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sfznyxio · 3 months ago

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-ˋˏ FLOW ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. with your auto workshop at risk of closing down, your best friend kira ryosuke offers to introduce you to people who are definitely in need of your high quality services: underground street racers of blue lock, whose obsessions are winning the races. however, your arrival at the track makes them think otherwise.

CHARACTERS. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, barou shouei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, yukimiya kenyu, otoya eita, karasu tabito, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

CONTENT. f!reader. street racer au. fluff. 1.3k wc. rewrite of flow at my old main blog @/verxsyon. reader is labeled as “kira (ryosuke’s) girl” because they are always seen together. possessive behavior (barou). mentions of violence (shidou & rin).

VERA. what’s better than egoist soccer players? egoist street racers. you know what could be better than egoist street racers? the reonagi divorce arc in hd— oops, lmao. you know what could be better than the reonagi divorce arc in hd? season 2 premiere this week and sae has more screen time! i also bought a reo figure in his high school soccer uniform to celebrate, and it was the last one too. lucky!

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ISAGI YOICHI

the heart. quickly becomes popular for his freshness to the arena. isagi is a good friend of kira, so there’s one more person you can trust. while in his care as kira meets up with his team, he gives you a tour of blue lock to keep you entertained. sweet and kind, he fetches you water and asks if you feel alright because the racers have been ogling at you since you arrived. interrupted by an uproar caused by a racer who is standing on his car with paint all over his body, isagi is beyond irritated.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. BACHIRA MEGURU

the monster. obsessed with spray paint and loves decorating his car with it. bachira is terrible at being an artist. playful and cheerful outside, he holds amateur art performances for the crowd before races to get them pumped up. his gaze makes isagi flinch when he is told by the latter to quiet down. you can still hear the warning of staying close to someone you trust. he emits a dangerous aura, a strong first impression. bachira feels the same when he’s up at your face, studying you intensely.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. CHIGIRI HYOMA

the surge. the fastest racer in blue lock, securing victories at the speed of light. as chigiri approaches bachira to scold him for scaring newcomers, his beauty is so unreal that you don’t even realize you’ve been staring at him. he apologizes for his friend’s antics, justifying that he acts like this before a highly anticipated race. unfortunately, chigiri is not in this one due to a leg injury but luckily has someone helping him to stay in shape: an orange-haired racer waiting at the garage in his car.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KUNIGAMI RENSUKE

the hero. kunigami has the highest endurance in blue lock, outlasting all racers in long-distance races. he acts like an older brother as he is very protective and solves issues in a civil manner, balancing out his friends’ hot-blooded personalities. kira trusts him enough to take you home as your best friend has matters to take care of. you thank kunigami for the ride and being nice to you. embarrassed, he says he’ll see you at the race and nothing else before zooming away.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. BAROU SHOUEI

the king. barou is the racer that kira complains about for as long as you can remember. he’s selfish and arrogant based on what you gathered so far from kira, claiming that the venue is his throne and the next race is his for the taking. his attitude fits your expectations; you already dislike him upon the first encounter. barou has the audacity to “claim” you as his prize when he wins this race. you’ll definitely follow kira’s advice to avoid him for sure when you see this guy again.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. MIKAGE REO

the heir. reo considers kira to be one of the best in the arena, besides his best friend, nagi, of course. a master of negotiations due to his status as the future chairman of a corporation, he hopes you will find his terms reasonable and collaborate with him as a business partner. but what he doesn’t expect is you playing hard to get. a pretty rich boy does deserve wild goose chase, making his pursuit exhilarating just like races at blue lock. nagi thinks that what he is doing is a waste of time.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. NAGI SEISHIRO

the genius. most people are happy with their achievements, but nagi does not care less as they’re essentially reo’s efforts. all he cares about are his video games and his cactus until you arrive to the arena with kira. all of a sudden, he attempts to impress you; “attempts” being the keyword. yet reo does the work once again by introducing him to you as his precious treasure and brags that you will see nagi’s full potential at the upcoming race. nagi doesn’t find you to be a bother, so he hopes to see you again.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. YUKIMIYA KENYU

the model. his charm is the focal point of his character, which drives the audience nuts. curious by nature, yukimiya wonders about the qualities you possess other than being “kira ryosuke’s girl” and how you manage to get the likes of barou, who treats everyone like trash, and nagi, who thinks of only going home, at your whim. seeing you teach nagi about car anatomy allows him to introduce himself. he believes that there is something special about you, but a friend of his thinks so otherwise.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. OTOYA EITA

the ninja. otoya claims to be not like his fellow racers and prefers to stay in the shadows. he doesn’t see you as an angel sent by god in the form of a mechanic to fix their cars, not understanding why everyone is smitten by you. he isn’t interested in interacting with you at first, however, that is proven wrong when yukimiya makes you laugh at a silly joke. it’s rude to make you feel unwelcome, so he decides to give you a chance. a crow- like racer mocks him for thinking he doesn’t find you attractive one bit.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KARASU TABITO

the assassin. all about good vibes and good times, karasu does not want anyone to act “mediocre” around you. many newcomers are notorious for never setting foot in this place after their first round. he is relieved to hear that you came at your own volition thanks to kira. majority of racers you met so far are nice to you, so he doesn’t need to worry about making an impromptu spiel of why blue lock is great. if you think he’s too friendly for your taste, what about the guy stalking you right now.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. SHIDOU RYUSEI

the joker. unrestrained both in words and action, shidou goes about his day and does everything as he pleases. judging by how yukimiya, otoya, and karasu are quick to shield you, he’s bad news. the altercation grabs kunigami’s attention, who he has massive beef with. being “kira’s girl” doesn’t phase him, nor your best friend going after his head for being near you. one of his rivals isn’t amused by the ongoing circus act, as if he didn’t break his nose in the previous race.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ITOSHI RIN

the puppeteer. rin has a score to settle with his older brother, sae, who is betting on shidou for the next race. physical violence is a usual solution to settle arguments, and it’s worse for rin to be involved in another fight with shidou, especially before a race that determines his fate and prove to his brother that he’s the best of the best. he doesn’t spare a glance at you or ask if you’re alright, as sae walks into the garage to check out the commotion.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ITOSHI SAE

the prodigy. sae is one of the top eleven racers at the underground. you now know that he is betting on shidou for the upcoming race. rin does not seem pleased. even if it’s not obvious at face value, everyone can tell that there’s bad blood between the brothers by the intense atmosphere created from their staring contest. sae looks at you then at his brother, who he scoffs at for his lack of concern for you. for a girl to experience this in the first week, he’ll stop by your shop as reparation after the race.

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shiny-jr · 8 months ago

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damnation (peek VI?)

Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Ortho Shroud, Idia Shroud.

Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

Note: I was looking back at previous sneak-peeks and I realized I've been kinda spoiling y'all with these. But, don't ever let it be said that I don't cherish y'all, so here you go. While I'm currently about 2/3 of the way towards completing the result (if I don't have to rewrite it or change scenes or do anything major), the sneak-peek is only about eight or nine pages. Which is still a lot when you consider that the end result will be anywhere from 42 to 45 pages. Let's hope that I continue writing at this steady pace. I will not give a date for when this is fully completed, so please don't ask! It's done when it's done.

I . . . II . . . III . . . IV . . . V . . . VI . . . VII

THE LORD OF THE UNDERWORLD

Cold metal. There was a slight weight on the top of your skull, like the heft of a helmet. Carefully reaching up, your fingers touched thin cold metal, but as you tried to gingerly remove it, it failed to come off. Gentle tugs become harsh pulls, but that only serves to form an ache in your head as if you were pulling on your hair. Was it some sort of deadly contraption placed on prisoners? Was this how they wanted you to die? By crushing your skull with this thing?

“Wh– Where am I…?”

As you stumbled over your own two feet, you stopped yanking on the metal on top of your cranium. Fear took root as you took note of your surroundings, dark and unfamiliar, those same qualities as the jail cell but this was unlike any prison. There were high walls with columns of gray and silver and gold, arched ceilings that were mixes of blues and grays and blacks which almost looked like painted murals that had been smeared across the surface. The floor was freezing like cement, but it was a smooth polished dark gray. With at least two floors, the second was accessible by some wide curved stairs which lead to more of the unknown. Your voice echoed in the space, leaving you to believe you were completely alone.

Skull-crushing could still be on the list of possible ways to die. Or would your punishment be isolation? Complete solitude was known to drive people insane. It didn’t even seem like a single soul alive was here, leaving only the sound of your heavy breathing in the otherwise unsettling silence. White flowers from large vases wilted, their petals suspended gray and limp like hanged bodies.

On the floors you nearly slip and hit your head, but you manage to grab a nearby column that was as thick and sturdy as an old oak tree. That’s when you caught sight of your reflection in a nearby huge vase coated with a reflective exterior. You were staring wide-eyed at an unfamiliar figure, so odd that it took a moment to register that it was truly you.

A long black cloth with dark blue meander borders acted like a shirt or a robe, wrapping over one shoulder and extending in different directions to act like a small cloak and cover part of your legs. From your hips to your ankles covered by part of the top cloth, were a pair of black pants with more blue meander borders decorating it. They were like modern day sweatpants and an ancient palla all in one outfit, which you might’ve admired if you weren’t currently filled with confusion and dread. That metal object on your head was like a headpiece, with two long thin black protruding pieces slicked back that glowed a slight blue. Like a demon’s horns. Impossible to remove.

You resembled a demon with these horns, a devilish little imp. When your eyes adjusted, the reflective surface of the vase was painted. Painted black and browns, like the famous Athenian ceramic styles with figures of black and brick red. Except, each vase depicted a different scene. A powerful muscled figure standing proudly and holding a bolt of lightning; a baby strangling two large snakes; a young scrawny man training beside a satyr and a pegasus.

“Get– these off…!”

An imp… you were an imp! Horror spread across your features, and the constant tugging to remove the metallic horn-like objects from your skull served pain stronger than a slap, to let you know that this was no dream. The judges had cast the final verdict, and as soon as you arrived you were destined to live as a miserable little creature to serve a higher being. A god.

A God of the Underworld, that wielded the deadliest of blue flames and kept all souls contained within his land of misery. A being of divinity who envied his family and others who dwelled high in the clouds of Mount Olympus, so he planned meticulously for years to lay siege to the mountain by freeing titans who would wreak havoc across the globe. Just as he sits on the throne where the God of Thunder and King of Gods once dwelled, the human son of that royal god arrived to face the dark god. That gloomy and dreary antagonistic god had three main underlings, two of which were imps he regularly abused and tormented.

Maiming, wringing their necks, burning them in blue fire, those were just some of the torture those imps faced at the hands of their master. You felt yourself fall to your knees in a heap, like a rag doll, by the overwhelming emotions weighing in your mind and the now new burden of survival on your shoulders. This was hell, literally. So caught up with this newfound revelation, that you didn’t even notice the vases become blank as if by magic, wiping the depicted scenes off their surface. Hallucinations!

These must’ve been hallucinations formed by your unstable mind–– You were especially sure of it when it felt as if the ground vanished beneath your feet and were surrounded by dark mists. The dark and elegant place you had once stood in, was gone, and you plunged into a dark pit. A small plunge, then you fell on rocky uneven earth, leading you to fall flat on your face. There was hardly any light, and the ceiling was low. But, there was a blue flame, a small glow to which you opened your eyes to.

In front of you was a young boy that looked more akin to an android. Surely, another illusion, but your certainty wavered when it blinked at you. It blinked with its wide bright yellow eyes. Its eyes were like a light, as was its hair made of what seemed like real blue flames that was like a torch in this small cave. Its body was dark and metallic, part of those metals extending over the mouth like a mask. “There you are! I was beginning to wonder if you chickened out. Are you ready to put on a show? Remember, we gotta make it believable, the hero won’t be the only one there! We gotta trick all the humans!”

“W-What…?” You watched as the android-like being opened up a hologram in front of him, and on the screen of light were various shapes and figures of numerous creatures and people alike.

Whatever this thing was, its voice became monotone for a brief few seconds as its pointer finger landed on the image of a normal young boy. “Selecting… Loading… Finalizing appearance.” In an instant, a light flashed over him and he became that little boy in the hologram. “What do you think? Pretty convincing, huh? Now, your turn!”

If you squint, it was like peering through glass, because at some angles you could still see the android. However, you had absolutely no time to question it, or the situation at hand, or what he could’ve possibly meant, because the quiet was shattered by the squeal of what sounded like a horse.

Scrambling onto your feet, you approached the thin tiny opening where light filtered in, far too small to squeeze through but just big enough to peer through. It took a few spare seconds for your eyes to adjust to the light of the outside on this cloudy day, but you could make out high rock cliffs as gray as the sky. And a white horse with wings, a pegasus, several meters away with two people. A young man in purple who looked quite ruffled and a muscular woman with auburn locks. You blanched upon recognizing the location.

The mighty hero was said to have fought his first life-threatening battle in a gorge, just like this one. It was a battle that nearly cost him his life. The human servant, obliged to serve the dark Lord of the Underworld, lured the hero to the gorge under the guise of an accident requiring urgent attention from a savior. When in actuality, the accident involved two children trapped under rubble where nearby the hydra lurked. And those two children? Were the two imps who also served the God of the Dead. One imp, you were one. And the other? Beside you now, which explained his matching metallic horns on his head. Meaning the hydra was near. Each breath you took increased in pace, on the very verge of hyperventilating––

“Help! Hurry! We can’t breathe!” The android boy cried for help, his little eyes peeking out of the same gap you were peering out of. Even his voice sounded different with whatever magic or technology he used to disguise himself. As the hero was running over and a crowd was forming a good distance away, your fellow imp looked at you and whispered in confusion, “Where’s your disguise? You can’t let her see––”

“Get me out…!! Please! Anyone! Someone!” You gasped, suddenly realizing just how small it was underneath this massive boulder. It was a miracle it hadn’t crashed down yet, killing you instantly like rock squishing an ant. But if the boulder didn’t kill you, then the hydra would. And that was what terrified you, causing you to scream for help.

The young boy’s eyes brightened up, looking a bit taken aback at your volume before he grinned. At least, he must’ve been grinning, judging by the way his eyes lit up. Pausing his very loud pleas, he whispered in amazement, “Wow, you’re really good at this acting!”

You were not acting. Especially not when help arrived in the form of the protagonist.

Instead of a man as depicted in the stories, it was a woman. A woman with innocent blue eyes and a kind voice that attempted to ease the worries of what she must’ve thought were two poor victims trapped beneath debris from a rock slide. Her eyes darted from what she saw as a regular little boy, then over to you. “It’s okay, I promise you’ll be alright.” Those eyes like the bright blue sky, softened with a hint of pity, maybe because you just looked that pitiful and on the verge of tears. Because you knew what monster would come lurking from the gorge just moments after you and the small horned being beside you are supposed to be saved.

Incredibly, with only a minimal amount of struggling, the hero heaved the boulder slowly above her head. Even though the rock was easily ten times her size, she raised it up high above her shoulders, allowing you and the boy to scamper out of the pit. Managing a charming smile despite the tons of weight she was holding, she began, “How are you holding up? Are you injured or––”

Running. You were running. There was no way you would waste even a second here, and become a victim to that three-headed beast. It sounded like the hero had shouted something as you fled, and were followed by the android boy still in disguise as he called for you to wait up. Climbing, climbing, you took what looked like a thin path on a narrow cliff’s edge until you reached a hollow cavity hidden by shadows and boulders. By then you were out of breath, heaving, the ache in the back of your legs screaming from all that climbing and your lungs burning.

However, it seemed as if your torment were far from over. As your gaze traveled up, you stilled like a deer in the headlights. There, engraved within the very surface of the rugged stone walls, was a mausoleum that appeared to be left abandoned. Its smooth columns held up ledges, and at the very mouth of the entrance was a throne of pure stone occupied by a stranger. A stranger that looked eerily similar to the android that had been your company.

A figure who sat looking quite bored upon witnessing a mortal with inhuman strength. There were no words, but just by appearance alone you knew that this was the divine god that ruled the underworld. Fire, blue fire, ran from the top of his head down his spine and over thin shoulders. He was covered from neck to toe, completely in robes of dark blues and dull grays. Long sleeves with meander patterns extended to his wrist, and even his bony fingers were pitch black either due to the fabric of a glove or it was his actual skin, you couldn’t tell. The himation, the cloth that pooled on the floor at his feet, was pinned by a brooch resembling a skull.

Chilling yellow eyes leered down at you, his blue lips pulled back slightly in a grimace to reveal unnaturally sharp teeth on his pale face. Under his judgemental gaze, you felt like a miserable little roach scuttering about underfoot. “This isn’t a theater, and you’re not Dionysus, tryhard. That was major overkill. You screamed so much I heard you loud and clear from all the way up here, pretty sure all those humans heard you.”

In the blink of an eye, the android’s disguise was gone and he floated beside you. Placing a gentle but cold metallic hand on your back, he eagerly piped up, “I think they did really good, brother!” Brother? The god, the villain of this story, was his brother? Well certainly the resemblance was there between the god and the being in the role of the imp. “Did you see the look on the hero’s face, Idia? By my estimations, the act fooled all mortal onlookers!”

Brother. But… that couldn’t be possible. Now that you were high up beside the god, Idia is what your partner in crime had called him, you were no longer so fearful of immediately becoming the hydra’s next meal. That wouldn’t happen, especially when according to the story, the lord of the underworld was the one who controlled the hydra. But now you were currently more concerned and fearful of the literal divine being sitting in front of you. The lord’s brothers were only supposed to be other gods from Mount Olympus, not a being that served him. What else was different about the story? More importantly, what would he do to you once he realized that you did not belong?

“Okay, fine. Stirring performance gets five stars from me. Definitely better than that uber cringe Oedipus play that came out a while back. Ortho, nice, you really played the cute little kid you gotta feel for, and you…” Idia directed his attention to you, and you froze in place under his gaze as he sized you up. “You actually weren’t that annoying this time. So congrats, I guess.” He added dismissively, apparently bored with this prelude as the crowd of humans down below continued to clap for the protagonist that had just saved two souls from the boulders in the gorge. Then, his gaze traveled over to the shadows, on a small cliff where a figure you hadn’t even noticed had been standing in silence. “And can’t forget you. A thumbs-up for the leading guy. Even a girl like her can’t resist you, huh, Meg? Talk about pretty privilege. It must be nice.”

Startled slightly by the new presence, you glanced over, spotting a slightly familiar face looking over the cliff. It was that man who had been accompanying the protagonist. A fairly handsome looking man with brown wavy hair, in a purple chiton and baggy loose gray pants. Again, there was that modern style mixed with ancient, making you question what time this took place in. But that question was so insignificant compared to the rest of your worries, that it would be pushed to the very back of your mind.

Looking from Meg to Idia, you compare the two faces. The God of the Underworld certainly wasn’t ugly, per say. In fact, he was ethereal in his own unique way. It was more of an acquired taste to appreciate the slight cheekbones, the aquiline nose, and the dim glow his fire blue hair provided in the dark space. He wasn’t exactly the beauty standard that could be compared to a warm summer day, but cold rainy nights could be just as beautiful.

“What are you staring at? Can you not? Seriously, don’t you know that’s rude?” The god muttered in a near sneer, his gaze unable to meet yours. In fact, he appeared to be looking anywhere but at you. Like he was nervous. But what would a god have to be nervous about? “When I leave home, I’d rather not be gawked at like some freak. I don’t need another reminder.”

Embarrassment caused your heat to creep up your neck and into your cheeks as you lowered your head swiftly in an apologetic nod. With your eyes now glued to the ground, you didn’t lift your head even an inch. It was a mercy that he didn’t appear to be a wrathful god. Cruel, perhaps, but apparently not quick to violence. If he was the hostile type, the last thing you would probably see was his calming blue fire turn an angry red before your body became nothing but ashes in the wind and your soul joining the countless in the river of the dead. In an effort to appease him so he wouldn’t believe you were staring for the wrong reasons, you began hesitantly, in a nervous tone, “I-I’m sorry–– I was staring because, well, you talk as if y-you didn’t have that specific privilege either.”

Because you kept your head down, you failed to see all three of them, Ortho, Idia, and even Meg whipped his head around to stare with their own forms of shock as you snapped your mouth shut. There was no room to question what was said and done.

“Not funny, didn’t laugh. I had no idea the role of jester was just taken up. Last I knew, we had that position available. Guess I was wrong.” He replied, unamused, and surprisingly not offended. At least he didn’t seem as if he was about to smite you for offending a god. It was jarring how lax he was, but he spoke with bitter sarcasm which actually hurt. “If I wanted a laugh, I’d probably watch you snivel and cry again, but honestly it’s way more pathetic than funny so there’s really no point in it unless I want to remind myself that there’s someone within a ten foot radius who’s giving me a run for my money in the pity department.”

“I don’t think any of you are pathetic or pitiful.” Ortho chimed in, throwing in his two cents on the matter. To which the god only glanced at. “Shall I search our records for the soul of a successful jester? I believe we may have a few that once served kings in past centuries?”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the motion while propping up his elbow on the armrest of the stone throne. “Nah, don’t bother, none of them are that funny anyways. It’s not worth the effort of fishing them out of the river of souls. Once we secure our win, then maybe I’ll consider it when Thalia runs out of jokes to tell.”

Thalia? Wasn’t that the name of one of the muses? Did he plan to use those divine beings as servants once he conquered Mount Olympus?

“Uh, you can scram now? I know your soul is probably drawn to the company of other mortals like pretty-boy Meg over there and that schlemiel Heraclea.” Idia scoffed, looking a bit bitter. Although, maybe that was his natural expression along with the constant gloom that seemed to permanently linger around the divine being. He rolled his eyes, murmuring the word so it sounded like an insult, “Mortals.”

“T-Then… I’ll talk to Meg.”

#yandere #ortho shroud #idia shroud #twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twst writing #work in progress #damnation twst au

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supremeat · 4 months ago

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PANELLO - GOLD

Transforming Spaces: The Versatility of Slat Wall Panels, MDF Panels, and Wall Profiles

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Conclusion: Combining Style and Function

Incorporating slat wall panels, MDF panels, and wall profiles into your design strategy can significantly elevate the look and functionality of any space. Slat wall panels offer flexible storage and display options, MDF panels provide a versatile and high-quality surface for various applications, and wall profiles add refined details that enhance the overall aesthetic. Together, these elements create a cohesive and stylish environment that meets both practical and design needs.

Whether you're revamping a retail space, updating your home decor, or designing an office, these materials offer numerous possibilities for customization and innovation. Embrace their potential to transform your surroundings with elegance and efficiency.

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kurooh · 9 days ago

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❆ SLEIGH RIDE !

KINKMAS 2024 — christmas choking + suguru geto

❆ desc. your first time on a sleigh being pulled by curses is supposed to remain on the ground, but you quickly find yourself above ground and atop something else. ready to become a member of the mile high club?

❆ warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, cunnilingus, choking, sex in the air, some asphyxiation, gojo cameo, creampie, fluff. | 3.9k words

geto suguru has never been on a sleigh.

he has never seen one in action or outside of a television screen. hell, he didn’t even know the difference between sleighs and sleds! until you convinced him to hunt down a few reindeer-like curses and fix up an old sleigh from a yard sale.

the thing was a shell of itself, with red paint flaking off all sides and creaking loudly each time it was pushed so much as an inch. when you worked together tirelessly to restore the sleigh so it could be a neat lawn decoration, you’d pitched a brilliant idea to him — why not absorb some suitable curses to pull the sleigh around?

fractions of the waning sunlight shine on the fluffy snow and highlight the new quality of the sleigh’s red paint. wispy curses gallop ahead, pulling the sleigh steadily, and snow crunches beneath their hooves. their bodies are tangled with green loops of rope, a cursed tool that attaches them to the sleigh and acts as a harness.

this is sweet, like the candy canes that suguru loves in the winter and the smell of the candles you’re planning to give him for christmas. you look ahead, silently savoring his company and the idyllic scene. it’s like you’ve just jumped into a photo on pinterest—you’ve got the clothes, sleigh, surroundings, and man to boot.

“my girl looks so pretty when she’s smiling,” suguru says softly, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “let me guess, is it the sleigh ride? or me?”

the gentle jingling of the sleigh bells grows distant as you turn toward him with a laugh, catching his eyes. “both. the scenery is beautiful, and so are you.”

he sticks out his tongue, rolling his eyes dramatically. “bleh, beautiful? really?”

“fine. handsome, sexy, attractive, delicious,” with each word, you lean an inch closer until your lips are so close and yet so far apart. your breath warms the small space between you and gets his heart picking up its pace. “is that better, sugu?”

“definitely, sweetheart,” suguru replies, cheeks heating up despite the cold air. “are you gonna kiss me or do i have to make the first move, like always?”

“oh, i was just teasing you,” you titter, pulling back the moment his fingertips ghost along your cheek. he throws you an offended glance, tipping his head up and jutting his chin out. “don’t look at me like that, you do this to me all the time.”

suguru shrugs nonchalantly, keeping his eyes ahead and focused on the reindeer-ish curses. a plethora of colors paints the sky as the sun disappears beyond the horizon, the temporary dawn illuminating the backs of the curses and emphasizing the shadows on the snow. a small bump in the otherwise smooth ride is just the beginning—a moment later, there seems to be a sudden choppiness that bucks you nearly a foot up off the bench.

it seems like the runners have gotten caught on something, making the curses stumble off kilter. the sleigh swerves to the side and so do you with a startled gasp, right into suguru’s awaiting arms (and lap). he steals a kiss to your cheek, and the chaste action sends a ripple of heat through your body.

“seems like there’s been some turbulence,” suguru comments, his voice low near your ear.

“oh,” you flounder for something to say instead of moving off his lap, at a loss for words now that the little tease has been flipped on its head. “i wasn’t holding on, and the curses, they—they probably tripped.”

“they look fine to me,” he whispers, nodding towards the recovered curses in question. it’s as if they’d never stumbled in the first place. “it’s not like you tried to stop yourself.”

instead of coming up with some annoying, sly answer, you’re busy being consumed by suguru’s heated gaze. the desire is painfully obvious in those pretty eyes of his, and in those explorative touches along your back that make you shiver. he’s got his hands beneath your fluffy winter coat and on your skin, his fingers heating you up much faster than the downy material.

“give me that kiss,” he almost demands, a pleading edge to his voice. “i caught you, didn’t i?”

at first, your lips meet gently—a soft touch that makes the world around you disappear. to encourage you closer, suguru’s hand lightly cradles your face, the pad of his thumb gingerly brushing over your jaw. for a moment, the kiss is full of something tender and sweet, but then something shifts into place and it deepens.

your breath catches in your throat as his lips move against yours urgently, right before he slips his tongue between your parted lips. your hands can’t help but seek purchase in his neatly bound hair, fingers pulling the dark tresses from their hold and tugging. he groans into your mouth, his cock hardening in his pants; the close proximity instills a sweltering heat inside you that radiates through your clothing and pools into your panties.

the once frigid air now crackles with a certain electricity; he’s hot and hard beneath you, which is something that melts your inhibitions away like snow near a fireplace. are you actually about to cast away the cuteness of a sleigh ride in favor of something utterly filthy? yes, you are — and you don’t regret it one bit. clearly, suguru doesn’t either, not with the way he’s impatiently shifting you around on his lap.

“move your hips f’me, baby,” he grunts, nose bumping into yours when he comes up for air, his hands settling on each side of your waist. “show me how much you want this cock, hm?”

“o-okay,” you pant, chasing after his lips while you roll your hips onto him. god, you’re already soaking wet, just from weakly humping his clothed cock. whiny moans pour from your lips and he hushes you with endless kisses, along with a splayed hand at the small of your back, which guides you whenever you start to slow down.

the curses race onwards, and there’s a little more turbulence before there’s nothing at all. literally, nothing at all—confused, you crack open an eye, movements pausing as you take in your surroundings. just like magic, the sleigh is rising off the ground and being pulled into the dark sky.

you’re trembling on suguru’s lap, half startled and half turned on. only he could have this effect on you, making you drip wetter with excitement at the prospect of flying into the clouds. the hand that was once resting on the small of your back now pushes into your skin insistently, and suguru’s acting as though you’re still on the ground, completely unfazed.

“why’d you stop, sweetheart? is something the matter?” the corners of his lips curl into a mischievous smile as he protectively hugs you closer.

“we’re in the sky,” you swallow slowly, fingers absentmindedly toying with the metal button of his pants. silky, sable tresses blow in the air like thick ribbons behind him, and the comforting scent of his shampoo wafts into your face. “did you tell them to—what the hell even happened?”

suguru clasps your hands together with his own, helping you undo the button. he’s unbothered as he works the zipper down before moving onto what you’re wearing. “i suppose they brought us up here on their own,” he lifts you off of his lap, ignoring the small scream that tears from your throat. instead of letting you slip and fall out of the sleigh, suguru sits you down on the bench and sinks to his knees.

dark pupils dilate against amethyst irises, his heavy gaze fixed on what’s between your thighs. yes, his favorite christmas gift; suguru could probably pass as santa claus, with how often he eats a certain cookie...

you’re trembling as suguru slowly peels the thin panties away from your wet cunt, his eyes hungrily following the glossy strings of slick that move with the material. brisk wind rushes into your face, and your eyes flutter shut in an attempt to resist the discomfort.

“hey, it’s cold up here,” you complain, letting him pull your hips up to his face. you’re like putty in his hands and effortlessly giving in to him—suguru notices, and he’s ready to reward you. “my nose is—shit,” you gasp, breath catching in your throat when his tongue flicks through your sticky folds.

“your nose is cold, honey?” he supplies, finishing your sentence for you while buried between your splayed legs. “tuck your face into your coat.”

all too soon, you’re reduced to a dumb, babbling mess—but this is what always happens when suguru’s between your thighs, eating your pussy like he’s been starving for days. that silky tongue of his roughly pushes into you, and his eyes dart up to yours in a silent command.

use me, that look reads, and who are you to defy him?

with a breathless moan, you brace yourself with a hand in his hair and the other planted on the bench. “mmm, fuuck—was this what you’d been planning since we got into this thing?”

“maybe,” suguru murmurs coyly, smacking his lips before taking your clit between them. his cold, slick fingers nudge against your hot pussy when he slides them inside. the dichotomy between the temperatures makes your eyes roll back into your skull as you weakly thrust against his face.

above the thin clouds, you’re only able to see the bright moon and the dimmed lights of the city beneath. you shakily inhale, surprised by the lack of oxygen this high up; each breath is more elusive the harder you pant, and it makes your head spin in a way that compliments suguru’s ministrations.

the tip of his nose brushes against your pelvic bone and he finds that he has trouble breathing too. he quickly forgets about the whole thing once he spits onto your clit, watching the shimmery glob trail down your slit and onto his fingers. your chest heaves in effort and you close your eyes, pushing suguru’s head deeper.

“mmmph, baby,” he moans wetly, grasping with his free hand to pull your body closer. “y-you’re always so fuckin’ hot, shit.”

oh, that’s right. it’s freezing up in the sky, but suguru’s like a match, keeping your fire stoked and fueling his own.

your head weakly rests against the backing of the bench, lips parting around countless moans of ah’s and ooh’s. suguru’s shoulders shake as he devours you, the wind blowing his hair onto your thighs or against your tummy. it tickles, and because of the sensitivity, it’s also extremely stimulating—your hips jerk forward, clit throbbing between his lips.

as your cunt sporadically clenches around his relentless fingers, you feel your back arching up and off the bench, thighs squeezing tightly around his head.

“h-hey, sugu,” you whimper breathlessly, “god, fuckkk—gonna cum, ‘m so close,” that unadulterated desperation in your voice sparks something inside him, something that compels him to yank you forward so he can really dive in.

suguru’s smacking and licking sloppily at your overstimulated cunt, pushing you right off the edge and carrying you through the fall. a euphoric cry tears from your throat as you shudder uncontrollably, panting out clouds into the air. when you finally release him, his face is a complete mess—rosy cheeks glossy with wetness, nose and mouth smeared with sticky cream.

and his eyes—they’re sparkling like he’s just opened the best christmas gift ever, some kind of horny joy shining in his violet irises.

“s-shit,” you exhale, drunk on him as much as he is you, “we need to go down a ‘lil, can’t breathe.”

suguru lets out a small laugh at your slurred words, wiping a hand across his face while the curses start to gallop downwards at a slow pace. he sidles up beside you on the bench, making no move to pull your pants up for you.

“that’s not fair,” you shiver, blindly rifling around for your panties if they haven’t fallen out of the sleigh. “y-you’ve still got all your clothes on.”

he tugs you toward him, effectively halting your search for the panties. “sweetheart, i’m nowhere near finished with you.”

“yeah?” you snark, teeth chattering, “gonna even the playing field and strip down too?”

“already taken care of,” he hums, pulling you into his lap. suguru’s boxers and pants are bunched at his knees and you’re mere inches away from his cock. damn, he must’ve done all that while you were talking to him.. again and again, he proves he’s great with his fingers.

“be a good girl ‘n sit down on it,” he huffs, an arm wrapped around you while he holds his cock upright by the base. with the moon behind you as your only source of light, though dim, you can see the thick outline of his length and even the veins that run along it. it’s always a stretch with him, and you sniffle out a whine as you slowly sink down.

“what a greedy fucking pussy,” suguru bites out, watching as it swallows inch after inch of his cock. once he finally bottoms out inside you, tip flush against your cervix, you’re both groaning, although he’s much louder than you.

“god, you’re just the gift that keeps on giving.”

you clumsily paw at his shoulders, mewling when he gifts your bare ass with a smack. it already stings, and the cool air immediately rushes over the skin, providing a few extra licks of pain. suguru lightly nips at your neck, tongue flicking behind your earlobe.

“ride it, sweetheart. don’t make me have to help you out, ‘kay?”

you nod, teeth sinking into your lower lip. he’s so damn deep, filling you up and stretching you out all at once. slowly, you raise your hips and steady yourself; then you’re starting to bounce on his cock, feeling each punchy thrust right into your cervix.

“sugu—oooh! f-fuck, ngh,” you’re breathing hard and sucking up the thin air, sweat beading on your forehead as you exert yourself. no longer are the sleigh bells jingling softly; instead, they’re rattling against the wood because of the high speed. but with his cock inside you, making your tummy bulge just a little, you’re unable to fully comprehend the fact that you’re racing through the sky.

sable tresses drape over the edge of the bench, tangling in the blowing wind and flying into your faces. suguru’s gasping, and his flushed lips are kissing away the drool that seeps from the corner of your lips.

he feels amazing, but it’s nearly impossible to fight off the exhaustion that settles in your limbs and prepares to stay. the once loud smacks of skin against skin and wet squelches begin to diminish quickly as you wilt against him, head hanging over his shoulder tiredly.

“‘m sorry, sugu,” you cry, feeling the tingling sparks of euphoria dissipating inside you, “i really—oh, i can’t keep going . . need you to make us cum, sugu.”

gingerly, he plants a kiss to your neck and chuckles, grabbing at your ass like freshly made dough. “thought i said i wouldn’t,” he grouses, although he’s not entirely upset. “who’s gonna control the curses, hmm?”

“we’ll be fine,” you mumble, sliding your cold hands up beneath his coat and shirt. “just for a minute or two. you started it, so finish it.”

“oooh, aren’t you sassy,” suguru clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes before wrapping a light hand around your throat. his fingers don’t dig too hard into the sides of your neck and you’re a little thankful since the air’s so thin up here. “if we start plummeting, it’s your turn.”

“stop it,” you huff, eyelids fluttering shut when he finally sets his hand onto your hip and starts to move you. god, he’s balls deep and groaning your name, along with various curses and praises. wet squelches and sticky smacks of skin on skin fill the air—the utterly nasty sounds have you squeezing hard around him.

his grip tightens on your neck and he grits his teeth, feeling the beginning sparks of pure bliss. it’s no use when he’s inside you, but he tries to fight it off any way, cheeks splotching a darker pink. “ngh, shit. i need to—hah—feel you cum with me, all over my cock.”

all too quickly, your hand wanders between your legs, and you gasp out clouds of breath when your fingers find your swollen clit. through the haze, you’re able to notice the new course of the sleigh—you’re racing downwards, much like a car on a rollercoaster.

your stomach flips and you start to sob out his name, enamored by the exhilarating rush of it all. “s-sugu, fuckkk—‘m gonna cum.”

“yeah?” he pants, gripping your waist hard enough to leave bruises. you feel him adjust you to the side, giving his cock deeper access at another angle. “you better cum hard for me, sweetheart. we’re not getting off this damn sleigh ‘til you’re crying.”

as if on cue, a few horny tears gather in your eyes, but they don’t splash down your cheeks just yet. you hiccup out his favorite words, eyes rolling back into your skull. “yes, r-right there! fuck, ‘m cumming,” suguru interprets this as permission to finally cum too, and his mouth falls open, cock spurting white into you.

in your boots, your toes curl as your cunt squeezes him impossibly deeper, the both of you temporarily oblivious to the bumpy sleigh. the city lights are suddenly becoming clear, and suguru regains control of the curses, his energy flaring as he commands them to fly back up.

“heh, that was close,” he lets out a shaky exhale and releases his grip on your neck, pulling you into his chest. the winter coats swish quietly as they come into contact with one another, and suguru feels a persistent buzzing at his side. “you were supposed to take control if that happened. lazy girl.”

“if you were asphyxiating like i was, i think you’d also be tired,” you sigh, shivering as suguru notices a persistent buzzing at his side. in a pathetic attempt to prevent him from picking up and answering, you mischievously start to shift on his lap again. but really, who the hell is calling him right now and why is there still reception this high up?

that inevitable sensitivity creeps up on him and makes him shudder as he pulls out his phone, clumsily swiping to answer on a very familiar caller id. his shaky thumb misses the green button and he bites his lip, stiffening when you press your lips to the shell of his ear.

“aw, don’t answer it,” you murmur, voice smooth and easily convincing. oh, he’s quick to notice the dazed, blissed out look in your half lidded eyes and the sultry implication in your next words. “c’mon, sugu. you’ll ruin all the fun.”

but it’s too late. letting out a resigned sigh, suguru shakes his head and finally answers the phone. with a precarious glance tossed your way, he hoarsely speaks up. “hello? satoru?”

“took you long enough, suguru,” gojo’s cheerful voice rings through the phone, confident and unbothered. “what’s going on up there? i can feel your cursed energy going haywire. it’s all over the damn sky.”

he freezes immediately, fingers cautiously digging into the plush skin of your hips. you offer him an innocent shrug, adjusting on his cock once more; heat flares in his gut and he flounders for words. “satoru, it’s . . nothing important. it’s just the rainbow dragon flying around, heh.” shameless delight has your heart kicking in your ribcage when your ears catch the unusual tightness in his voice.

“nothing important?” gojo laughs, the smirk obvious in his voice. “you’re causing a storm over the city. and come on! you haven’t summoned that one in years.”

suguru’s face twists into a grimace and he desperately tries to stay quiet against the quickening pace of your rocking hips. he hopes that the awkwardness will be enough of a hint and dissolve into the goodbye he’s been dying for since picking up the phone.

“it’s coming down in waves.” gojo laughs at the silence, pausing briefly to look up into the sky. it takes him a moment, but he’s able to push past the choking plumes of suguru’s cursed energy to pinpoint yours. “oh, wait. holddd up, suguru.”

“huh? look, i’ve gotta go, satoru,” he nearly stumbles over his words, “i’m busy with some new curses.”

“don’t tell me you’re busy with her up there, suguru,” gojo remarks suggestively, “no wonder you’re flying all around like a cursed santa claus.”

suguru’s face flushes and he glances helplessly at you, searching your face in hopes of coming up with an acceptable answer. “cut it out. we’re just fine, satoru.”

“bleh, you could’ve just rented a plane, you freak.”

suguru doesn’t even entertain his best friend with a response, swiftly hanging up and tossing the phone to the bench. “i hope you’re happy,” he grumbles dryly, cock twitching inside you. “that was fun, huh?”

he’s half irritated, half in seventh heaven. “i know, i know. he’ll forget about it in a month.”

“in a few months,” suguru corrects you with narrowed eyes that still glint with playfulness despite his embarrassment. he pulls you close as the sleigh starts to drift toward the ground, the curses bracing to land. “besides the call, that was a great ride.”

you can’t stop grinning, leaning in to kiss away the pout on his lips. “next time, leave your phone at home so you don’t get us into this mess again, hehe.”

#kurooh #kinkmas #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #smut #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines

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bahribachir · 2 years ago

Photo

(via A celebration of nature's bounty by Bachir Reddioui)

Looking for an art piece that can take your home decor to the next level? Look no further than this stunning digital artwork painting of a still life with fruit, bread, and a candle, this artwork is sure to grab the attention of anyone who enters your living space. This digital artwork painting features fine details that make it stand out from other art pieces. The fruit and bread are so lifelike, you'll want to take a bite! The candle's flame also appears to flicker, creating a sense of warmth and comfort in your home. The dark background makes the fruit and bread pop, while the candle's light provides a warm and cozy ambiance. It's the perfect addition to any art collection, and it's sure to become a timeless piece that you'll cherish for years to come. Buy now and add warmth and style to your living space.

#Still life digital artwork Fruit and bread art print Candle painting for home decor High-quality art printing Timeless classic art piece War

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blueiscoool · 10 months ago

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‘Rare’ 400-Year-Old Tomb Found in China

For centuries, the pale blue doors of an imposing stone tomb remained largely shut. When archaeologists in China finally walked in, they found themselves surrounded by a “rare” and elaborate interior.

Archaeologists excavated the ancient stone tomb in Xinfu District ahead of highway construction, Shanxi Provincial Institute of Archaeology said in a March 6 news release shared via a post on Weibo.

The tomb was about 400 years old, dating to the Ming dynasty, and well-preserved, archaeologists said. The roughly 83-foot-long grave was made up of a sloping passageway, main burial chamber and smaller back chamber.

The 400-year-old tomb was sealed with a stone gatehouse and set of double doors, a photo shows.

Inside the main burial chamber, archaeologists found two wooden coffins. The painted coffins were decorated with gold diamonds, leaves, flowers and other designs. Several pottery jars containing grain, oil or other liquids were also found in the room.

The final back chamber held several pieces of wooden furniture including altars, tables and chairs, the institute said. Most of the furniture was collapsed and broken, photos show.

Archaeologists also found “writing tools such as inkstones, Chinese calligraphy brush pens, and pen holders” in the back chamber, according to an article from the China Daily, a state-controlled news outlet.

Several inscriptions on the coffins and walls helped researchers identify the deceased as a man who lived between 1533 and 1588, the institute said.

Because of the tomb’s high-quality artifacts and preservation, archaeologists described the grave as “rare” and elaborate.

Archaeologists have excavated over 60 tombs ahead of the highway construction projects, the institute said.

Xinfu District is in Shanxi Province and about 300 miles southwest of Beijing.

#‘Rare’ 400-Year-Old Tomb Found in China #Xinfu District #Shanxi Province #Ming dynasty #ancient graves #ancient tombs #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient china #chinese history #chinese art

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thatsexcpisces · 1 year ago

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Gifts to get the moon signs for Christmas 🎄🤍

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️

Aries moon: clothing and items for the gym and working out, bold accessories that make them stand out, hats, earrings, tickets or a class for their favorite activity or take them on any fun adventure, new car (if you wanna go big), fancy mirrors, watch, strong fragrance, trendy gadgets

Taurus moon: jewelry, luxuriously-presented items, something cozy and for the home, a spa day voucher, soft blanket, cute slippers, beauty products, skin and self care items

Gemini moon: cute journals to write down their thoughts, entertaining card/games (ex. cards against humanity), stationary, technology, thought-provoking gifts, their favorite book collections.

Cancer moon: cooking set, something sentimental and hand-made (ex. a scrapbook of all your memories together), a comfy robe to lounge in, recipe book, candles and stuff for the home

Leo moon: gifts related to their interests whether musical or hobbies in general. ex., if they love lana del rey get them a vinyl collection of her music or a poster of her. designer clothing, something extravagant and unique, tickets to their favorite musical or show.

Virgo moon: organized home planners, plants, cookbook, antiques, cleaning gadgets, home fragrances, books on getting organized and lifestyle advice, gift cards for home goods stores or their fav stores in general, maybe even get them a small pet to keep company!

Libra moon: designer handbags, books on fashion, good-quality perfumes, beauty items, fancy soaps, silk scarves or pajama sets, luxury brand shoes, fancy decorations for their living space

Scorpio moons: spiritual gifts, something personal from you, leather/ dark colored clothing, pampering gifts, marble items, brand sunglasses, ruled by Pluto; get them an elegant version of whatever they generally like; if they like gold jewelry, get them a carefully-selected box of fancy gold rings or something like that.

Sagittarius moons: gifts brought from a foreign country, something unique, plane tickets to a country they’ve always wanted to go to, travel picture book to record their journeys, good- quality camera, laptop, money, practical gifts

Capricorn moons: expensive things (I mean it’s a Capricorn moon here 💀), money in an envelope, gift cards to high-end stores, good chocolates, wine, and other specialty gourmet items, functional coffee machine, items to relieve stress (back-massager tool, etc), self-help books

Aquarius moons: technology, new phone, computer, Apple headphones, vintage record player, art materials, something no one else has, something related to their humanitarian or quirky interests, trivia games

Pisces moon: dream journal, thoughtful gifts, paintings, adult coloring books or stuff for arts and crafts, cute headphones, their favorite album and CD’s, something that encourages creativity, collection of bath salts and fragrances, meditation/yoga tools, locket necklace, fluffy blankets and pillows

Thank you for reading hope y’all have a good holiday! 🫶🎁🌟

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌

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plutoswritingplanet · 6 months ago

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Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: "a cigarette pressed between her lips, but i'm staring at her tits, it's the wrong way" - Homelander, probably

Warnings: Masturbation, Explicit Language, General Creepy Behavior, Alcohol Usage, Plus Sized Reader, out-of-date song references.

Summary: Sunday off-work is the perfect time to relax. Unfortunately, your mentor is too interested in shortening that time as much as possible.

Vicarious Masterlist

Your Instagram account is private, but the flimsy security system paled in comparison to Vaught's cyber team.

Homelander has put in a special request. Actually carried himself to the lower levels of the Tower, asking one of the insignificant workers for a personal favor. Which they were oh-so-honored to fulfill. He's the Symbol of Peace, a fact everyone, besides you, seemed to understand. And as such, here he sits, spread out like a King on his silken sheets, one hand languidly stroking his length through his briefs, while the other scrolls away on your profile. He's aware of the questioning, that awaits him in the morning. Stillwell knew, he never actually used a phone, didn't need to. But that's a problem for the tomorrow version of himself. There isn't much she can do to stop him, either way. He'll get a slap on the wrist, perhaps even an exasperated sigh, and he's been dealing with those his whole career.

You must've had this account for a very long time, because the sheer amount of pictures is staggering. When he first flickered through the entirety of this priceless library, it felt like he hit the jackpot. Photos upon photos of different moments from your life stared back at him, at the shameless display of his interest (which he won't call want, because if he wants something, he gets it, and you're clearly not here). Starting from the very bottom, he began to scroll up, quickly passing at least a dozen pictures of you from your high school years.

You've always been a little chubster, he laughs quietly to himself, bringing the phone closer to his face. Lights dance across his features, as he watches a short video you've uploaded years ago. It's blurry, the quality is worse than shit, but he can recognize your face through the haze of pixels. A nervous little thing, fidgeting with the hem of your color coded costume. It's some sort of student play, it reeks of amateurism. You're standing by the heavy curtain, knee-high socks digging into the meat of your legs in a way, that is tantalizing even through the screen. Biting your lip, you bounce on your legs, trying to rid yourself of the anxious energy, a habit he's noticed a couple of times now.

And oh, there it is. He recognizes the way you shake your hands, some sort of compulsion moving your limbs, consequently, making your curves jiggle under the costume. And then, you finally notice the camera pointed at you, your friend laughs behind the screen, and for some reason Homelander finds the sound aggravating. But your eyes start to shine, as your lips pull back into a bright, if a bit wavering smile, and you lift up your middle finger. His other hand presses harder against his steadily hardening length.

Another couple of pictures fly past his eyes. You're showing your hands, dirty with splotches of colorful paint to the camera, and there's that sparkle in your eye again. You're decorating your graduation cap. There's glitter everywhere, in your hair, on your nose, on the tops of your breasts peaking from under a washed out sweatshirt. With a groan emanating from deep within his chest, Homelander's hand sneaks under the waistband of his briefs.

Really, this whole ordeal started as a way to gather some intel. Genuinely.

He did not expect to be in this situation, because honestly, what the fuck? The last time he's seen you in person, you were such an interesting enigma, he had to know more, had to figure out how the essence of you worked. Which version of you was the real one? The tired one, who cared for nothing save for her neighbourhood? Or the version, who held his gaze with a straight back? How did you disappear into yourself so quickly, were you putting on a mask, or showing your true colors?

Who was your favorite Superhero? He was convinced it had to be him, that's why you've been acting so strange around him, a pathetic attempt at fighting off your crush. All in favor of professionalism.

He huffs a staggering breath, fingers encircling his growing hard-on with light pressure. There's a video of you, again, quite recent at that. You're sitting on the floor, an unfamiliar place, he notes, remembering the look of your living room. Legs splayed out, covered by a flowy skirt, and as his grip tightens, Homelander wonders if you're wearing those same, washed out panties he saw on you the first time you've met. Leaning heavily on the front of an old couch, your entire body overflows with relaxed, leisure energy.

Your friend's hand appears from the edge of the screen, passing you a small box covered in present paper.

- Oh God, what's this? - you ask, your voice slightly distorted by the awful quality of the video.

- Something to hump in the night - your friend answers with a snort of laughter.

You regard them with a skeptically raised eyebrow, but tear into the paper, strips of it falling onto your lap. Then, you open the box, and Homelander groans, his hips lifting ever so slightly from the sheets. Your curious smile fades away into a thoroughly unimpressed expression. Reaching into the box, you lift a small plushie, presenting it to the camera, as your friend shakes with laughter.

- Okay, fuck you - you burst out laughing, the sound rich and so incredibly warm.

There it is, his cartoon face stares back at him, as you squeeze the plushie between your fingers. Fuck. His hand speeds up, and he all but yanks his briefs down, freeing himself and immediately going back to work.

He zeroes in on the glowing blush, blooming on your face, noting a bottle of red wine right next to you on the floor. It's probably sickly sweet, and cheap. Perfect for you. Perhaps, you're pushed by the alcohol flowing through your veins, but Homelander doesn't believe it. He knows you imagine it's truly him, your favorite superhero, as you giggle and press your soft lips to the embroidered face of the plushie, giving it a loud kiss.

He can almost imagine the moisture of your tongue on his cheek, the taste of wine mingling with that incessant jasmine perfume, you carry around on your skin. A tease, that's what you are, flaunting yourself in front of him in all your softness, all your glory.

- Fuck... - he grits through his teeth, searing the image into his memory, his other hand squeezing him harder - Shit.

Another picture seems to be from that same night. You're noticeably more disheveled, hair sticking out in odd places, your shirt falling off the shoulder. You're standing under the kitchen light, it shines behind your head like an angel's halo. Arms folded, you gaze tenderly at the gifted plushie, holding it close to your chest as one would a newborn baby, your lips pulled back into a drunken, but gentle smile.

That, for some unknown reason (or known, Homelander is aware of his vices), makes him tumble over the edge, with a drawn out, guttural groan. His movements stutter, hips jerking upwards into his hand, as he feels his release coat his fingers. For a moment, it's completely quiet inside his penthouse, his chest rising and falling from the exertion. His phone clicks shut, and he throws it onto the pillow with a soft thud, eyes closing for just a second longer, savoring the images flashing behind his eyelids.

Not enough, after a while he sighs to himself frustrated, wiping his hand on the silk sheets, his dissatisfaction leading him to stand up from the bed, and stalk towards one of the gigantic windows overlooking the city at night. With slow, lazy movements, he tucks himself back into his briefs, closing the zipper of his costume, hand lingering in the general area, should he decide to change his mind.

The night is growing darker and darker by the moment, but it makes no difference for his unnatural gaze, as he focuses his attention on the street below. There, right at the entrance to the Vaught Tower, he can see the top of your head, standing on the sidewalk, tapping your foot to the music coming from the headphones placed over your ears. Homelander observes as a car pulls up, a shiny Uber sign catching his attention.

Why the hell would you use such pedestrian ways of commuting is beyond him, especially since Vaught's personal drivers were available to you, should you truly need to go somewhere important. Or, you could ask him to fly you, so he can wrap his arms around you, and fuck you mid-air. Now, that's an interesting image. Interesting enough for his hand to twitch at his side, reaching to his belt as if it's working on autopilot. Before he can get too carried away, however, he composes himself with a hard breath sucked through his teeth.

Curiosity killed the cat, but he's invincible, so what's the harm in indulging himself a little more?

The window to his room opens all the way inside, cool air wafting around his form, as he steps closer to the edge, his cape billowing behind him. And then, he's off. The force of his body lifting into the sky chips the floor of his penthouse, dust falling into the streets below.

***

One day, every two weeks. That's all the free time you get, for the next six months.

Coordinating your attendance at a party with the rest of your friends, while on such a tight schedule, bordered on impossible. But somehow, miraculously, you all managed to find that one, elusive Sunday. And two weeks after signing the contract as well. From the moment you've woken up in the morning, you've been filled to the brim with excited energy. While you've begged your friend not to go too overboard on the celebrations, you knew deep down, that people needed some excuse to unwind. And, as such, your joining with Vaught offered such an excuse on a silver platter.

The Uber takes you through the city, lights flashing past the windows, as you fidget with the hem of your oversized t-shirt.

God above, you've missed comfortable clothing with a burning passion. After being sucked into Fireball's hero costume for almost two weeks now, the moment you slipped on your cotton biker shorts felt borderline orgasmic. You tried to advocate for some safety shorts, under that stiff monstrosity of a skirt, the costume department provided you with, after the skin on the inside of your thighs tore nearly all the way to the bone from constant chafing. All you got in response, was a bottle of baby powder with Queen Meave's face on it, which felt more like a slap to the cheek, but you digress.

You'll ask again after tonight. Stillwell might be more receptive to your ideas, now that you've proven yourself to be a model employee.

The car moves through your neighborhood, your eyes gliding over familiar buildings with a sense of growing melancholy. You decide to push this feeling all the way down, as far as it can go. Tonight's not made for this, you'll allow yourself the luxury of sadness tomorrow, while fighting off the inevitable hangover.

Right now, you can already hear the music, bumping through speakers which saw better days. You can already see flickering lights inside your friend's house, silhouettes of various people moving behind flimsy curtains. You can already taste the horrendous drinks you're about to down. You've missed this. You've been out of here for only two weeks, and in that short time, all you wanted to do, was get back to the familiarity of your previous, non-famous life. The freedom of being yourself, and not this corporate puppet Vaught created.

The Uber pulls up, you pay, and your foot doesn't even have the chance to fully step on the sidewalk, when your friend drags you out of the car. Their smell, their warmth engulfing you entirely, wiping away any remaining worries. They announce your arrival to the crowd of people, more or less familiar to you, and soon, like a blunt at a function, you're being passed around the room. Smiling faces and words of congratulations overwhelm you in the best way possible. Someone pats your head, someone shakes your hand, someone claps you on the back. Someone pushes a drink into your palm, someone else kisses your cheek.

And before you can even notice, the first notes of Jump Around by House of Pain start playing, and your friend tugs you by the elbow towards the living room, where the center of the party takes place. Bodies swaying, colognes, perfumes, sweat, it all mixes together in an intoxicating wave, and at that very moment Fireball is thrown out the window, locked out of this heaven. In her place, Smirnoff arises, victorious for tonight, and you welcome yourself back with open arms.

Alcohol swishes around in your veins, a peculiar mixture of lemonade, Sprite and four different types of liquors. Your head is buzzing with the distorted sounds of bass, shaking the glass panes of the windows, your heart beating to the changing tune of another song. And another. And one more. Your hairdo is long forgotten, strands sticking to your sweaty forehead, to the back of your neck. Your voice is almost completely gone, from screaming over the surrounding sounds, and you're certain you won't be able to talk tomorrow.

But that doesn't matter. Nothing matters, not here, not right now.

At California Love you find out a group of your college girlfriends qualified for a Vaught sponsored scholarship program. Their hands glide over your waist, as they scream the news at you over 2Pac's voice, and you throw your head back and laugh. Simply laugh. Relief floods you. A feeling you were not expecting, because they're honoring the contract, despite everything you've always known about the company. So it's all worth it.

During Hey Ya!, your neighbor tells you they've managed to score a job at the Tower. The news is interrupted a couple of times, so you all can clap to the music. At this point your muscles are starting to burn from the constant jumping, but that doesn't stop you from shaking your behind in celebration, just like OutKast wanted.

When No Diggity comes around, your friend invites you to their wedding, requesting specifically for you to come in your Superhero getup. Not really as an appreciation of Fireball's character, they just think it would be funny, and for them, you might actually consider it. They show you the ring, as you both grind against each other, make a pause in said grinding to take a burning shot of Fireball (yes, they thought it would be hilarious), and get back to grinding.

You're doing good, everyone is doing good, and if selling your soul is all it takes to keep those smiles on your friend's faces, then the price seems comically small in comparison. And yet, something tugs at the back of your mind, some hidden, biting feeling, wrenching itself under your skin.

By the time No Role Modelz comes up, your head feels so heavy, so filled to the brim with emotions, that you feel like the splintered floor inside your friend's living room will swallow you whole. Suddenly, it's all too much, and far too quickly, and you push past the crowds of oh-so-grateful people, until you all but throw yourself out the front door, half of your drink spilling onto the wooden porch.

Such a waste.

Smirnoff, oh, Smirnoff, what have you done to yourself, you thins, stumbling through the grass, until your shoes find the sidewalk. Until your ass hits the concrete, and you lean heavily forward, bracing your hands on your knees, hiding your face in your arms. Your stomach feels much too tight for comfort, its contents swirling like a tornado. The music still follows you, the sounds of the party now muted, but still so tangible. Your stomach churns, your eyes start to burn under the mascara.

You won't cry. You can't cry.

This is what you wanted, those were your terms, you don't get to swallow your own words. Especially since Vaught, apparently, is honoring their end of the deal. And if you were roped into it by an indirect blackmail... Then, so what? Your friend would never be able to afford a wedding, and now they have a date. They're looking at dresses in actual salons, not charity shops. Missus Johnson's kid's school got enough funding, that it's finally getting a whole renovation. Even the drama departament will get some money. You can never cry because of that.

You don't even know what you're drinking, but you down the rest of it in one go, liquid burning it's way through your insides, until it reaches the already restless stomach. Fireball will surely pay for Smirnoff's sins tomorrow, but fuck that fake bitch, you want to feel alive.

The song changes again, and you wait until the screams of delight subside inside the house, so you can recognize what's playing. Berkeley's On Fire. It makes you huff a laugh, as you hear a myriad of out of tune voices, yelling at the top of their lungs. You should go back, join them, enjoy this night to the fullest. But your head sways, and your limbs feel like your bones are made out of lead, so you stay in your place, tapping your foot to the distant sounds of the party. It's hard to focus on anything for longer than a minute, and, fearing an upcoming wave of anxiety, you reach into your pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

"Put your pom-poms down, you didn't win shit"

Oh, ha ha, hilarious.

You light one up with practiced ease, inhaling enough smoke to make your lungs burn, make your eyes line with tears, that you simply refuse to shed. Breathing out a cloud of fumes, you relish in the way they curl around your head, the smell both irritating your senses, and calming them.

- You know these will kill you, right?

Your head snaps up, and as your eyes adjust against the darkness of the night, your breath catches in your throat. Admittedly, before your tipsy brain catches up, the view is quite spectacular. Surrounded by his American flag cape, Homelander descends from the night sky, his movements unnaturally graceful. His feet touch down onto the concrete in front of you, the street lamp illuminating his imposing figure, like a Patron Saint of The American Dream. He's almost beautiful like that, almost enough to fool you. But suddenly the realization of what exactly you're looking at, hits your like a train, and every muscle in your body tenses up, as you stand up quickly, taking a few stabilizing steps. Homelander's face blurs before your very eyes.

Perhaps those last two shots were a mistake.

- What the fuck are you doing here? - your words come out with a slur, but your voice remains strong, demanding - Are you stalking me?

The illusion is gone with a blink of an eye, and you watch, as his face twists, in what you think is supposed to be an expression of nonchalance. He's really, truly, not as good of a liar as he thinks he is.

- What? - he scoffs, sells it harder by looking at you like you're insane - No, no way. I have better things to do than stalk little girls like you.

He did not just call you little girl after repeatedly staring at your boobs, like they were ornaments on a Christmas tree. Your irritation flares up, and with a frown you take a quick, steadying drag from your cigarette. Your head sways to the side before you can stop yourself, as nicotine dances with alcohol within your system, his eyes follow the movement with light amusement.

- I was just on my patrol, and saw you sitting here alone - he continues, taking one step closer - Can't a hero check on his favorite Sidekick?

You throw him a withering look, one he brushes off with a (fake) charming smile.

- Whatever, I'm not dealing with all this tonight - you wave your hand in his general direction.

Still holding your cigarette like a lifeline, you squat down, only to plop your ass back on the sidewalk with a heavy sigh. Homelander watches you with a mixture of emotions swimming through his eyes, and you can't decide which one would be better. Disgust might've been the safest. If he felt appalled by you, perhaps he would just leave you alone, let you slump down on your own. Amusement offered more risks, because you suspected the man was constantly fighting off bouts of boredom (much like yourself, but you were not about to think too hard about it in your current state, or any state, ever). You didn't want to catch his interest, at least not more than you've already done. And then, there was something else, something you were not naive enough to ignore, but definitely too drunk to get scared by.

- You shouldn't be sitting here alone - he comments, taking another step forward - Someone might take advantage of a pretty girl like you, in such a vulnerable state at that.

- Someone other than you, you mean?

You're not sure what pushes your tongue to form the words in such a challenging, flippant manner, but it's too late now. Hanging your head low, you blow out another cloud of smoke, and his eyes follow the fumes, as they curl around your mouth.

He's never considered smoking to be remotely attractive, but as he stands now, there's something alluring in your rebellious gesture. Usually, he wouldn't tolerate any of this, he's had people removed for far less. And yet, it's been such a long time, since he felt any sliver of entertainment, especially now, after his relationship with Meave ended.

There is a groan coming out of your lips, and he watches as your body tips, back splaying on the sidewalk. It's instinctual, the way his tongue slips out to wet his lips, at the sight of your soft body molding itself into a laying position. This, borderline offensively, large T-shirt, spills around you, the ghost of your curves peaking at him through the thin cotton material. The hem rides up your plush thighs, exposing those ridiculous biker shorts below, as they dig ever so slightly into your skin. He can imagine the red lines, that would run across your flesh, where the stitches make their mark. He'd like to feel those ridges, map them out with his fingers, his tongue.

He blinks, frowns, pushing those thoughts down, so he can replay them in the privacy of some unfortunate skyscraper.

- Why aren't you at the party? - he asks finally, even though he knows the answer.

He's been watching from the very begining, hidden from a regular human's sight, surrounded by darkness like it belonged to him. Rubbed a quick one to the sight of you dancing, your smile so bright, it almost blinded him.

You're silent for a little while, eyes closed, as you soak in the warmth from the sidewalk, seeping into your back. The cigarette in your hand is burning, seemingly forgotten, ash gathering at the end, before it breaks off, and falls unceremoniously.

- I needed some fresh air - not entirely a lie, but not the whole truth either.

Your voice is so quiet, with this tired edge he's noticed before. Like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. He should feel insulted, really. Here he is, slaving away for the same company as you, saving insignificant lives, securing the budget. And what are you doing, exactly? Get wasted the first chance you can, and piss him off with this holier-than-thou bullshit. Acting like you're such a martyr, while getting a check that would make half this neighbourhood shit their pants. The absolute audacity of you, pretending to be tired, to be so bored, when he's standing right here. Your favorite hero.

Quietly, he bristles, blinking a couple of times, to rid himself of this incessant, stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes. When was the last time he's felt this... Aggravated?

- I think I'm gonna head back to the Tower - you muse after a moment, the way your chest rises and falls capturing his gaze immediately - I've had enough for tonight.

His eyebrows scrunch at the sudden note of melancholy entering your voice, but he swallows his intrigue, taking on a more nonchalant persona.

- I could fly you back.

Silence. Your eyes shoot open, as you look at him with an unreadable expression, and he rolls his shoulders under your scrutiny. This is definitely one of the things he hates about you the most. This keen sense of observation. Suddenly, he feels the padding inside his suit a tiny bit more on his skin.

- What? - he asks, trying to sound casual, but you could pick up on the tension in his voice immediately.

- You're really giving me some mixed signals - you muse, the corner of your mouth twitching in a way that is more enchanting, than he would ever anticipate.

While your words come out quite evenly, the swaying instability of your body, as you try to stand, betrays just how drunk you really are. For what it's worth, Homelander finds it endearing. The way you have to take a couple steps to steady yourself, refusing with a burning passion to even consider holding onto him for support. He wants to scoff so badly, at this pathetic display of independence. Shouldn't you want to put your hands all over your favorite Superhero?

He opts for staying quiet, however, betting everything on your pliability.

- I'm giving you mixed signals? - he huffs, bordering on offended, recounting all of your previous interactions.

- Well, yes - you take a step closer, back as straight as it can go, and his nose is assaulted by the smell of jasmine flowers and cigarettes - Since I've met you, you've been trying to charm me, threaten me, all the while harassing me like we're in fucking high school.

Homelander shrugs, waving his hand in your direction, as if trying to swat an annoying fly. And in many ways, that's how he sees you. An annoying, infuriating fly, with a nice pair of tits that you just refuse to share with him. And that just won't fly (he's proud of that joke).

- Oh don't be so dramatic - he laughs, the sound forced through his teeth - Everyone knows you have to hassle the newbie a bit...

The sound of your laughter is strange to his ears, despite hearing it many times before, albeit, never directly. A cackling, casual sort of chuckle, which shakes your entire being, and brings something strange swirling in his gut. He would never describe this something as a feeling, because this is not some teenage romance drama. But he would like to hear you laugh again, if only to satiate his hunger for any sort of reaction. The fact it's a positive reaction has nothing to do with this, by the way.

- That's the weirdest fucking hazing, I've ever experienced, then - you muse, a ghost of a smile still present on your lips, as you close the distance between yourself and Homelander, in a couple more steps, than what's necesary - Would you really fly me back to the Tower?

- Of course, Princess - he flicks your chin with his finger, revelling in the way your head bounces back - Consider it an apology, for makin you uncomfortable before.

For now, you're willing to overlook the nickname, which surely could be considered a term of endearment, if any other person would use it. You mull over his words, looking at him for a moment longer, your eyes flickering all over his features. Even despite the overwhelming darkness surrounding the two of you, his pupils are so small, for a moment all you can see is the ever-consuming blue. He's handsome, of course he is. A bit too America's Sweetheart for you, but objectively, you were staring at a very attractive man. Who, by all intents and purposes, looks sincere in his offer.

So you shrug.

- Alright - his smirk widens into a smile, those sharp canines making an appearance - So, how do we do this...?

You look between him and yourself, and Homelander bites his lip, putting his hands on his hips, as he eyes you for a second longer.

- Put your arms around my neck - his voice is quieter, much lower as well, something which, in hindsight, you shouldn't have overlooked.

You do as he asks, stepping even closer, and wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling more than a bit awkward as you do. It's quiet for a second too long, his chest exapands, brushing against yours. But just as you're about to say something, Homelander's hands grab you tightly around your waist, bringing your bodies flush together.

And then, the rush of air forces your eyes closed, this unfamiliar feeling of your feet suddenly being very much not on the ground, making your heart drop to the very bottom of your shoes.

- Fuck! - you curse loudly.

Instinctually, your legs wrap aound his midsection, as your calves dig themselves into his sides. You can't look. Refuse to, and with an unbecoming sound, you hide your face in the space between his collarbones, the cologne he seems to constantly wear pacifying your nerves for just a fraction.

And. He. Fucking. Loves. It.

The lightness of air surrounds him, making his senses even more acute. Your weight, your soft, pliable body, pressed so tightly to him, he thinks he might get absorbed completely. It's so much better, than what he has imagined. Your fingers grab onto the back of his collar, nails biting into the fabric, so close to digging themselves into his skin. Your chest rises in short, panicked breaths, and he feels every single one of them, wants to crawl into your chest and suck the air straight out of your lungs. The heat of your body alone makes his head spin with dark arousal. And your legs are already in position too. It would so childishly easy, to just take you here, under the night sky.

- Are we there yet? - your voice borders on a pathetic whine, and the sound runs straight to his nether regions, the pants of his suit tightening on command.

Any building would do, he thinks, as he cuts through air over New York. He could land right there, on the rooftop of this sandwich shop you run off to, every time there's a lunch break. And fuck you, until you'd never want to eat in this disgusting, dirty, cockroach-infested place ever again. Or here, just outside the Vaught Tower, where you oh-so-rudely refused to ask him for help, only to cram your delicious body into an Uber. He'll have to punish you for this oversight.

- We're so close - he smirks into your hair, taking a whiff of your scent as he goes.

Or, he could follow his original plan, and screw you on every flat surface inside his penthouse.

The window is still wide open, and he slows down his flight, as he aims for the entrance. His arms tighten around you ever so slightly. There wouldn't be much he could do with you, if you knocked your head on the glass pane, and as if responding to his touch, your own grip becomes even more suffocating. If he was a regular human, he's sure, you'd squeeze the life out of him. And then, amidst flying papers and the overpowering smell of his cologne, everything stops.

Neither of you move. You're too shaken by the flight to detach yourself from him, and he abuses that fact for all it's worth. His lips pull back into a sharp, dangerous smile. Unknowingly, you've just let a Lion carry you right into his den.

#my writing #homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #the boys fanfiction #the boys amazon #the boys #the boys x reader #plus size reader #almost tagged this one as fluff but maybe let's not get ahead of ourselves lmao

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