. Then, quicker than the cat that stole her heart, her face resigns into something sharp and deadly. 

“I’m sorry.” He circles the desk and pulls her into a hug. After a begrudging glare, she tips her head into his chest. They inhale and exhale together—a routine they’ve shared for years. She relaxes into him.

“No, you’re right.” She chuckles. “I fell for a thief. That’s on me.” 

“And I spent the night with the one guy I shouldn’t have. We can’t all be perfect.” Clark elbows her, looking for a smile. Lois’s eyes blow wide and she starts spluttering. 

“You hooked up with him?” She thankfully keeps to a hissing whisper, but he can tell she wants to shout. He contemplates flying around the Earth fast enough to undo the moment, but she’s gripping his shirt tight enough to stop him.

“Well, okay, we kissed a bunch but it didn’t go further—“ 

“Oh god, we’re both hopeless.” She groans into her hands.

“No, not hopeless. We can both have what we want. I’ll call Bruce if, and only if, you call Selina.” He pulls her hands away from her face. She huffs and smiles. 

“This optimism thing is going to bite you in the ass. How do you think you’re gonna maintain a relationship with someone who doesn’t know that you, uh, work two jobs?” She casts a weary glance towards the office door and drops her voice even lower.

“He gets me, Lois.” It’s all he can say. It’s the truth. 

“Alright.” She brushes a thumb over his cheek. “Then get to know him at least. Find out if he’s the kind of guy worth being around.”

“I know he's worth it. That’s not ever in question.” Clark can’t help but smile a little as he thinks of Bruce. “It’s an internal thing. He sees me. I see him. We don’t have to pretend with each other. It’s…just us.”

Her keen eyes scan every inch of his face, even as he trails off.

“You should tell him.” She squeezes his arm. 

“What? No. Absolutely not. I only said that because I know you won’t call her. C’mon, you’re supposed to be the voice of reason here.” He squints at her. She flicks him in the forehead. 

“Okay, well the ‘voice of reason’ thinks you should say something before you lose this…somehow healthy-sounding relationship you have. With Bruce Wayne, of all people,” She mutters that last part, but Clark both hears and ignores it. 

“We’re friends and it’s good. Really good. He trusts me at least a little. I don’t want him to think I have ulterior motives. If I could read him at all, figure out what he wants…but I can’t. I can’t lose him.” 

“This isn’t the healthiest advice, but…start a list. Treat him like a case. What are some things that draw you to him? Things he hides? Things he shows only to you? If it makes you do that dopey giggle thing you do, he’s probably worth it.” She leans against the edge of her desk and crosses her arm. 

“I don’t do a giggle…thing,” he mumbles, but his face is already heating up an incriminating amount. 

“It’s cute. He’ll probably like it.” She tweaks his nose. He swats her hand away, but his spirits are far lighter.  

His phone buzzes and he checks it as discreetly as possible. 

B: Free this afternoon?

Clark smiles. 

C: On my way. :)

“I’ve gotta go.” He stands and shrugs on his suit jacket. 

“Boyfriend awaits?” She wiggles her eyebrows. 

“Bye, Lois.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Tell him I’d love to do an exclusive with him.” She snickers. 

“I’ll tell him that when you call Selina.” He smirks. She gasps her way into laughter, her face blooming pink. Her hand comes up to play with a diamond necklace sitting on her collarbone--a cat-shaped pendant he’s never seen her wear before--and shakes her head fondly. 

“I will after you kiss your playboy. Again.” She raises her eyebrow. Checkmate. 

“Bye, Lois,” He says a little louder. She playfully shoos him from her office. He kisses her cheek.

Clark can only smile when he hears her phone ringing and the faint “Hey, kitty” through the glass. 

….

It’s apt that Gotham is as dark and segmented as its protector, Clark thinks, because he’s never in his life met anyone as fragmented as Bruce Wayne. Everyone in the League is broken in some way, battered by traumas that still threaten to crush them, but Bruce is markedly...different. He covers the cracks in his soul with masks. For every unveiling, six more facades lay below it. 

The reporter in him finds a dark fascination with it. The lost Kryptonian in him finds it…depressing. The human in him is currently bouncing on his heels in the lobby of Wayne Tower until Bruce finally meets him downstairs. 

Bruce glides off of one of the elevators and nods at a few hushed executives who scurry in behind him. He must come off so effortless to them—not a hair out of place, a new suit and coat every day, but Clark can see the exhaustion clouding his eyes. Bruce Wayne is put together. Bruce is tired. 

“You seem eager.” Bruce gives him a practiced small smile as they fall into step. 

“I’m having the slowest of slow days. This was a much needed adventure.” Clark stretches his spine. It gives a loud, much needed crack. He’s just a little too big for his chair at the Planet and it’s starting to take its toll. 

“We’re just walking down the street,” Bruce chuckles. He bumps the doors to the building open and Clark darts out. A light flurry of snow twirls through the air as they start their walk. He catches a snowflake on his tongue before he can think better of it. Bruce’s smile grows a little wider. 

“So? Every trip away from my desk is an adventure. C’mon, I know a spot.” Clark nods to the side and they hang a left, passing under a train overpass. 

“You know a spot in Gotham?” Bruce raises a brow. 

“I get around.” Clark grins. 

………………………………………………………………………………………….

They end up at a patisserie on the East side, a small family-run shop that deserves far more business than it gets. Clark can smell the wonders within from a good mile away.

Months ago, when he was helping Lois write a scathing exposé on Wayne Enterprises, this spot had served him well. Nothing better than a building full of sweets and a decent wifi connection to get you through betraying a good friend. Shredding that article was easily the best decision of Clark’s life, especially since Lois’s pivot towards flaying Lexcorp alive won her an award. 

He buys them both coffee—black for Bruce, vanilla for himself—and sets about the intricate ritual of sweetening his coffee to perfection. This is normalcy. Normalcy is good. 

“This is the only part of Gotham I like.” Clark steals little peeks at Bruce, waiting for him to inevitably make fun of him, but his eyes are elsewhere.

A refrigerated display tower of macarons stands proudly next to the register, boasting all sorts of delicious surprises. The splash of color is welcome among the somewhat dreary day outside. 

“Hm?” Bruce’s gaze struggles to find its way back to Clark. 

“You seem distracted.” Clark pops the stirring straw into his mouth and pulls the remaining coffee out with a little slurp. He pops the lid onto his cup much slower than necessary. The first time you crush a cup of boiling liquid in public tends to change you, after all. He’s grown since then. 

“Heavy work day.” For a man so difficult to read, Bruce has never clearly been more full of shit. He doesn’t even try to look away from the cookie display. 

“Do you…want a macaron?” Clark doesn’t bother trying to stifle his amusement. 

“What? No.” Bruce withdraws slightly. 

“What’s your favorite? My treat.” Clark jerks a thumb towards the display. 

“Money isn’t the problem.” Bruce scoffs, but not unkindly. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. Clark tries to ignore the still-fading lovebite on Bruce’s neck that he left. 

“Then what is?” Clark leans forward on his elbows. Surprise flickers across Bruce’s face for the slightest of moments. 

“…I’ve never had one,” Bruce mumbles, shuffling a bit in his seat. Clark beams. 

“First time for everything. C’mon.” Clark vigorously beckons him over to the line. Bruce trails behind with an endearing awkwardness that he’s learned to identify: slow steps, shifty eyes, and silence. 

Clark takes his time to point out his favorite flavors and make a few recommendations, but he feels like he’s stumbling around in the dark. His sweet tooth is only rivaled by Diana’s—even then, their tastes match so closely that he’s a little lost with someone like Bruce. 

Bruce stares deeply at him. Clark’s rambling stutters to a halt. He pulls on his collar a bit. Adjusts his glasses. 

Bruce’s eyes seem so warm. Must be the light. 

“If today was my last day to live and you had to give me a macaron, what would you choose?” Bruce leans close. His eyes are on the display, thank god, because Clark doesn’t know that he can handle more of that eye contact right about now. 

“It amazes me that you’re so committed to the dark and brooding thing.” Clark rolls his eyes, and after some thought: “Raspberry.” 

“Hm. Okay.” And that’s that. Bruce orders quickly and walks away with his prize, leaving Clark to scramble after him. They sit back down in their quiet little corner, the naturally-frosted window fogging slightly at their presence. 

Bruce opens his box of macarons clinically, like he’s stripping it for parts. He takes one out and admires the color, gives it a little test squish, sniffs it. Clark watches the process with vested interest until Bruce pulls out another box and slides it towards him. 

“What’s this?” Clark pulls the box close. 

“Strawberry Cheesecake macarons. I saw you eyeing them when we came in.” Bruce pokes the box again, sliding them just a little more forward. 

“I’m not subtle, am I?” Clark pushes his glasses up again. He cracks the box open and pops a cookie in his mouth. His eyelids flutter shut and he does a little dance in his chair. 

“It’s one of your more endearing qualities.” Bruce quirks a small, smug smile. 

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark fake sniffles. The resulting eyeroll is incredibly satisfying. 

Bruce takes a mouse-like nibble of the macaron, catching maybe an atom of cookie and filling between his teeth. He chews thoughtfully. 

“So? Do we have a winner?” Clark rests his chin on his hand. 

“I think so. You have good taste,” Bruce hums, taking another tentative bite of the macaron. A gentle, genuine smile peaks on his lips like a glimpse of the sun through storm clouds. 

“That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark swipes a macaron from Bruce’s box fast enough to send a small breeze fluttering between them. 

“And it will never happen again.” Bruce peeks open one eye as he finishes his macaron. 

Okay, bumping shredding that Wayne Enterprises article down to number two. This, Clark thinks, watching Bruce smile to himself, this is easily top of the list. 

1 ) He likes raspberries. 

It takes later in the week until they have a moment to truly spend a bit of time together. Criminal roundups never leave much personal time, and Clark’s hearing has him near-constantly running to save lives. But, on a quiet Wednesday night, he has a moment. 

He loves visiting Wayne Manor. It’s been a while since he last swung by, but he adores the place. He could spend hours swooning over the architecture alone. It’s a beautiful place to disappear for a while, and he’s been doing that more and more lately. 

He gets buzzed into the gates easy enough with a lie about taking the bus, and then he’s standing in the massive foyer and hanging up his coat by the door. The manor smells of old wood and citrus. Clark draws in a big breath of it. 

He turns and jumps a bit when a flock of people are suddenly staring at him atop the stairs. Bruce’s kids, right. He knows Dick, Tim, and Jason. The others are still a bit fuzzy to him. They all leer from the landing like royalty watching a gladiator in the pit. 

“Hey there.” He waves at the smallest and angriest of the bunch. This is Damien, he’s pretty sure.

“So you’re the new guy.” A blonde—Steph, he remembers her from the Christmas card—leans on the railing with her forearms. 

“I wouldn’t mess with him, Steph. He’s tougher than he looks,” Dick murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, trying his best to be subtle. Clark gives him a friendly wave. He returns it. 

“He looks like he wears a pocket protector. I could take him,” Steph whispers to Dick. Clark tries to rein in his expression so he doesn’t give himself away. 

“I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Clark. You’re all Bruce’s kids, right? It’s nice to meet you.” He tries to make himself look as friendly as possible. He gets a few waves, but mostly owlish stares. He sees where they get it from. 

“Is your father home?” Clark sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to kill the silence. 

“Bruce! Your boyfriend’s here!” Jason bellows. Clark bites his lip to hide his smile. 

“Clark?” Bruce peeks around the corner, then shuffles quickly down the stairs. 

“Hey. I, uh, had a few minutes. Just came by to see you before I went home.” Clark rubs the back of his neck with a smile, trying to kill the flutter in his chest. 

“Bruce, say something,” Tim hisses, crouching behind the banister as if Clark can’t see him. Bruce startles, glares at him, and then gestures for Clark to follow him. As they pass, all of the kids watch him go, whispering in a building flurry that he doesn’t bother dissecting. He tells himself it’s because they deserve their privacy, but really…he’s nervous. Severely. 

“I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable. They can be a bit…eager.” Bruce’s smile is warm beneath the lights of the old manor. 

“They’re wonderful. Terrifying, but wonderful.” Clark chuckles and bumps their shoulders together while they walk. 

It’s these precious minutes that define their friendship more than anything. Clark tells Bruce all about his day, about his Lex Luthor exposé making the front page, about everything and nothing at all. He talks and Bruce listens, egging him on with gentle tilts of the head when he shyly falls into silence.

By the time they reach the gardens, it’s Clark’s turn to listen. Bruce tells him about the kids, occasionally stopping whenever he notices one lurking. He asks for his opinion on random scenarios. Clark can’t tell if they’re hypotheticals but he answers as truthfully as he can, chasing the little noises of appreciation that Bruce makes as he talks. 

Not only are Bruce’s masks interchangeable, taking him from Bruce to Batman to Bruce Wayne, they’re also removable. Clark doesn’t know when he was bestowed with the honor of being with Just Bruce, but he’s immensely grateful for it.  

“Good evening, Mr. Kent.” Alfred nods respectfully in his direction. “Master Bruce, you have a call from Mr. Fox. Line three, sir.” 

“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce squeezes Clark’s shoulder. “You can wait here, if you’d like.” 

“Am I allowed to touch anything?” Clark teases.

“Anything you want.” Bruce winks at him, completely straight-faced, and disappears into the corridors of the manor. Clark’s face grows embarrassingly hot and he reclines against the lip of the fountain. 

He birdwatches as he waits, counting which of Bruce’s kids make normal, completely non-suspicious trips through his personal space. Dick’s the least sneaky of the bunch, but it lends him a genuine quality. He sits and chats with Clark for a few minutes, asking him about work and the like. He asks about his relationship with Bruce and Clark mumbles something non-committal, cheeks warm. 

Bruce, uh, never put out that statement about them breaking up. Clark thinks he might be alright if it never gets published. 

As the hours draw on, he catalogs where the other Robins like to hide. Tim and Damien have an affinity for hiding in the massive hedges surrounding the gardens, while Steph takes to watching from the windows. Cass is the hardest to spot but he catches her on the roof a few times, perched and enjoying the warm dusk breeze. He sees Jason with her once too.

If he’s learned anything from their father, it’s that staring is caring. Probably.

When Alfred fetches him hours later, he arrives at a scene he wants to burn permanently into his memory. 

Bruce is seated at the beautiful. obnoxiously long table in the dining room. He’s got a knee hiked up on the chair, picking idly at the fabric of his pants. On the table, a black kitten rolls around and bats at a toy. It’s sweet and oddly domestic. 

“Hey.” Bruce doesn’t turn. 

“Hi. Who’s this?” Clark holds a hand out to the kitten and it drops its paw on top of his palm, mewing softly. The squeaky, deflating noise that leaves him is not one he’s proud of. It’s so sweet and small. 

“Nyx. She’s a stray. I give her food when I can.” Bruce scratches her head gently. Nyx purrs and lays down on the table, tucking her head into the attention. She’s a precious baby, is what she is. Clark has half a mind to take her home. 

That is, until Bruce sneezes loud enough to send poor Nyx running. She flings herself off the table and into one of the manor’s seemingly endless corridors. 

“Bless you.” Clark chuckles. Bruce pulls a face. 

“Master Bruce.” Alfred hands him a box of tissues. 

“I can hear you laughing, Alfred,” he sniffles, hair a bit ruffled from the sneeze. Clark purposefully averts his eyes. 

“I would never, sir. Goodnight, Mr. Kent.” Alfred bows his head, sharing that mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Goodnight, Alfred.” Clark grins, settling into the oversized chair beside Bruce. 

2 ) He’s got a cat allergy, but he feeds the strays anyway. Bruce = cat person?

“Stop it.” Hearing the Batman voice and knowing it’s mostly because Bruce is annoyed is truly golden. 

“Stop what?” Clark floats leisurely alongside Bruce, arms behind his head. Keeping pace with him isn’t hard--he’s fast for human standards, but not by Clark’s. He’s made it a habit anyways not to zip too far ahead as they’ve grown closer. It kills the banter. 

“Look, all I’m saying is that if Batman started flying, criminals would absolutely take the week off. If I was a criminal and I thought Batman had suddenly gotten superpowers, I’d simply leave Gotham.” Clark flips upside down and hangs in front of Bruce, still drifting backwards in pace with him. 

He can sense Bruce trying not to smile, but when he opens his mouth to tease, karma speaks instead. Clark smacks his head into the side of a building just as Bruce slips through a narrow space between it and its neighbor. Clark flies up over the building and catches up with Bruce again, scowling. 

“I know you’re laughing.” Clark crosses his arms. 

“Me? Never. Just thinking about how great it is to be grounded.” Bruce allows himself the tiniest of smirks, just enough to be infuriating, and it’s Clark’s turn to roll his eyes. 

3 ) He restrains his emotions. Even the good ones. 

Roaming the Hall of Justice late at night is a cultivated hobby of Clark’s. The best snacks hide in the dark, after all, and he knows that no one’s gonna come bother him about a missing bag of chips at this hour. He needs time to think and food to think with. 

Clark’s feelings for Bruce could both span and fill an ocean. He doesn’t know when this happened. As far as he can remember, there’s always been this beacon of warmth in his chest guiding him to Bruce. Through every late night and early morning, through hopelessness and joy, Bruce is a constant. It’s too much to put on one person. Too risky. 

The ‘l word’ pops into his head like a dark omen, and he skids to a halt. He glances around, listening for any league members skulking around. All he hears is his own thundering heartbeat. 

Fuck. Fuck. 

He makes his way into the kitchen past a snoring Arthur, pausing to snatch the jumbo bag of cheese puffs from his limp grasp. He slips quietly out into the hall, passing by the lounge, where Bruce and Diana are laughing—

Clark backpedals, nearly tripping over his own feet, but god it’s worth it. Bruce is clutching Diana’s shoulder and giggling, stuck in the loop of overwhelming laughter that follows an unyielding barrage of jokes. 

They’re still suited up, probably fresh off a patrol, and Clark wonders how long they’ve been sitting here. A mountain of chocolates, the fancy ones, cover the surface of the table. Diana delicately sorts through and plucks the ones she wants from the pile as Bruce watches. 

“Diana’s the new team comedian. None of you are funny.” Bruce recovers from his laughter, but the smile stays, and Clark makes an active effort to be normal about it. The delirium of another late night in a row must have gotten to him. That’s the only explanation. 

“Barry will be devastated.” Clark chuckles. He leans in the doorframe and catches a cheese puff in his mouth. 

“He will survive.” The sparkle in Diana’s eye has him wishing he had tuned into their conversation. 

“If I had known y’all were partying in here, I would’ve come to hang out.” Clark crunches on another cheese puff, mostly to distract himself from the way Bruce’s eyes are sparkling. He didn’t know they could do that. 

“There’s no reason you can’t party with us now.” Diana gestures to the seat next to Bruce. 

Aw, what the hell? Eating junk food together couldn’t be much worse than doing it alone. 

4 ) Bruce can laugh--he just has to be caught off-guard. He likes to laugh (?) (who doesn’t?)

“When you said you needed help, I thought you meant with translating.” Clark wanders into the room. The concrete is irritatingly cold on his feet. 

Bruce types away wildly at a computer station with too many monitors. A pair of giant goggles on his head pull his hair out of his face. Clark leans over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, but the code flying across the screen is a nightmare. 

At the opposite end of the room, a mechanical rig sits primed on a set of rails. In the center, a gnarly looking gun barrel stares out into an empty expanse. 

“I’m trying to test new ammunition for the Batmobile, but my target system is down. Can’t reboot it.” Bruce clicks something else and the gun starts calibrating. A pathetic clicking sound picks up as targets struggle to ascend from the floor, twitching lifelessly in their compartments. 

“Do you want help?”

“With coding?” Bruce turns with an expression just shy of condescending.

“God no. I am bulletproof, if you remember.” Clark sticks his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

“Doesn’t help. I need to study the impacts afterwards.” Bruce gestures to a massive chunk of concrete on a stand nearby. Clark hefts it into his arms with a quiet grunt. 

“Just...keep up with the gun. I prefer my walls without bullet holes.” Bruce quickly turns away from him. Clark can hear his heartbeat pounding. He starts to ask, but the gun rig starts warming up and he sacrifices his curiosity. 

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Clark adjusts his stance to prep for the recoil. The machine whirrs and clicks as it loads itself with rounds. Bruce types in a few things on a nearby control panel and pulls the goggles down over his eyes. 

The gun barrel spins and whines as it gains force. Clark hovers a few inches off the ground and tenses. He lines the concrete up with his chest, his eyes just clearing over top of it. 

The machine fires quicker and lower than he anticipates. 

A sharp zing zips up Clark’s side, then another, then another, and he drops the concrete, instead covering his smile while forcing himself to stay still. That’s certainly not his best idea--no block means no cover, which subsequently means getting pelted with another wave of bullets. 

Clark crumples into a flurry of giggles before he can stop himself. He curls up as much as he can—partly to stop any new onslaughts, mostly to hide his reddening face. He’s been shot more than anything and it’s never bothered him. He didn’t know he could be ticklish to touch, let alone to goddamn bullets. 

“Clark! Are you okay?” Bruce leaps over the gun rig and pulls the safety goggles up onto his head. 

“Y-Yes. I’m fine. Your machine…thing packs a punch.” Clark clears his throat to stop the rogue snickers forming a conga line in his throat. 

“I thought you were supposed to be bulletproof.” Bruce huffs, kicking the pieces of shattered brick out of the way. He swipes at Clark’s torso, probably trying to brush away the dust on him. Clark flinches under the touch and coughs over a laugh. 

“I am. It just…felt…weird.” Clark snatches Bruce’s wrist a little too quickly. Bruce’s brow furrows and he leans close, eyes glued to Clark’s stomach with sheer worry. His face resolves into tense understanding. Clark lets his hand go. 

“What? What?” He tries to catch Bruce’s gaze. There shouldn’t be anything wrong. He feels fine. Nothing pierced. Definitely not bleeding—he learned what that feels like and he hates it. But Bruce has an eye for things that Clark could never dream of noticing, and right now he’s staring like Clark already has a foot in the grave. 

“Can’t believe you fell for that.” Bruce smirks. He pulls Clark close—hello—and kneads unhurried fingers into his stomach. 

No one will ever believe him. Bruce Wayne is tickling him and no one will ever believe him. 

“B-Bruce!” Clark strains out of Bruce’s grip as best as he can, trying not to break any useful bones, but his joints keep turning to jelly. His forehead collides with Bruce’s shoulder and he shimmies rather uselessly. 

“This is very entertaining, in case you were wondering.” Bruce hums and starts pinching up Clark’s sides. His warm breath sends goosebumps flaring over his throat. 

“I wasn’t!” It’s more of a squeak than words. Evil fingers manage to squeeze beneath his arms and Clark jumps directly into the air. 

“Did you just fly away?” A genuine laugh floats out of Bruce, warm and a bit scratchy. Clark wishes he could hear more of that instead of his own dorky laughter ringing in his ears. 

“Not on purpose—shut up!” Clark aims a half-hearted kick at Bruce’s shoulder. His face burns hotter than the sun and he hides in his hands. 

Bruce grabs his ankle and tries to reel him in like a lost balloon. Clark almost falls for it until suddenly calloused hands are scritching along the bottom of his foot. He giggle-snorts. Kryptonite through the chest would be a mercy, at this point. 

A hush falls over the room. Clark dares to peek through his fingers. 

“Oh.” Bruce blinks, then the most wicked grin overtakes his face. “Do that again.” 

“You’re the worst!” Clark pulls his leg towards his body and accidentally takes Bruce with it--who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, by the way. Every time he lowers his leg, Bruce doesn’t let go. 

“I don’t want to drop you!” Clark shrieks as if a bug is crawling on him, rather than a person. 

“Then don’t.” Bruce squeezes his calf and Clark whines his way into a fit of cackles. His body trembles with the effort to not fly directly through the ceiling. The illusion of escape makes it so much worse, especially with Bruce’s fingers worming behind his knee. 

“You coming down or am I gonna have to call the fire department?” Jesus, Bruce has a real talent for smirking out loud. Clark tries to shake him off without throwing him across the room. Bruce digs his fingers into Clark’s thigh like he’s climbing a tree and the resulting yelp has Clark resolving to flee the country. 

“Y-You’re not building a great case as to why I should!” He flinches after a flurry of giggles and slams his head into the ceiling. Plaster and dust rain down on the two of them. Clark tries to cover the crater he left behind with his hands and a bashful smile. 

“Alright, I’m done. I’d like to keep my ceiling in one piece.” Bruce pulls him down to Earth, only letting go when he’s sure that Clark won’t float away again. 

“Ticklish Superman. Who knew?” Bruce scritches beneath Clark’s chin, just like at the gala all those weeks ago, and Clark shoves his chin down with a snort. 

“No one, and I prefer it that way. Keep it quiet.” He can’t muster any severity in his voice and he’s not sure it would help if he could. The thought of Lois finding out--or worse, Diana--starts an inescapable loop of nervous smiles and a light fluttering in his chest. 

“No promises.” Bruce smirks. “I hear Lois wants an exclusive. Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

“Don’t you dare. Bruce—“

He dials her office line, jogging towards the stairs. Clark shrieks and chases after him. 

5 ) He’s mischievous. Deathly so. 

…

After a long while of staring at his pitiful little list, Clark still finds himself restless. He has naught more than a skeleton, clinging scraps of Bruce’s infinite depths. The paper isn’t suited to contain him. He might actually know less than before.

Even as Bruce beats the shit out of him, he can’t think of anything else. 

“Why don’t you let anyone get to know you?” Clark frowns at Bruce across the sparring mats. Bruce runs and leaps onto his shoulders, executing a flawless scissor grip. Clark raises his hand to support his back and Bruce swats him away. 

“What?” Bruce grunts, bringing his elbows down onto Clark’s head. He barely notices. 

“You’re always so stoic. You never let anyone see you happy.” Clark flips Bruce off his shoulders and down onto his back. He puts his hands on his hips and stares down at him. 

“No, I never let anyone see me vulnerable. There’s a difference.” Bruce wraps his legs around Clark’s and takes him down, quickly rolling atop him. Within a second, Bruce unleashes a flurry of blows that, if Clark could feel more than dull impacts, he probably would fear.  

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable in front of your friends, Bruce. That’s what makes them friends, not coworkers.” Clark catches his fists and holds them. 

“I’ll pass along your suggestion. Are you going to fight back or should I go get Diana?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, breathing hard. Clark flips them both and pins Bruce down. 

“I just think—stop wiggling—we should bond more, y’know? Know thy enemy, and all that.” Clark keeps pressing down until Bruce sighs and goes still in his grip. He knows he’s defeated. Smart man. 

“That tends to apply to actual enemies, not coworkers.” Bruce sighs. 

“Well, we’re more than that, aren’t we?” Clark presses, searching Bruce’s eyes. Bruce nods, looking all for the world like he might bolt from the room. 

“Sooo, what’s your favorite color?” When Bruce is silent, Clark rolls his eyes and sits back. “Mine is yellow. Your turn.”

“…lavender.” Bruce eyes him warily. Clark helps him to his feet and they start the cycle again. The minute they stop fighting each other’s rhythm, they find a flawless sync. 

“Nice! Okay, uh…favorite food?” Clark ducks under Bruce’s left hook and shoves him back. 

“Alfred’s chicken noodle.” Bruce kicks Clark across the face and he lets himself go down. He brushes some of the dust off. 

“That sounds nice.” He grins up at Bruce from the mat. The light haloes behind his head so beautifully. 

“Yeah.” Bruce clears his throat. “And you…?” He pulls Clark to his feet and resets his stance. 

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of fresh apple pie.” Clark sweeps forward with a wink. 

Bruce shakes his head and snickers, then punches Clark hard enough in the ribs to crack his own knuckles. 

…

Two sharp knocks on the doorframe announce Bruce before his voice does. Clark looks up from the dull light of his laptop. 

“Got a second?” Bruce leans in the doorframe, cloaked in slight shadow. He’s dressed comfortably, surprisingly, in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that hug him well. It makes Clark wanna pull him close. 

“Always, yeah.” Clark sets his computer aside and sits up. Bruce leans against the edge of his desk and fishes something out of his pocket. 

“Found some intel. I could use a fresh set of eyes on it.” The moon casts loving light across his eyes and jaw.

“Of course.” Clark sits up more. 

“Found this nearby. I was hoping you could decipher it.” Bruce hands over a scrap of folded paper. Clark furrows his brow as he takes it, gingerly opening it up. He casts a curious glance at Bruce before he starts to read.

It’s his notes. His notes on Bruce. Shit.

He looks up slowly, horrified. Bruce smirks in full force, oozing mischief that Clark now knows is very much in character. 

“Normally, I’m not a fan of being watched. Try to avoid it as much as I can.” 

“You’re a hard man to read.” Clark clears his throat and folds the paper down to hide its contents further. 

“Yet it seems you’ve cracked the code,” Bruce hums. Clark catches the faint glimmer of that old playboy spark. Bruce’s lips tilt into a devilish smirk. 

“So, I’m right then? It’s important…for the record.” Clark scoots up against the headboard in an attempt to look casual. Bruce sits at the foot of the bed. Voluntarily. Clark stops breathing.

“I would say that parts are accurate.”

“Parts?” He clears his throat. Bruce snatches the paper from his grip. He starts murmuring as he skims the list. 

“Let’s see…I like raspberries but I’m allergic.”

“You’re what?” The color drains from Clark’s face. Bruce shrugs.

“What else? Oh—I’m a dog person. I have a soft spot for cats.”

“Huh.” 

“I am physically capable of laughter.” Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Proved that one already.” Clark smiles. Bruce scowls, then turns back to the paper. Clark remembers, in a terrible flash, the looping doodles of ‘Clark Kent-Wayne’ at the bottom of the page and chokes out a strangled scream. 

He disintegrates the paper with a precise blast of heat vision. He feels a little bad for scorching the wall, but not that bad. The evidence is gone. Plausible deniability. 

“Seriously?” He brushes the ash off his hands. 

“I gotta keep my secrets.” Clark shrugs, but his face is incandescent with heat. 

“What about that paper was so bad that it made Superman blush?” Bruce smirks. 

“There is nothing on God’s green earth that you could do to make me tell you.” Clark grins from atop the high ground. 

Bruce plucks his glasses off of his nose and sets them aside, careful not to touch the lenses. It’s a tender gesture for what is essentially a costume, but something in his heart flutters at the delicate care. 

“Are you sure?” He leans close—close enough for Clark to catch a whiff of cologne and the intoxicating sparkle in his eye, close enough for Clark to lean in on instinct, and close enough for Bruce to wrap his hands around Clark’s waist like he’d been wishing he would since that stupid gala. Clark’s lips part. 

“Okay, there might be a couple thi—“ Clark cuts himself off with a squeal, slamming his head into the headboard—the resulting crack speaks to a later promise of duct tape. As Bruce shoves his hands under his arms, Clark’s laughter bowls him over quicker than he can apologize. 

“You are such a kid!” He throws his head back and cackles, curling into the tightest possible ball that his hulking form could take. Bruce leans over him. 

“You have no grounds to call me that. You’re giggling.” Bruce raises an eyebrow, 

“Because you’re t-tickling—” Clark regretfully finishes his sentence with a snort. Bruce lights up and chases the sound, relentlessly working his fingers into the grooves of his ribs. Clark hits his head again--there goes the rest of the headboard. And part of the wall.

Between the buzz of being touched by Bruce and being unused to this kind of touch, Clark melts into a haphazard pile of Superman with embarrassing speed. Bruce manages to work his fingers up further, right into his top rib, and he punches a hole directly into the nightstand, sending the lamp toppling over. Bruce relents then, passively assessing the damage while Clark drags in a deep breath. 

“You really think it’s a good idea to tickle someone who could throw you into the sun?” Clark huffs, wobbling on a smile. Bruce smirks. 

“Never said it was a good idea. Just an alluring one.” 

“You find me alluring? Scandalous, Mr. Wayne.” Clark offers a teasing grin. Bruce’s brow crinkles with concern. He goes from fiddling with Clark’s waist to fiddling with his hands. 

Bruce gets tactile when he’s stressed. Or when something’s on his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clark asks softly. He scoots just a bit closer. 

“The day after the gala, I had Vicki write up a piece about you and I splitting. Like I promised. It was never published.” 

“I noticed,” Clark says carefully, tracking every detail of Bruce’s face. 

“I asked her not to.” 

“Why?”

“I knew if the article went live, you would stop with the affection and the dates. I know it was only for appearances, but…I really enjoyed it. I wasn’t ready to let it go. I…care about you.” Bruce looks up at him, worry entrenched in the dips of his face. It slips to something resigned and neutral, a blank mask. 

Clark smiles like a lunatic, covering his mouth to hide it. He contains the desperate urge to take a lap around the manor. Months, years, of pining bloom into sweet possibility within him. The weight of guilt sloughs off his shoulders. Bruce likes him. 

“Y’know, for the smartest man in Gotham, you miss quite a lot.” Clark leans in and waits. Bruce’s eyes flick to Clark’s lips, and in a Batman-esque flash of motion, he swoops down and kisses him. Their bodies slot together almost magnetically. Clark flips them over and bears back down, swallowing Bruce’s gasp of surprise in his mouth. 

In an insane way, kissing Bruce is like coming home. 

He flings his arms around Clark’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Clark immediately, greedily, lets his lips travel along Bruce’s pulse point. He chases the memory of the gala, littering desperate bruises along the cologne-tinged skin. His hand lingers at the base of his throat, brushing reverent fingers as he marks every inch available to him. 

Bruce yelps into a giggle, breaking them apart. Clark blinks, processing, then grins with unbridled power. 

“This feels…counter-productive.” Bruce swallows, bobbing Clark’s hand. His skin is hot and red to the touch. 

“Nice try. You already enabled me—that was your first mistake.” Clark tickles him everywhere he can reach, dodging elbows and headbutts. Bruce cackles from his core, stumbling through a few high-pitched syllables of protest as he twists. He works so hard to force his voice back into its usual octave that it cracks. Clark snickers. 

“I am going to kill you,” Bruce growls, reaching back to return the favor. Clark slams his arm down on the mattress, caressing the back of his hand with immovable fingertips. 

“Then this is a wonderful last night on Earth.” Clark nibbles on his earlobe. Bruce’s giggly scream and the ensuing threats on his life are music to Clark’s ears.

#my fics #ticklish!bruce wayne #ticklish!clark kent #bruce wayne #clark kent #superbat #dc #ALRIGHT the lois/selina thing came from somewhere ok bc i know its a teeny ship #tbh im not sure it even exists #but my lois is inspired by lena luthor from the cw supergirl series bc lesbianism + superman makes me happy #but i felt like if lois was into kara (which originally she was) clark would be working around the clock to get them together #which derailed the scene. so i put lois and selina together #wlw mlm solidarity clark and lois both being head over heels for their respective creatures of the night speaks to me #they're besties your honor #sorry this is not what i said i would post next but its what i finished off my pile so #also titles from better love by hozier bc that song is superbat to me

[chyuuiung]

do I make you nervous?

quick hobi drabble, had this thought literally 10 mins ago and figured I should write it so I won't forget it, so forgive me for any mistakes 🙏 the dynamic between the two could be up for interpretation but I thought it was rlly cute. might make a longer, revised version later.

NOT PROOFREAD

no warnings

it was during the photoshoot for the concept photos of his upcoming album, and you decided to lend a helping hand with his makeup.

"hold still for a second," you said with a breathy laugh, holding his jaw gently to lift his head up to you. you held the eyeliner pencil, using it to mark the area on his nose where you'd be gluing the fake bridge piercing.

"are you done?" he asks, moving his head forward to look in the mirror while fixing a couple strands of his hair.

"no silly, I haven't even put the glue on yet" you said, once again holding his jaw and lifting it. "here, put your hand out" he held his hand open in front of him for you to put the little plastic beads as you put the glue on the eyeliner marks you had previously made.

hoseok looks into your eyes as your face hovers above his, you can feel the tension but avoid the eye contact, smirking ever so slightly. you knew what he was doing, and he knew that you knew.

shyly, you turn around, definitely a bit farther than necessary to put the glue back down. you turned back to him, his head still leaning back, picking up a metal bead out of his open palm.

as your face closens he locks eyes with you once again, a cheeky smile on his face.

"close your eyes" you say while letting out a quiet giggle.

"why? are you putting something on my eyes too?" he asks, closing them as you requested.

"no, it's just.." you trail off, not even sure what you were gonna say, but its pretty obvious youre flustered. and although he can't see it, he can hear your smile as you speak.

he raises an eyebrow with his eyes still shut, opening them just a second later.

"just what? do i make you nervous?" he smirks as he speaks, closing his eyes again.

"oh shut up," you whisper, face just a couple inches away from his as you try to glue the final bead on his face.

and once again, he can't see it, but he can hear the smile in your voice.

"you're so cute"

#hoseok x reader #bts fluff #jhope x reader #bts scenarios #bts x reader #jhope #hoseok #hobi #bts drabble #hoseok drabble #bts oneshot #bts smut #hoseok smut #ot7 #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts jhope

[felixsmeshglove]

piercings - skz boys

writers note: ; idk something about the skz boys wearing fake piercings and real piercings truly just has its grip on me. it’s not even fair. so, i decided to write about what piercing each member would get and a little bit of ideas about it please enjoy feedback is always appreciated

oh and this is excluding all of their original piercings, i know almost all of them have some variants and numbers of ear piercings, im talking about other types of piercings.

pairing(s) ; bang chan x reader, minho x reader, changbin x reader, hyunjin x reader, jisung x reader, felix x reader, seungmin x reader, jeongin x reader

content warnings ; 16+ (suggestive but no smut), body modification/piercings, gn!reader, uhh nipple piercings specifically?

bang ‘chris’ chan -;-

the piercing bang chan would be most likely to get would be a bridge piercing! i am so sure of this, honestly any nose piercing would look beautiful on him but frankly a bridge piercing would suit him the best.

~~~~~

you would initially be really stunned when you came over to visit, your eyes immediately snapping up to the pointed silver studs placed high up on the bridge of his nose.

immediately, his face would drop to worry. “you don’t like it. aish, i knew this was a bad idea. i shouldn’t have let them talk me into it-“

“n-no channie! no.. it- sorry, its just different is all. it looks nice really.”

you couldn’t help but just stare, you thought your boyfriend couldn’t get any more attractive. yeah… you thought wrong… he was just so pretty. especially with the slit eyebrow that he’d had from a recent concert that hadn’t grown back yet.

“cat got your tongue sweetheart?” he’d say with a chuckle.

“i uhm..” you’d try to say. chan would just gently grab your wrist, tugging you into the dorm and hugging you close with another deep, rumbling chuckle.

“so i’m keeping it?”

“you’re keeping it.”

lee “lee know” minho -;-

i think falling in line similarly with a fake piercing he’s worn before, he’d get spider bites on his right lip. the rest of his features are too soft to be broken up by some other facial piercing i feel like.

~~~~~

it took you longer than you cared to admit to notice. at first, you thought it was just for a music video they’d recorded. but then you noticed… minho hadn’t taken them off. you thought maybe it was for a new press style, but then.. the color changed. from silver to black. finally, while sitting on the sofa beside him you’d pipe up, “minho.. are.. those real..? did you really pierce yourself this time?”

“yeah? why not? does it look bad?” minho teased with a smirk, the smirk tugging the black rings along oh so slightly. fuck.

“you and i both know you look great, lino,” you’d say, trying to blow off the intense blush that had begun to bloom across your cheeks.

minho leaned in closer to you, ever the cocky blunt sexy individual that he was, his arm resting casually across the back of the couch. you hadn’t gotten to give minho a whole lot of love recently due to the band’s press business and whatnot, so you hadn’t yet had the chance to kiss him and notice the reality of his piercings.

“oh doll, you know i look great…” he said with a lowered, deeper voice.

almost as if he was reading your mind, he closed the gap between the two of you. cold metal tickled the edge of your lip as he did so, it seems almost somehow that this piercing made him even more bold than before.

you could get used to this.

seo changbin -;-

honestly changbin seems like a wildcard here but i think frankly an eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow would suit his style the best. it’s truly a tie between this and an industrial. it depends on his mood when he was getting it honestly, as our dear binne seems to only have modes: cutie baby, and rough & dark. for the purposes of this imagine, we’ll go with the eyebrow piercing.

~~~~~

you were the first to know about changbin’s lovely little impulsive choice. why was that? why my dear y/n, this man dragged your poor ass to the appointment with him. he claimed over and over that he just needed moral support, but really it was just because sometimes it was so hard to get time with just you when he was so busy and he liked to take any chance he could.

he had the funniest response to the piercing too, as he kept an entirely stone face but tears streamed down his face.

at the end, he’d claimed it didn’t hurt even one bit. you knew he was probably just playing it up but you didn’t. changbin always made you laugh, you loved that about him.

“so, what do you think?” he asked you as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked over at you as you two began to roam the streets with time to kill after his piercing.

“looks nice on you, dwaekki,” you’d coo at him with a teasing nickname. you always thought he looked attractive no matter what look he tried to pull. at the end of the day he was still your precious dwaekki.

“its gonna look really nice on stage too, i hope you told your managers about this,” you add.

a slightly alarmed look takes over changbin’s face as his eyebrows raise slightly. this earns him a pained wince that he tries to bite back.

“right.. i should tell them, shouldn’t i?”

hwang hyunjin -;-

okay okay i will fuckin go to my grave on this one. first of all, hyunjin won’t settle for just one piercing. and no, this is not me being indecisive. i am absolutely convinced that he would get just a standard lip piercing but also nipple piercings. he’s just extra like that. that and i think that honestly him and jeongin are the most likely of the skz boys to get some sort of a body piercing.

~~~~~

you’d noticed quickly noticed as soon as hyunjin had stopped by your house that a shiny ring of metal adorned his plush lower lip. how could you not? it always seemed like anything hyunjin added to his face made him so much more stunning. the ever-doting partner you were, you spoke up.

“jinnie? did you forget to take off your jewelry before you left?”

“no? oh- this is real jagiya~” he cooed with his velvety voice, quickly resting his slender fingers against your hips and gently pulling you closer.

“when did you get that? i know you haven’t been able to visit for a bit but i figured in the pics you guys took it was just one of your fakes,” you’d responded with your face blooming with an intense blush.

“mmm almost two weeks ago now gongjunim~” he clarified, you could feel the metal that was warmed from his lips just barely brush against your own.

the ever devious little ferret boy he was, he waited for you to begin to reply. before you could even get a word out, however he crashed his lips against yours.

when you two finally pulled apart, he chuckled, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you.

“i’ve got.. other ones too… but those are for later..~” hyunjin said with his eyes flicking down, a subtle gesture to his chest. cue your blush darkening seemingly infinitely.

“did they hurt?” you ask dumbly, eyes unfocused as you were too flustered to quite realize what you were even saying.

“jagiyaaa you had to ruin the moment? of course it hurt!” hyunjin whined, before the two of you erupted into giggles.

han jisung -;-

my dear sweet hannie he looks so nice in so much. i think the best thing that would fit his aesthetic though would be a nice subtle diamond nose stud. it would add such a cute asymmetric pop of interest to his face that would match literally anything he wore.

~~~~~

another ‘drag you along for moral support’ type of person but he actually needs moral support a little bit. fortunately, unlike binnie, jisung has a little more forethought to actually plan out what he wants, where he put it and actually requesting permission from the producers.

he’d even asked you. jisung knew you’d love him with anything but seeing him with a nose piercing seemed to just itch a special part of your brain the best way.

you held his hand sweetly as he sat at the chair, chewing on his lower lip nervously. you peppered his face with soft kisses before stepping back to allow the piercer to do his job. he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, bracing himself for the pain. however, as quickly as it began, it was over. jisung blinked as he let go of your hand, the piercer making quick work of inserting the stud.

“good job jagi!” you smiled at him as he stood up, still a little stunned. ‘god he looks hot…’ you thought to yourself.

pushing back the thought jisung grinned and hugged you tight. “thank you for coming aegiya~”

in the taxi back to the dorm, your eyes kept flicking back to jisung’s new facial jewelry. “aegi~ aegiyaaa~” he giggled at you in a sing-song voice as he leaned forward to press a few sweet smooches to your cheek.

“it looks re-really n-nice, jagi,” you said softly, your mind finally settling out of your ‘gotta protect’ mindset and slipping back into your whipped little ‘god my boyfriend is hot’ mindset.

a wicked playful grin spread across jisung’s lips. man was he going to have a fun time with his new teasing topic.

lee ‘felix’ yongbok -;-

maybe this is my baby-stayness showing but i don’t remember any outfits where felix wore fake piercings so i don’t even have a baseline for what would look nice on him. that being said, for similar reasons that i mentioned for minho, a nose piercing would break up his gestures a little too much, but i think that he would also find too much inconvenience in having a lip piercing. thus we settle on a right eyebrow piercing to offset his left ear lobe piercings. felix already had the piercing but stopped wearing it for the sake of plot-

~~~~~

initially it was all just a joke. felix loved to send you selfies on snapchat and one day you found yourself particularly interested in the fake piercing filter. it had given him a stunning black bar eyebrow piercing, which sent a shiver to your core.

“lixie? you need to post that one,” you’d sent him in a voice message. fortunately, all of the stays had seemed to agree with you as well.

“do you really think i’d look good with an eyebrow piercing?” he’d shot a voice message back.

suddenly, your phone started to ring. felix was trying to facetime you? you answer.

when the call tunes in, your face immediately flushes a hot red as you see felix with a silver bar through his left brow. his eyes widen slightly at your reaction, before he chuckles softly.

“since when have you had that?!” you exclaim, lifting your free hand to cover your face in vain.

“i got it when i was seventeen i think, it was a stupid decision but i didn’t expect you to react this way babe,” felix says curiously as he smiles warmly. he loved seeing just how infatuated you were with him and how flustered he made you.

he felt the same exact way though, and he was never afraid to show it. you two always brought each other up. felix made a mental note to start wearing his piercing again.

kim seungmin -;-

fuck this exact thought forces my repressed seungmin bias to plague my thoughts exponentially. its hard for me to honestly pick anything other than a labret ring piercing for him. labret piercing seungmin ruins me inside i swear- also im sorry this one seemed to lean way more on seungmin’s perspective

~~~~~

seungmin didn’t actually intend to hide the piercing from you. in fact, he didn’t even hide it at all. however, you were under the impression that the piercing was simply a fake one like he’d used many times before. the producers always seemed to love seeing him in that type of piercing anyway.

you also weren’t normally allowed to kiss him while he had the fake on, lest it move or fall off. don’t get me wrong, he didn’t like the arrangement either. but alas, appeasing the producers was the choice he had to make.

this all culminated into a perfect front for him to actually go ahead and get the piercing. it served multiple purposes, he thought. as the producers seemed to have him wear the fake one more and more recently. his second, more favorite purpose was to drive you crazy. he saw how you seemed to practically drool over him especially whenever he wore the fake.

your phone lock screen was a photo of him wearing it from the last show he did wearing one for god’s sake.

he’d managed four and a half weeks before he finally cracked. most of the initial tenderness and pain of the healing piercing had subsided by then and he couldn’t hold back anymore. he just needed to kiss you again.

you’d just arrived to the studio, bags with drink carriers full of various drinks in your hands. you had barely set down the bags before seungmin seemed to usher you away from the other boys into a more secluded area of the studio.

pinning you against the wall, you try to protest in worry, “minnie your fake-“

he cuts you off. you immediately notice how this piercing doesn’t seem to move from it’s anchor point. he kisses you deeply, cupping your face with one hand and resting his opposite arm above your head. he holds the kiss for what feels like forever, before pulling away with a small huff.

“it’s real…”

yang jeongin -;-

okay, another wildcard but as the youngest i feel like in a classic himbo youngest fashion jeongin would get a belly button piercing. i don’t have much other reasoning other than that and i think he’d look hot with one tbh.

~~~~~

“y/n-ah! y/n-ah! look!” jeongin exclaimed happily as he grinned his big silly grin, scrambling up from the sofa he was sitting on in the lounge to see you when you’d entered the dorm. he lifted his shirt, and as you were about to turn away shyly and shout at him to not just undress in front of you, he stopped mid-chest.

your eyes widen as you blush, your attention immediately caught by the shiny silver jewelry that adorned the maknae’s belly.

“innie its- wow.” you say as you freeze in your tracks, stunned.

“do you like it? seungmin and hyunjin took me the other day it looks so cute right?” he giggled, the same wide silly grin plastered on his cheeks.

you definitely did like it. you were stunned, at a loss for words. jeongin let go of his shirt as his giggle turned more into a laugh.

“i wasn’t expecting you to do something so… bold?” you tried to choke out as jeongin pulled you close and hugged you. you could feel the piercing subtly through his shirt.

“i thought it would be fun and it looks nice doesn’t it? just wait until i can start using all the cool jewelry when this heals,” jeongin said with teasing excitement

“oh god jeongin-baby you’re going to be the death of me,” you said with a mock groan, laughing softly as you kissed his jawline. “i just gotta ask though, why the belly button?”

you were only met with a shrug as jeongin spoke, “not really sure, i was looking at pictures and i saw not a lot of guys get it.”

fair, but to you this was all the more reason to be so enamored by it. the rarity. jeongin was truly a special creature…

#raeraewrites #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz bang chan #skz lee know #skz changbin #skz hyunjin #skz han #skz felix #skz seungmin #skz in #bang chan x reader #minho x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #jisung x reader #felix x reader #felix lee x reader #yongbok x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #in x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz #stray kids

[sanriokamabodo]

college!bf douma

A/N: im struggling w writers block + had a heavy day so i decided to write smth i conjured up instead of a request!i will be back in business soon my sweets!heehee<3 if y'all want a part two feel free to ask djdjd

CW's: hes kinda sleazy in the beginning, reader sucks at math. suggestive themes>:) douma is goth in my college au bc i said so. the day i proofread is the day i die!

A psychology major with a minor in religious studies. Doesn't practice any religion himself but finds the subject interesting nevertheless.

Barely studies but somehow manages to pass with flying colours.

That one hookup you regret with all your might, let me elaborate;

Douma tutors math and it's no coincidence he slept with majority of the people he tutored.

No, you're not an exception. Cute try though!

Something about Douma's piercings, his choppy hair that he probably cut himself and his 'don't give a fuck' attitude managed to dissolve your IQ and last bit of self respect around him.

He knows how to give you just enough attention to keep you interested, but little enough for you to purposely screw up your math tests for an excuse to see him.

Yes, he mocked your intelligence by asking if rats ate your brain or whether you were just born this stupid, but the way he ruffled your hair as he fake-pouted at you made something bubble in your stomach.

It's no surprise you ended up with Douma in the men's restroom, a hand smacked tightly over your mouth that day.

You weren't allowed to ride the high of having hooked up with the hottest guy on campus for long.

Throughout the night you were bombarded with messages from your friends, all of them being about Douma. Why didn't you tell them? Was he good? ... Was he big?

You thought your heart was going to thump out of your chest. Sweaty hands refreshing the messages five, ten, twenty times.

This had to be a sick joke, right? Was this Douma's true nature?

About to throw your phone away in defeat, it vibrated once more. You didn't want to look but curiousity got the better of you.

[Douma, 11:06]: I think we need to talk.

Your chest thundered with anger at the message.

[Y/n, 11:07]: You think!?

[Douma, 11.07]: I know you don't owe me anything, but can we please meet somewhere?

[Y/n, 11.08]: I don't feel like showing my face today, thanks:)

We're you being dramatic? Maybe a little. But you were an introverted person. Being known by everyone on campus wasn't on your to-do list, and the reason why just made it that much worse.

[Douma, 11.08]: Text me your adress, I'm coming over.

[Y/n, 11.09]: No.

[Douma, 11.10]: Please, give me a chance to set things straight. I'll fix it, I promise.

You pondered for a moment. Fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You texted him the address of your dorm and within an hour you heard a knock on your door.

Opening the door Douma stood on your doorstep, looking rather apologetic. You waved him inside, a thankful smile grazed his lips.

"I like what you did with the place."

"Shut up."

"Fair enough." He nodded.

"So..?"

"I did tell my friends we hooked up." He said, making you scoff. He threw his hands up defensively, before you could say anything.

"But! But! I didn't want them to tell everybody else..! They know I like you... a lot."

A small blush across up your cheeks at the sudden confession.

"You like me?"

Now you've done it, Douma started rambling.

"I get really fucking dumb about crushes. I wanted to text you all the time but I didn't want to come across as creepy. I thought we could just... hook up and I would forget about my stupid little crush and of course it just made me like you even more, because c'mon you're hot as fuck." He sighs pinching the bridge of his nose dramatically. "So what I'm trying to say here is that I would really like to make it up to you because I'm really fucking sorry and I would also really, really like to take you on a date and have a fresh start, please?" A shy smile painted his features.

You laughed. You were stupid if you were to deny him like this, especially considering you really liked him too.

"I'd love to go on a date with you."

#wow i .. actually ... kinda like how this turned out? #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #anime #kny #demon slayer fluff #douma #douma headcanons #douma x reader #douma imagine

[riconastyfan]

#rico nasty #black punk #black spiked mullet #blonde brows #blonde eyebrows #spike choker #robe #motorola #pink phone #cell #cell phone #2022 #fake nose bridge piercing #las ruinas cover shoot

[gamerbearmira]

Rock band au -

Also, I like how you gave Mira a lip piercing that’s like Pepa’s and gave Camilo a nose piercing that’s like Isa’s! And that helped think of something cute-

So, it’s obvious Mira and Camilo are too young to actually have real piercings (besides ear piercings), so I think they buy fake ones. They happened to try out new types of piercings every so often (every other day) to see what fits them. (In other words, which ones their going to get when they're older.)

Pepa recommended it to Isabela before she permanently got her own septum piercing. And in turn, Isabela recommended it to her hermanita and primito.

At the moment Camilo really likes snake bites and the septum piercing. Mirabel likes eyebrow piercings, nose bridge piercing, and dimple piercings. 

…I truly think Isabela is the type to get a tongue piercing as well because she’s just like that. I also think isa is still trying out different ones as well.

Mira and Camilo's friends are always fascinated by how chill their parents are.

"Dude, my mama would kill me for just LOOKING at a piercing let alone let me buy a fake one"

And they're just like...."I know, sucks to be you"

I found this little piercing chart you could look at in case you need inspiration.

ITS SO CUTE I had to <333

But I. Also thought Isabela should have a toungue piercing, I almost drew her with it but didn’t 😭 I ALSO ALMOST GAVE MIRABEL BRIDGE OR DIMPLES?? SO COOL <3333 I also gave Pepa tragus (both sides) 🤭

ALSO??? IS 15 TOO YOUNG??? I mean to me that's a fine age, as long as you care for them 🤠 I mean I got my septum when I was 14, so I don't really see an issue but whatever 🤭🤭

maybe a little silly fact,,,,but both Julieta and Bruno ALSO had piercings. Because as teens they were very influenced by Alma. Pepa was just the only one who stuck. Bruno had a septum, and Julieta, SURPRISINGLY??? Had a tongue. You can see the tongue scar when she sticks her tongue out. Dunno if they'd keep em.

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto isabela #encanto pepa #encanto camilo #rock band au

[hetaliaimaginesin2022]

Do you have any hcs for 2p america? they don't even have to be relationship oriented

Oh, I absolutley do

2p!America • Allen Jones | General Headcanons

First and foremost, he has auburn eyes and a strong nose bridge, his curly dark brown hair can be seen with a reddish tint in some lighting and he's around 6'3 (about 190cm), muscle wise, he's not as big as his 1p counterpart, but he is more toned

He also has several piercings which includes an eyebrow piercing, a tongue piercing, snake bites, and several ear piercings

The majority of his wardrobe consists of short sleeved t-shirts, jean and faux leather jackets, cargo pants, dark colored jeans, and combat boots, sometimes he'll wear baseball caps

Even though he has a very rough exterior, being quite sarcastic and ill-tempered, he has a deep love for animals and for the few people that are close to him (even if he doesn't express it)

Partially due to his love of animals, he's vegan, and is unashamed to admit it, going so far as to getting into physical confrontations if someone thinks it makes him "a pussy"

He also has a bad mouth, using profanity liberally, regardless of the circumstance

He is quite flirtatious, though not a romantic in the slightest (think of shitty pickup lines you'd hear in a bar), they land even when they shouldn't because he's so confident and fine

More often than not, he refers to others almost exclusively with nicknames, even if he's just met someone

He has a New York accent and spends the majority of his time there, renting an apartment to live in (he can often be seen smoking on his fire escape at hellish morning hours)

He thinks that driving is "Bullshit and a waste of fuckin' time", so he's gotten incredibly apt at using the subways, and being unphased by the weird things that go on on public transportation (though he has a thing for motorcycles)

On his free time, he enjoys watching American Football, going to bars and clubs (with a fake ID), and running around at night with a few other 2p countries, causing mischief (and light crime)

This is a side note, but he has an interest in reptiles and has a pet kingsnake

#hetalia #2p america #2p america headcanons #2p hetalia #allen jones #2p hetalia headcanons #hetalia headcanons

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, cussing. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Wednesday, y'all! I'm going to try to put out a chapter a week on Wednesdays (we shall see if I can keep up lol). Thank you for your lovely responses to Chapter 1 and for giving this little fic a chance. ❤️

This chapter dives into some heavy stuff in that I've sped up the timeline and brought some of the serious health issues that Elvis experienced more prominently later in his life to the forefront in 1960. I've always wondered what might have happened if they had recognized his many complex conditions for what they were early in his life. Truth be told, I am endlessly fascinated by the medical conundrum that was Elvis and that he lived most of his life with some pretty severe shit that at the time no one understood or had names for. Of course, I simplify the shit out of it here and try to put them in laymen's terms. I've taken some major artistic liberties with history in that there is likely no way in 1960 they would have be able to diagnose, especially so quickly, his complex conditions. Also, I am not a medical professional, so I've done my best to describe things whist moving the plot along. I HIGHLY recommend reading Sally Hoedel's book Elvis: Destined to Die Young if you are interested in the specifics regarding E's health journey and how he ended up where he did in terms of that. It's a superbly researched and somewhat heartbreaking book that I think every Elvis fan should read. It certainly inspired part of this story.

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Shit.

Elvis winces as he cracks open his eyes just enough to see the sun blazing in on him. The infernal light pierces straight into his head, worsening the headache that already throbs against the inside of his skull. He quickly shuts his eyes again, cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to keep the curtains open on a sunny late winter’s day.

Gotta have Lamar cover those damn windows with something more than those flimsy-ass cutains, he thinks, already pissed off.

It takes him a moment to register where he is and why he’s there. That, in fact, the sun’s rays are rather weak and dim, making him wonder just what time it is. Holding the bridge of his nose against the pain in his head, he manages to squint his eyes open to find himself in a rather small hospital room.

Bits and pieces start to come back to him, though the days and nights run together into one big jumble. How he’d finally escaped the confines of his service in Germany, so damn excited to be coming home that he hadn’t properly slept in days. He’d just kept popping those great little pills he’d obtained from a more than generous pharmacist in Bad Nauheim and, fueled by those and pure restlessness to get back to the states, he’d managed to easily keep the smile on his face for the cameras in Germany and the UK.

But the flight over the Atlantic had him chewing his nails to the quick, his legs going a mile a minute. He feared flying ever since the emergency landing that he, Scotty, and Bill had to make in that small, dinky little plane back in the old days, when things had just started to kick up for them in the business. It was made worse by his mama being convinced that he was gonna die in a horrible, fiery crash, so he’d taken to trains and boats and cars as his main forms of transport. The U.S. Army wanted to get him home sooner rather than later, however, and if there was one thing he’d learned in the last two years, it’s that you don’t try to fight Uncle Sam.

Whether it was the flight or the pills or the lack of rest, he’d started to get queasy and dizzy on that pass over the ocean. Then, the scratchiness of his throat, the burn of his forehead, and the chilled sweat that began to stain his perfectly pressed and tailored uniform were the telltale signs of a bout of tonsilitis striking him at precisely the wrong time.

That’s where things get a little fuzzy. Between the pain behind his eyes and at the base of his skull and the heavy fatigue consuming him, it’s not coming to him as quickly as he’d like. His eyes begin to adjust to the sunlight, and he puts together enough to know whatever happened between that flight and landing in New York was enough to land him flat on his ass in the hospital.

New York. That explains all the racket, he thinks as the sounds below on the streets echo off the buildings, creating a cacophony unique to the big city.

The door to the little room swings open then, making him jump out of his skin. It’s as though his state of consciousness was magically communicated to the staff because in walks an older gentleman in a long, white coat, along with his daddy and the Colonel. Their faces are all different degrees of solemn, which sets a churning dread down into the pit of his stomach.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Presley. You’ve been asleep quite a while,” the doctor says, the man’s education only belying a hint of a New York accent. “You’ve had us a bit worried.”

“Mister Presley is my father, Doctor. Please call me Elvis,” he manages to croak out. The fire in his throat flames from the use, causing him to cough and sputter. There’s an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest that tightens with each breath, and that knot in his stomach coils ever tighter.

“Take it easy, son,” his daddy says softly, pouring a glass of water from the table against the wall and handing it to him. The action triggers a memory: a pretty, little dark-haired nurse all in white doing the same in the middle of the night.

Elvis is pulled from the memory as the doctor begins speaking in a serious tone: “Elvis, I’m Dr. Paulson. You had quite the fall in the airplane yesterday morning and hit your head. Do you remember?”

“No, sir.”

“Hmm, that isn’t unusual with a head injury of this type. You might find that your memory has some gaps, bit that is to be expected and will likely resolve with time. But your injury is not what has me concerned, young man, it’s the cause of your unconsciousness that is the real culprit, I’m afraid.”

“What do y’mean, sir? Just feels like a flare of the ol’ tonsils to me.” As soon as it’s out of his mouth, Elvis knows it’s not the whole truth. He’s never felt quite this terrible in his life, with the way he’s struggling for breath and his body aches from head to toe.

“Elvis, along with your fall, you also went into respiratory distress last night.” Suddenly, Elvis remembers the laughing fit, how he couldn’t catch his breath, how the air just couldn’t seem to fill his lungs as that pretty nurse held his hand. But he thinks maybe it happened before that, too, him gasping for breath as the roar of airplane engines rang in his ears. Icy fear runs down his spine at the remembrance of not being able to draw breath. His attention snaps back to the doctor as he continues.

“We’ve run some tests, and that, coupled with your family history…” the austere man hesitates, “Well, I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

The Colonel glances away and out the window at that, his mouth set in a frown Elvis has never seen before, but it’s the look of sadness on his daddy’s face that finally sets a wave of panic rolling through him.

“Lay it on me, Dr. Paulson,” Elvis says, steeling himself.

“You seem to have a condition that is affecting your lungs, heart, and liver, all of which are vital to our survival. Looking at your mother’s medical records, we think she may have been afflicted with the same condition, and possibly more family members on her side. In fact, it’s likely what caused her early demise,” Dr. Paulson explains.

At the mention of his mama, Elvis’ heart constricts, his barely buried grief stinging his eyes. He blinks away the tears as fast as he can, trying to follow what the doctor is saying.

“Along with that, your immune system also appears compromised, which would explain your frequent and severe bouts of fever and tonsilitis. Altogether, it’s a perfect storm that is likely to only get worse with time. Of course, medical science is improving every day, and there may be better treatments down the road…” Dr. Paulson trails off.

Dread falls over him like a heavy blanket. “What’re ya sayin’, sir?” Elvis asks quietly but is afraid to hear the answer he thinks he’s gonna get.

Dr. Paulson takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m sorry to say, but it’s likely these conditions are going to shorten your lifespan considerably.”

The words hang in the air like a suffocating dark cloud. His daddy’s face crumples and he turns away, while the Colonel winces—actually winces—at the words.

“So, y-y-you’re saying this gonna k-k-kill me? That I-I-I’m gonna die?” His vocal incredulousness covers how the sheer panic overcoming him sets his heart galloping. “I’m only 25, Doc…y-y-you gotta be w-wrong ‘bout this. I just spent two damn years in the Army, and they sure as hell didn’t say nothin’ about no ‘condition’!”

“This condition is very rare, Elvis, and we are learning more about it every day. I’m not saying it’ll be today, but considering the episode you’ve just had, this disease will factor critically into your overall health and survival going forward. It has already started a cascade of chronic health issues of varying severity that will worsen as you age, and in the end, this combination of factors will almost certainly be the thing that kills you.”

Hearing those words out of the doctor’s mouth sets him numb with disbelief. This can’t be fucking happening. Not when everything is gettin’ set to be back on track. Not when I got so much left to do.

“No disrespect, Doctor, but I-I-I don’t accept that. I w-want a second opinion,” Elvis shakes his head, the words popping out of his stubborn mouth before he has much chance to think on them, to actually consider the possible truth of them.

But a deep part of him knows.

He knows his mama died too young and that her illness didn’t make sense. He knows he’s got family who died before their time. But most of all, he knows how he feels, and something ain’t right.

“Colonel Parker and your father have said as much, so I will contact some specialists to meet you in Memphis upon your return. But in some ways, young man, this is a good thing,” Dr. Paulson intones softly.

“Now, how the hell d’ya figure that?!” Elvis rasps out, nearly belligerent. He’s not one to be disrespectful, usually, especially to a man of such education, but he feels like shit and the blazing red heat of his temper pushes in before he can stop it.

Dr. Paulson blinks at him with his brows raised, and Elvis feels a wave of shame crash over his already rolling fear and anger. His mama didn’t raise him to talk to people that way. He takes a breath.

“I-I-I’m sorry, sir,” Elvis apologizes deferentially. “I-I’m just h-havin’ a hard time with what y-you’re saying, is all.”

“That’s understandable. What I meant by it being a ‘good thing’ is that now we know what we are dealing with and can set you up with lifestyle changes that could both improve your quality of life and perhaps extend it. We can set you up with constant care in order to avoid…things taking a downturn.”

Elvis’ head is spinning, pounding, making him feel wildly out of control. “Lifestyle changes? Constant care? I ain’t no invalid, Dr. Paulson, I’ll tell you for sure.” He nearly growls the promise as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, meaning to walk the hell out of here and show this doctor just how wrong he is.

In the back of his mind, he realizes instantly how stupid it sounds, considering that the moment he stands, his entire body betrays him and sends him careening to the floor, if not for the doctor and his daddy grabbing him under each arm and hauling his ass back into the bed. There, he is faced with the terrible reality that he’s sicker than a dog with the world spinning out from under him in more ways than one.

“None of us want this to be true, son, but maybe you should listen to the doctor,” his father says quietly in his ear, putting a hand on his shoulder.

This is the last thing Elvis wants to do. He wants to kick and scream and rally himself well. I can prove them all wrong, he thinks, if only he could stop the world from spinning and his breath from wheezing and his body from aching.

Fuck.

Elvis can’t bear to look at anyone, choosing to stare up at the high, vaulted ceiling, blinking away the blast of dark spots in his eyes as he tries to catch his damn breath.

“What’s next?” he finally wheezes out, counting the dots on the ceiling tiles to keep him from floating away.

“Well, first we need to keep you in the hospital as long as it takes to get you stabilized before you can go home to Memphis.”

“Absolutely not!” the Colonel exclaims from near the window. “We’ve already kept the press at bay long enough with talks of flight delays and other nonsense. We can’t hold them back much longer. You listen here, that boy needs to make appearances, and he needs to look the picture of health doing so, or he’s not going to have a career to go back to!”

The doctor scoffs. “Mr. Parker, look at him—Elvis’ career is the least of his worries.”

“It’s Colonel Parker, Mr. Paulson,” he hisses, “and his career is most certainly your concern. You have your expertise, and I have mine, and I’m telling you right now, I didn’t spend two years keeping him in the public eye despite his service to have you flush it down the toilet. I’m sure you don’t want to be the doctor that doomed Elvis Presley. The one who ripped him away from his legions of loyal fans.” The threat is crystal clear, and by the resulting silence, the doctor seems somewhat shaken.

“Sir, there will be no career if the young man is dead.” The doctor’s words hang heavy, and Elvis closes his eyes, willing himself to be anywhere but here. But there is no escaping this. No amount of money, talent, or fame is gonna get him out of this one.

Finally, he brings himself to speak, “I ain’t givin’ up my career, Dr. Paulson. But I also feel like something the cat dragged in last night and can’t get outta this damned bed. So, we’re gonna need to figure out a compromise.”

Dr. Paulson stares at Elvis and the Colonel like they’ve lost their minds. Vernon stays characteristically silent.

“Anything short of you staying here until you at least recover from this episode will be against my medical advice. You are in too fragile a state to consider anything else,” Dr. Paulson says, almost pleadingly. “And with this condition, if you try to jump back into the breakneck lifestyle of a superstar, your life will be short indeed.”

Elvis sets his jaw. “Sir, no offense, but you don’t know me very well. I can do just about anythin’ I set my mind to. We’ve all worked very hard to get me where I am, and I ain’t ready to give that up just yet. I got too much to do. Now tell me, what do I gotta do to get you to let me outta this hospital?”

The doctor looks at him and shakes his head, silent. Finally, he relents. “First off, you have to be able to get out of bed and stand on your own two feet without collapsing.”

“Fine. I can do it.” Even the Colonel looks at him with a tinge of disbelief on that one. “Maybe not this instant, but I’ll do it.”

“Secondly, if you are able to do that and still choose to leave against advice, I recommend having a doctor with you at all times, someone who can monitor your vitals and give you care when you take a turn for the worse,” the doctor concedes, “which you most certainly will.”

“Done,” Elvis agrees quickly. Anything that will get him out of here and back home to his life.

“Now, listen here, my boy, there is no reasonable way to spin a doctor following you everywhere without the press having a field day. You could lose everything the minute the public knows you’re…sick,” the Colonel points at him, faltering on that last word.

He means ‘dying’ not ‘sick,’ an unwelcome voice in the back of his head adds. But Elvis understands the Colonel’s point. Even as private as he is, it’ll be difficult to go to a movie set or recording studio with a stuffy doctor in tow and not have anyone find out. Shit.

Dr. Paulson looks exasperated and crosses his arms. Colonel just glares. But it’s his daddy that finally pops up in the uncomfortable silence.

“What…what about a nurse? Elvis always has girls hanging around him…” Vernon trails off.

Silence fills the air. Elvis blinks slowly and can see the wheels turning in Colonel’s head, the way they do when he’s about ready to come up with the perfect plan, the perfect snow job.

“It…could work, if we get one young and pretty enough. Don’t love it because I wanted to keep Elvis publicly available in the eyes of his fans—no attachments—but looks like we may not have a choice. Better you taken than single and…” The Colonel chooses not to finish that sentence, but they all know the ending he’s avoiding, what he’s choosing not to say.

He races to continue, “But you’ve got to keep up appearances in public, my boy, since she’ll have to be a steady fixture in your life. No more frolicking around with every pretty thing with legs. No more girlfriends in every county, state, and country from here to Timbuktu. No one, girlfriends included, can know what we’re up to or all could be lost. Even your wild friends are going to have to believe this is real for it to work.”

Elvis’ heart begins to race with the thought of being so thoroughly confined to a relationship, especially with some random woman who he might not even be attracted to, physically or otherwise, even if it is just for show. He’s always hated the Colonel being in his private romantic business, knowing that the man has managed to somehow get rid of more than a few of his steadies with some unknown manipulations to keep him “unattached.” So, for Colonel to agree to this plan, Elvis realizes just how dire the situation is.

And God knows, he already has more girlfriends than he can handle as it is. He has yet to be reunited with Anita, pines for Priscilla from afar, and dragged Elisabeth from Germany and sent her ahead to Graceland, not to mention the multitude of other flings he indulges in. But he loves women, to a fault, and he doesn’t want to be tied down to just one (no matter how he tells his girls otherwise). Worrying his lower lip in his teeth, he realizes he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’ll have to find a way to make it work.

The Colonel must sense this from him. “Oh, come on now, my boy, we all know your talent for juggling women is near as good as your talent for performing. Think of it as a challenge to hone your acting craft. There are worse things than being made to spend time with a pretty girl,” Colonel drawls, daring to wink at him.

Elvis feels sick to his stomach with the dishonesty of it and with the oppressive feeling that his life is no longer his own. To be fair, he’d been feeling like the walls were closing in, pressing him into submission, since the moment he received his draft notice, but this...this is different. The hell of this knowledge strokes awake a deep, dark sliver of him that has always believed his time here is destined to be limited, that no one should achieve his level of fame and success without paying a terrible price. But the worst is the horrible thought that perhaps it should’ve been him who was supposed to die in the womb and not Jesse, and that all this had been a mistake from the start. Some sort of cosmic joke.

No, God wouldn’t do that. God has a plan. He has to, he thinks, banishing the shameful thought back into the dark recesses of him mind from whence it came. A lump forms in his parched throat and he gulps, trying to get it down, trying to chase away the demons that threaten at the edges of his vision. Please God, please, he prays, though he’s not entirely sure what for. Perhaps the prayer begs to know that this is all one of his damn night terrors, or maybe it’s to chase away the horrors inside his mind that seek to consume him whole.

A small part of him is tempted to throw in the towel and to just fade into obscurity. Lord knows he’s already achieved more of his fair share of fame and fortune, more than most achieve in a lifetime. Maybe he should just live out the rest of his now-shortened life in peace and quiet. Start a family with one of his girls like his mama so desperately wanted. He realizes this is what she feared all along—like she’d had some sort of maternal premonition that he had been living on borrowed time from the start.

But that feels like a prison of another sort. No, he loves music too damn much, the way it tingles in his soul, clicking into place like the pieces of a complex puzzle that only he has the ability to complete, and the performing electrifies him in such an addictive and indescribable way that he can’t fathom trying to give it up. And beyond all that, he knows he’s got it in him to be a great actor if given the chance.

Quittin’ isn’t an option, he thinks, even if it kills me. Better to burn bright doin’ what I love rather than have nothin’ to live for.

Blood pounds at the inside of his skull like a ticking clock, his mind spinning with the fear and rage of it all. He is in no space to make these decisions, he realizes, but because so many want him to keep going, to keep working, to keep living, he knows what he’s gotta do.

Elvis finally nods his agreement, adding pointedly, “As long as I get a say in who she is. There’s gotta be chemistry for this to work.”

Dr. Paulson shakes his head and throws his hands in disbelief at this insane plan. “I think the most important thing is that she is competent, not her looks or ‘chemistry.’ Not to mention, she’ll have to be single and willing to give up her entire life to not only care for you 24/7 but to also pretend to be your girlfriend. I hope you have plenty of money to throw at this problem, Elvis.”

The Colonel grins wickedly. “I think you underestimate the power Elvis has over young ladies, Doctor. I have no doubt you’ll help us find someone suitable.”

“In the next few days? You must be joking,” Dr. Paulson huffs.

The stabbing pain behind Elvis’ eyes gets worse with these considerations brought to light. Yes, he does well with women, but the reality of any girl in her right mind agreeing to such conditions feels slim.

It feels serendipitous, then, that it happens to be this exact moment when you walk through the door.

“L-L-Little bird,” Elvis says, his nickname for you somehow, by the grace of God, popping into his muddled brain the instant he sees you. The name stutters from his lips almost in awe.

God has a plan.

The rest of the men turn in unison to stare at you. Elvis watches as you stop short, your intelligent sky-blue eyes going wide with surprise, annoyance, and apprehension at the intimidating scene before you.

Your mouth opens with a retort, then closes quickly at the strange silence that follows. The men take you in, from head to toe, as you stand frozen in the doorway like a deer in headlights.

After a moment, you seem to remember why you came in the first place, shaking off the uncomfortable gazes of the men and finally clear your throat to speak. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize…I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but Nurse Hunt sent me to find you, Dr. Paulson. She said it was urgent.”

Dr. Paulson, Vernon, and Colonel one by one turn their heads to look at Elvis. Colonel’s wicked little smile turns the corners of his mouth when he sees the way Elvis’ eyes take you in, a little bit of life returning to his pale cheeks.

Of course, Elvis liked you from the moment he’d laid eyes on you yesterday. With your deep brunette hair and stunningly big, bright blue eyes, you instantly piqued his interest, as you fit his usual type well. Your olive skin and striking features are different though, and remind him a bit of a young Sophia Loren, the beautiful Italian actress who he’d met on the movie studio lot a few years back.

In the looks department, you’d fit the role quite well.

The only problem he can see is that you’d made your distain for him quite clear last night.  

“I’ll be right there, Nurse,” Dr. Paulson finally says, realizing you were waiting for any sort of response beyond staring. Relieved, you scurry away as quickly as you’d arrived.

“What do we know about Nurse—” Colonel starts the moment you leave.

“Cannava,” Elvis and Dr. Paulson say in tandem. Elvis is surprised your name falls off his tongue so easily, especially with how clouded his memory is.

“She’s the youngest to ever graduate our program here at Bellevue, and for that itself she is a standout. But being so young, she is still relatively inexperienced despite her excellent training,” the doctor warns, and seeing the look on the Colonel’s face wanting more, he continues, “Beyond that, I’d have to ask around.”

“She’ll never do it,” Elvis interjects with disappointment. “She doesn’t like me much.”

“Nonsense, my boy, I’ve never seen you anything but persistent in your need and ability to win a woman over,” Colonel says encouragingly, patting Elvis’ hand. “And perhaps it will work in our favor in her ability to remain…professional around you. Use that winning charm of yours to win her over. That and a healthy sum she can’t refuse.”

Elvis doesn’t even know your first name, but he can’t help the fact that he’s been drawn to you since the moment you met. The little flutter of his heart, the revealing sign of his already budding infatuation, loves the idea of you being his.

But she won’t be mine, not really, he reminds himself.

Either way, it’s a challenge he’s not quite sure he’s up for in his weakened state, but time is running short, and he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’s going to have to figure out a way to convince you this is a good idea.

“Find out everything you can,” Colonel orders the doctor, “and then bring her to me.”

What the Colonel wants, the Colonel gets.

And Elvis has the distinct feeling he’s already in over his head and is taking you with him, willing or not.

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#Broken Glass #Broken Glass Chapter 2 #elvis #elvis presley #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis x oc #elvis presley x oc #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x oc #elvis 1960 #post army elvis #missmaywemeetagain #madisyn may

[thelovelymissbigbadwolf]

Silly little Kingdom Hearts HC

SeaSalt Trio Edition:

They're roommates, but only Axel pays the rent cuz he wanna be the big brother in this. Yes, Saix has to help.

Roxas spent hours playing Tony Hawk games and swears THAT'S how he learned how to skate.

Axel is the one to know the truth and even has photo evidence this claim is in fact false.

Xion likes dolls and is often scrolling through the OOAK tag.

Axel is terrified of going into Xion's room because he's terrified of dolls and her room is filled with some that he finds specially creepy.

Roxas isn't scared of dolls, but hates live sized dolls because they're too close to uncanny valley to him.

Xion is currently making a life size doll from scratch.

No, Rox and Axel are not pleased, but definitely support their friend.

Roxas has fake tattoo sleeves.

Axel has a few tattoos he quite likes it, but his favorite is of a fiery axolotl.

The one he hates and go to great lengths in hiding is a small crooked star with "u dood it" written inside. It was all shits in gigs when he did it, but now he hates it.

Xion has a heart tattooed near her left eye because of Draculaura.

She has vampire fang piercings on her upper lips, Vanitas was the one to pierce it.

Axel has a ton of piercings, bridge on his nose, quite a few ear piercings since it's the area he least feels pain and recently made dimple piercings he loves it and Saix constantly makes fun of saying it's "bread crumb piercing".

Roxas has regularly pierced ears plus one upper helix piercing on his left ear.

Roxas is a bottle blonde.

Axel is a bottle redhead.

Xion is a bottle brunette.

Yes, they let their roots grow to make dye nights and paint each other's hair.

Saix is a bottle... "Bluette"? No, he does not take dye nights, he prefers going to an actual hair salon to dye his hair professionally.

Someone uses blue lenses, but they don't know if it's Roxas or Xion, or even if it's from a third person.

Axel says he has a pretty eclectic music taste but actually he only hears to ex-Disney Channel star's music. His favorite is Selena Gomez and he stans Rare Beauty.

Roxas is the actual eclectic one, he actually knows how to play drums even.

Xion is a metalhead. Low-key, she hears on a basis Metallica, Slipknot, Iron Maiden and System of a Down, but in true she adores Tenacious D.

Axel is the only one that dates, yes it's Saix, how did you know?

Saix is the mom and Axel tries to be the responsible dad, but he's as irresponsible as Rox and Xion.

Xion loves goth and lolita fashion.

Roxas will not admit, but loves 2000's emo fashion.

Axel likes hipster fashion. Yes, even the mustaches.

Xion overdresses, Axel is Adam Sandler and Roxas is the middle term.

Xion loves Phantom of the Opera and even has a rose with a black ribbon tattooed.

Roxas wants to do a tattoo, but doesn't know what his first tattoo should be.

#kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 358/2 days #kingdom hearts 2 #xion #axel #roxas #saix #headcanons #hcs #seasalt trio #kh #kh2 #kh 358/2 days

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

The Old Spark

Monster Pairing: Agoris (NB!Demon) x Male!Reader Rolled Story Picks: Demon, Fake Dating, Castle/Dungeon Words: 5k Notes: Mention of blood, sfw, fluff. I had alot of fun with this and might even continue it later. Let me know what you think. 

The stone walls were always chilly at night. The mountaintop Keep rewarded its inhabitants with a constant howling wind that stirred through every crack of the walls. The cool air made your wrists ache and your fingers held a cold touch. It was meant to be summer. But the season seemed to disappear the moment the sun dipped behind the towering peaks. You sighed and slid your glasses from the bridge of your nose to drop them on the piles of paperwork before you. Your eyes were heavy and there was a dull discomfort behind them. You sighed. It was late. But you needed to finish these documents before tomorrow’s ceremonies. You would have no time for desk jobs while the King held his Summer Eclipse Feast. You were already dreading mingling with the numerous snobby nobles and their entitled brats for three days. You didn’t want to come back to another hillside of work because you were too tired.

Another sigh fell from your lips and you allowed yourself the luxury to stretch a little. Your body popped and cracked. You weren’t even that old…why did it feel like you were starting to gray? Pushing aside that thought, you slid your glasses back in front of your eyes and picked up the quill. But before the tip touched paper, you stalled. A warmth settled over your shoulders and seemed to float around the room. The candles on your desk flickered like a breeze had just touched them. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck tingle and you leaned back in your chair. Setting down the quill to clasp your hands on your lap, as if casually lounging.

“I’m not in the mood to play, Agoris. What do you want?” You asked the dimly lit room. And the answer echoed from the shadows. A scoff like chuckle that seemed to come from every corner of the room, but also somewhere in front of you.

“Are we getting too old to play games, (y/n)?” A masculine voice asked. The shadows around you moved and shifted. Like a flock of birds taking flight and maneuvering in different shapes and twists. Coming to rest on the other side of your desk. Forming a dark silhouette with bright purple eyes that pierced through the darkness like two violet lanterns. “It’s been a while. You’re looking…worn.”

You ignored their comments and gestured with your hand for them to sit. The figure flopped into the chair with reckless gracefulness. And the shadows scattered like a swarm of bugs to reveal their master. Their skin was the color of deep amethyst with veins of onyx running over their body. Their hair was long this time, but small braids with tiny crystals slipped out of the silky ink strands. Their gaze was human, much to your comfort than their preference of appearance, but carried that unsettling purple hue to the iris. Neatly filed claws tapped the arms of their chair as the Demon looked you over. A casual smirk stretching across their lips. “You’re looking good, though. The life of the King’s right hand man is treating you very well.”

You leaned forward. Allowing some of your distrust to show in your eyes. You rested your elbow on the desk and scratched your beard with your cold fingers. Looking them over just as they did you.

“You look different.” You said with a gruff tone. Which caused Agoris to smile. “Whose body are you riding around in now?” The Demon lifted their arms and inspected them, like they were just figuring out they had limbs.

“Some farmer a few towns over. Got crushed by his own bull.” Agoris plucked some imaginary lint from the clean commoners clothing he wore. Flaying out his fingers in a gesture for you to look at him. “I didn’t kill anyone. And I waited for him to be buried. Blah, blah, his family doesn’t know a Demon took over the body. All for you, sweetling.” That smirk was all too familiar to you. Once, you found it charming. Almost flirtatious. But now, on the verge of exhaustion and the forming headache behind your eyes, you found it irritating.

“What do you want?” You had a few guesses. But it had been years since you had heard from Agoris. The playfulness fell from the Demon’s lips at your tone. But they chose to ignore it. Taking on a more professional air to them.

“Remember your debt to me?” If Agoris saw the vein that popped in your neck, they chose not to say anything. “I’m here to have it paid. And before you get all kill-joy on me, I don’t need you to harm anyone. I just need an audience with your adoring King.” A cold hand seized your heart and you felt your stomach drop like a boulder in the river. You returned to your slouched position against the chair. Your fingers smoothing down your beard as you stared deep into the Demon’s eyes.

“What do you want with him?” You asked. And Agoris shivered with a smile at this new tone of yours. “Agoris, I cannot let you-”

“You can’t stop me, (y/n).” Agoris cut you off. “I’m coming to you because I don’t want you kicking down my door in a righteous frenzy of sickening loyal anger. There will be no deals with the King. I just want to talk with him.” You bristled under the silent promises Agoris held. Years of dedication to the crown built a protective and loving relationship with the Majesties and their family. You weren’t about to waltz a Demon into their midst for gossip over mead.

“What do you want to talk to them about?” You asked. Holding Agoris’ gaze with a steady, unyielding challenge behind your eyes. “I have conditions-”

“(y/n)...” Agoris said your name with a gentleness that made your chest quiver. You clenched your fist under the desk. Unable to look away from Agoris as they leaned towards you. “I gave you the opportunity to earn your place amongst the royal family. My repayment is the opportunity to be introduced to them as a friend. Not a stranger.”

“That doesn’t ease my suspicions, Agoris.” You all but growled at the Demon. Which seemed to excite the creature more than your rising anger. “I’ve seen your hand in many fallen nobles. In the destruction of armies. I’ve seen your name carved into the armor of legendary warriors. You cannot sit there and tell me that all you want is to be introduced to the King.” You leaned forward across the desk as much as you could without leaving your seat. And Agoris’ smile widened as the two of you were almost nose to nose. “I don’t trust you.”

“I’m heart broken.” A clawed finger settled on the thin wire that held your glasses together, and pushed them back up the bridge of your nose. You hated how familiar that motion felt. And you hated the sensation of comfort it seemed to bring you. “But you won’t be affected by this conversation. I promise.” Their eyes shimmered with a deeper color of purple and you felt that clenching power settling over your mind. Sharper than any headache. Agoris tilted his head, waiting for your response.

Your jaw was clenched and your nails bit into the palm of your hand as your knuckles turned white. Hundreds of scenarios played through your head. Thousands of thoughts and reasons as to why Agoris wanted the King’s attention. But it was all null to the one simple fact: you couldn’t stop Agoris. They could infiltrate the King’s inner circle with ease. They didn’t need you. But with you at their elbow, making the introductions, you could supervise their interactions. Oversee, and possibly find out, what Agoris wanted.

You sighed heavily enough to lift up a corner of a page on your desk. Slumping back into your chair as you waved your hand.

“Fine. I’m guessing you already have a plan as to how you want to be introduced?” You asked.

“Naturally.” Agoris replied. “The Feast is starting tomorrow, and I want you to introduce me during the celebrations. It’ll give me three days to make new friends and show-pony around. All you have to do is introduce me as your partner.” Your eyes flicked up to theirs the moment that word left their lips. Another heavy sigh and another rub against your eyes. But this time it was a full hand grinding into your sockets to soothe the ever growing migraine.

“We’ve been down this road before.” You said. Mostly to yourself. “Agoris, why do you like playing these cards?”

That little smirk was on display again. And you kicked yourself for looking a second too long while Agoris answered. “Because it's adorable. The look of shock on everyone's face when you have a handsome, beautifully dressed person at your hip, is amazing. The attention I get for being the mysterious, brooding, Knight Captain’s partner is intoxicating.” You swallowed a thick ball of tension from your throat as you rolled your eyes. You knew why they did this. Their power stemmed from attention. Deals were a side-hustle that got Agoris into frightfully influential situations. Which then stirred the pot for more people knowing them and talking about them. Making Agoris even more annoying to deal with when you started to climb the ladder in your profession. At some point in your life, they had been everywhere. Their name falling from so many lips that you were sure you were going mad. But then one day, Agoris was gone. Leaving alot of questions and no answers.

“I want one condition added to this repayment.” You offered after a stretch of silence. Agoris licked their lips. Folding their knee over the other and placing their hands on their lap in eager anticipation.

“Do tell.”

“I want the princess to be left alone.” You said. Sitting straight and squaring your shoulders. Giving the posture of authority that you displayed anytime you had to strike down on a ruly soldier or arrogant noble. “She’s been through enough. She doesn’t need your presence darkening her path.”

A softness seemed to settle over Agoris. And they looked up at you through the long, thick eyelashes with a tender curl to their lips.

“I promise, the princess will not be influenced by me.” The pressure passed as those words were spoken. But you didn’t let it go. Even though you’ve known Agoris for a very long time; they were a Demon. And Demon’s twisted things.

“Agoris…” You gave the silent threat without even uttering another word. The Demon raised their hand in surrender.

“The King is who I want. And the princess is too smart to take a deal from a Demon.” You didn’t bite at the underlying jab at your younger self. But you nodded. Inwardly relieved to hear Agoris admit that.

“Fine. I’ll be accompanying the Queen and her daughter to the ceremonies tomorrow morning. Meet us at the gates to the throne room and…I’ll start the introductions there.” Agoris clapped their hands excitedly and the room started to darken as their body began to slip back into their shadow self.

“See you tomorrow, darling.” The candles on your desk flickered almost to nothing. Before bouncing back into their brilliant light as Agoris’ form shattered into the walls. You felt the cool air creep back into the room as you stared at the chair in front of you. You didn’t finish those papers. You went to bed after a long session of wallowing in dread.

                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The city was alive with music and cheer. The streets were decorated with thousands upon thousands of flowers and colorful strips of cloth. The usual dirty cobblestone had been cleaned, and now was peppered with yellow sand to brighten up the dull gray walkways. You walked the streets behind your Queen and Princess. They were dressed so beautifully that all who greeted them, stared with adoring awe. Flowers were pinned in their hair and their gowns rustled with the weight of feathers. The Queen wore a sky blue dress that matched her gentle gaze. And her daughter wore a matching, but deeper, blue. Walking arm in arm through the streets. Gushing over the many stalls from the bordering farms and tradesmen. Displaying wondrous fruits and vegetables. The Princess nibbled on baked goods that her loving people offered her. And the Queen was gifted with all sorts of small trinkets and pieces of well crafted clothing. You were ignored. As you liked to be. You were only here to ensure no one tried anything stupid against the two royal women. And the platoon of guards that trailed you, were the poor saps that had to carry the Queen's gifts and the baskets of goods given to the Princess.

“Isn’t this lovely, Sir (y/n)?” The Princess asked as she roped her thin arm under your armored one. “I wish our city looked like this all year round.”

“Oh, that would get quite old, dear.” The Queen replied, taking your other arm in the same fashion. “I do love when the snow passes through. The town looks lovely in winter.”

You agreed with both of them. Keeping your side of the conversation at a minimum as you continued towards the gates of the Keep. Bringing the Queen and Princess’ walk through the city to an end. Finally.

“Why don’t you like the ceremony, (y/n)?” The Princess asked. “Surely you like having a break from training and paperwork.”

“I do.” You replied. Allowing yourself to relax somewhat as you approached the guarded gates of the Keep. The city encircled the castle and trailed down the mountain and its cliffs. A wall surrounded the city at the base of the mountain and midway up the cliffs. But the Keep had its own high wall of marble and rock. And the gates were of thick iron and constantly manned with hundreds of archers and swordsmen. You could let your guard down just a little, since so many eyes would be watching your approach. “But I would rather spend my time elsewhere. Maybe with a good book or riding a horse through the mountain pass.”

“Ugh, that sounds boring.” The Princess said. “But if we hurry now, we can go to the stables and ride off. I really don’t want to meet-”

“Ashley,” Her mother scolded gently. “It is your duty to represent our family at this feast. Many suitors have come for the chance to dance with you. How would you meet your future partner if you’re always out riding?” You were about to make a comment when you caught sight of a clustering crowd by the Keep’s main doors. You suppressed a sigh. Already knowing who was at the center of it. Between the expensive dresses and tailored suits, you locked eyes with a beautifully dressed man. Swathed in purple and gold in an outfit that seemed very out of place compared to everyone around them. Their skin was no longer purple but a dark olive tone and their smile flashed bright white teeth instead of fangs. Agoris called out to you. Waving their hand over the crowd and pushing their way through to you. The people watched them go with disappointment. But watched with growing curiosity as they made their way to you. The women at your sides shared a confused glance, and then looked up at you.

“(y/n), who is that?” The Princess asked. And you grumbled softly. Releasing your wards as Agoris half jogged over to grasp your hand. You didn’t get to greet them right away. For the Demon in human form leaned up on their toes to press a long, sweet kiss to your lips. You found yourself relaxing against it. Your hand rose up to sit on Agoris’ hip. And you grumbled once again as the Demon leaned away.

“Oh my…” The Queen blushed. Her hand was against her lips in an act of surprise. And the Princess’ smile was so wide it looked like it was going to split her face.

“(y/n), who is this?” The Princess demanded in a pitched squeal.

You gave Agoris a hard look. Who smiled up at you in reply before greeting the women. Clinging to your arm as you gestured to them. Allowing them some space to bow to your Royal persons. “Your Majesties, this is my partner, Agoris. Agoris, meet Queen Eliza and Princess Ashley.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the women’s response to your words. They looked so excited and they grasped Agoris’ hands in theirs. All but smothering them with questions and compliments. Adoring their silky gown and lovely braids, gasping at the glittering jewelry that adorned Agoris’ neck and wrists and fingers. Then the Princess turned to you with feigned anger.

“You never said a word about this to me.” She said, and you laughed, bowing your head in a gesture of apology.

“My Lady, I don’t tell you a lot of things.” You said. And Agoris gently slapped a hand over your chest, smiling up at you.

“It was my idea, My Lady.” They said with a sickeningly sweet voice. “I just loved our little bubble too much to share it with the rest of the world. And plus, the secrecy, you know…” The Queen smiled, genuinely laughing at the trailed off sentence.

“I know what you mean, dear. But please, you are welcome here. And it is an honor to meet you.” The Queen squeezed Agoris’ hand one last time before releasing them and excusing herself. She grabbed her daughter's hand and dragged her away when she saw Ashley wasn’t coming with.

“Wait! I have so many questions!” She complained, but let her mother lead her away. Your platoon of men separated at your command. The Royals now safe within the patrolled area of the Keep, their jobs were done. They left with nodded bows to go to their next tasks. Agoris bit his lip. Still holding your hand as they watched your men disperse.

“I do love a man in charge.” Agoris teased. And you shot him a side-long look before guiding them towards the Keep’s doors. Your hand slid to the small of their back as Agoris finally let you reclaim it. It felt as natural as being distrustful of Agoris’ intentions.

“I see you’re already making acquaintances.” You commented as you passed the previous crowd Agoris was mingling amongst. They watched the two of you with gaping mouths and passing whispers. You were going to hear about this for the next two years. “Just keep out of trouble.”

“They really have stuck a pole up your ass, huh,” Agoris sighed. Then their hands started to roam your torso and chest. Pushing you against a marble column. People around you gasped and some chuckled. Watching as Agoris’ hands slid around your biceps with groping fingers to then slip under the material of your shirt and roam over your skin. “Did the position of Knight Captain come with strings too? Do you get scripts to read every morning to sound like an uptight ass?” You caught their wrists in yours. Forcing their fingers away from your body as you clicked your tongue. You hated that you were smiling. How you didn’t feel anger or annoyance at Agoris’ playful antics. You almost enjoyed it.

“Hands off.” You told them. And Agoris mimicked your words with a scrunched up face and a high pitched tone. You released their wrists and smiled. “You’re a child.”

“Is that my Knight Captain…smiling?” A deep booming voice echoed over the crowd. You let your head roll back to stare up at the ceiling with playful irritation. Only looking down as a man in gold armor, with a twisting, elegant crown atop his head, approached you. You bowed at the hip. Agoris did the same. And the King opened his arms to both of you. Silently commanding the two of you to stand. “I didn’t know you could smile, (y/n). Who is this bewitching fellow that managed to squeeze that out of you.”

The fear squeezed at your throat. The ease you felt in your shoulders tightened and you tried hard not to let the dread show on your face.

“My King…this is my partner, Agoris.” You forced the words through your lips. “Agoris, my love, this is King Alrik.”

“Oh, it’s a pleasure and an honor, My King.” Agoris had the expression of awe and moved with a flustered shake to their hands as the King reached forward and shook it. “(Y/n) has told me so much. B-But nothing professional or anything, just that you’re an amazing man-” Agoris babbled on until the King laughed and clapped a hand on their shoulder. Soothing down their star-struck prattle with a warm smile.

“It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Agoris. Please, enjoy the feast and if you need anything, don’t be afraid to order (y/n) around.” The King shot you a wink and pointed an accusing finger at your chest. “We’re going to talk about your little secret, (y/n). Secrecy from your own King? I thought we were friends.” His tone was all light-hearted and you laughed softly. Bowing as the King retreated back into the hall of long tables full of food and drink.

You leaned close to Agoris and pinched the small of their back. “You’re overselling it.”

Agoris scoffed and leaned close enough to touch your chest and whisper their reply. “Are you telling a Demon how to manipulate people?” You sighed and didn’t retort. Letting Agoris drag you to various groups to mingle and be introduced too.

Everyone knew your name. And it wasn’t long before the wheel of gossip had made its rounds through the feast, and even through the staff. Agoris’ sudden appearance, and your even more surprising relationship, sparked a bonfire of interest and curiosity through everyone that attended the Feast. Even when you retreated to the corners of the throne room, people found you, and questioned you about the wonderful strange person you invited.

By the time night fell, you disappeared from the celebrations to the gardens. Where you could finally breathe and focus on stopping your hands from shaking. When you were younger, the thought of royal feasts and banquets were a dream you wished came true. To stand by nobles and kings alike. To drink and eat all you could. But now, they brought a sense of suffocation. The many eyes made your chest tighten and your mind race. The spiral of panic only quickened when the clash of swords and shields started in the entertainment. A play about the King’s battle with a traitorous lord of the south. You leaned against a tree and took a deep breath. The quiet of the night was comforting. The crickets sang to you as you waited out the thundering beat of your heart and kept your lungs bringing air to your body. You violently jumped when a warm hand grazed against yours. Your hand automatically went to your hip, finding the hilt of your sword. But you didn’t unsheath it. Finding yourself staring into Princess Haley’s eyes.

“I-I’m sorry.” She quickly said as you cleared your throat. “I saw you leave the feast and wanted to make sure you’re ok.”

You let yourself breathe for a moment. Finding enough calm to answer her. “I’m meant to be checking in on you. You shouldn’t be out here.”

You let your hand fall from your sword. Standing from the tree to properly posture yourself like a knight. “Your suitors will miss you.”

The girl blushed a deep red and shrugged. “I wanted to make sure my hero wasn’t going to collapse on me.”

You chuckled. Wiping your sweating forehead on the sleeve of your shirt. “The attack isn’t that bad. Go on, now. I’ll join you soon.” You waited for the girl to leave. Having to shoo her some more when she strayed by your side a little longer. She picked up her skirts and started to hurry back. Glancing at you over her shoulder at you before disappearing back into the brightly lit chambers.

“My hero.” Agoris’ voice said from somewhere in the darkness. “You save one Princess and suddenly you’re the hero of the realm. You know how hard it is to get attention when everyone is spitting stories about you?” You didn’t bother looking for them. You leaned against the tree again and rested the back of your head against the smooth bark.

“Must be very annoying.” You grumbled.

“I didn’t know you slew a dragon.” Agoris’ hand slid over your shoulder and down your chest as they materialized beside you. Their flowing silks wrapped tightly around them as they pretended to be cold. “Or fought in the Battle of Crimson Valley. If I had known you were in the front lines I wouldn’t have sent out my creation with such confidence.”

You didn’t feel any surprise at that news. But did find yourself chuckling.

“It fought well.” You said, and Agoris huffed like a stubborn child.

“At least I know why my champion lost now. I was very interested to know what type of Human took down an abomination of dark magic. It couldn’t have been anyone else.” Agoris looked up at you finally. Searching your face as you looked up at the stars. Their hand on your chest felt comforting. Like they were pulling the panic from your body to leave a gentleness in your chest.  “This life has taken a massive toll on you.” They said with a tenderness that made you look at them in surprise. “I can feel it. Your Soul…it's not as bright as it used to be.”

You looked down at your chest. Their hand was no longer that smooth dark tone, but now held the hue of their demonic flesh. Their dark claws pricked at your skin. But you didn’t remove it.

“Being a Knight isn’t as glorious as I thought.” You admitted. You raised your hand to place it over Agoris’. “I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ve seen and learnt so much. But sometimes…I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t sign my name.”

Agoris tilted his head. Like they were watching something interesting on your chest. Then they looked up at you with that purple hue to their gaze. “You were always going to be a Knight, (y/n). I just created the opportunity for you to be the best version of that prophecy.” They withdrew their hand and the olive color returned to their skin. “But with being the best, you have had to face the worst.”

“Are you saying you regret it?” You teased. And Agoris laughed.

“Hell no. The power you alone have given me is incredible. But I would change a few things.” Their hands slid up your chest to wind around the back of your head and tangle in your hair. They pulled you down in a kiss. And you pulled them against you. Feeling the connection between you deepen as his tongue intruded yours.

I would have stayed. The image of your sleeping figure, entwined with the sheets of your bed, hair a mess and your mouth opened slightly with a soft snore, flashed through your mind. I would have stayed with you. Like I should have.

Another image invaded your mind. Of your Knighting ceremony. Your perspective was amongst the crowd, near the back. And you watched yourself bow before the King and his sword touched each of your shoulders. Your voice was louder than anyone else as you stood and accepted the sword from the King.

I would have kept you safe. Protected you when no one else could have. The image of your bleeding body overtook the last image. Your arm was outstretched, keeping the Princess behind you as your foes advanced towards you. The deep wound in your side was flooding the floor with crimson. But you stood tall and unwavering. Your sword clashing against your enemies until they fell. You hugged the Princess close and retreated from the room. Your perspective changed to watch you being laid on a bed. Bandaged and in agony. But a sense of relief was filling you as you joked with the other knight that helped you lie down.

You pulled away when the images started to hurt. The intrusive power grew with need as you watched many moments of your life from outside your own eyes. You held Agoris’ face in your hands. Searching his eyes for some sort of trick. A lie. A hidden truth. Anything, that would give away that they was using you. But you found only sadness. Guilt. And Agoris clung to you as if you were a lifeline.

“I want to stay.” They whispered to you. “Will you let me stay?”

You pressed your forehead to theirs. Pulling them as close as you could without crushing them between your arms. “I’ve waited for you for so long.” You growled between your teeth. “I thought I was stupid for thinking you wanted anything but my debt. Promise me, you really mean what you’re saying.”

Agoris’ eyes shone with a violet hue. Their pupils slitting like a cat’s until they were nothing but a sliver of black amongst the purple. “I promise.”

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[respiteresponse]

dream needs to wear an emo collar choker asap. clawing at the walls thinking about it

my tierlist for scenemo items dream should wear:

F Tier: skinny jeans. HEAR ME OUT. his wide leg mall goth nu metal dragging on the floor catching under the heel of his shoe slay just fits him so well and as much as i would love to see his legs encapsulated by splitting fringing black denim i think his giant jeans are a statement and make him extra moe. he should wear more ripped and black jeans though ! ! !

D Tier: beanies and snapbacks. he already rocks the cat dreanies near daily and with the mask coming into the picture and everything being so joever for us hair appreciators, as sexy as he is with his beanies on and his curls peaking out me personally i just love when his whole ice cream scoop hair is on display ! can be improved with some rainbow cheetah print hair extensions and or a tiara : ) !

C Tier: off the hip belts, preferably studded. this is one of my most favorite and hottest things a person can do with their outfit ESP if theyre scenemo leaning but its not essential to make the scenemo kid style shine through. i can even accept some more normie type stuff like bb simons so long as its styled appropriately ! ! ! a want but not a need.

B Tier: tight fitted tees/band tees. droobs tastefully hidden behind an edgy stretched and distorted logo for pierce the veil or sleeping with sirens most likely purchased at hot topic 10 years ago, snatched waist on display for the whole world to admire and for george to grab WITH the added bonus that short sleeve shirts have a tendency to rise up due to their fit, so we could realistically even expect a glimpse of tummy and or boxers peaking out which only enhances the visuals on display. and his ARMS. preferably covers and curated by bracelets exclusively bought from spencers or gifted by fans if not by an either complimentary or uncomplimentary long sleeve/hoodie underneath.

A tier: eyeliner. a well understood and universally accepted staple in the scenemo community. and really the more the better ! ! a tasteful swipe of black pencil drug store eyeliner on the waterline of dreams bottom lids could only improve upon his looks as a 6'2" boy with glossy doe eyes and pink lips . but then you add to it, upper waterline to match the bottom, expand unto the skin of the eyelids, perhaps even try a wing if were feeling daring ! in an exceptionally crazy occasion we could go full raccoon, black from tail end of his eyebrow down to the start of where the crease of his bottom lid lies. he could eat jeffree stars ex scene queen ass up in about 0.5 nano seconds with that and some fake lashes, but thats just me ! irregardless, something so casual as a little makeup can go a long way in making someone hot 100x hotter 😋

S Tier: facial piercings. the possibilities here are quite literally endless. we start simple with nose, a ring through the nostril is a classic, super simple everyone is doing it, could have one of those and pass for someone who doesnt know jack shit about i set my friends on fire or dot dot curve, but then you go a little lower and things start to get fun. with a lip piercing, you can basically signal to any and everyone that youre an edgy kind of guy, not just anyone will put a needle through one of the most prominent and noticeable features of their face! dolphin bites, snake bites, shark bites, spider bites, literally any animal biting your lips will up your status as a queen of the scene. bonus points for a monroe or a tongue piercing, xxxxxtra hot imo😁 moving back up bridge is also a good option, particularly edgy and tough to find on anyone in day to day life, would give dream some uniqueness as if he was already in any need of that. eyebrow is always a safe option, anti eyebrow, tear drop etc all very very cool. but the most ultimate piercingf for dream in my opinion would be a simple yet head turning cheek piercing. a common factor to be found in most all of my scenemo dream drawings, it simply seems like it makes obvious sense for the guy whos whole branding is smiles to have piercings wear his dimples are ! ! when he smiles, the sun will not only catch on his astoundingly straight white teeth, but also on that of the jelwery adorning where his dimples lie.

GOD TIER:

#ask #anon #thanks for listening