#hairclips are great!!

[batbabydamian]

Damian adjusting to his new hairstyle in B&R 2023

[robinsnest2111]

seriously thinking about getting real funky with the hairdye....

black on top, purple pieces underneath, Stocking from Panty & Stocking style,,

or maybe even black with purple streaks, Draculaura/Elissabat style...? (this combo has been all over my Instagram explore page lately)

[the-acid-pear]

Gonna cum my pants

[prael]

Pliancy

Kinktember Day 4: Dollification

ILLIT Park Minju x male reader smut

words: 6,488 Kinktember Masterlist

Art is eternal. Who was it that once said that a thing of beauty is a joy forever? Was it Byron? Was it Yeats? Who cares. But that line, however trite, does kind of get the concept down, really, as clichéd and insipid as it sounds.

Minju, too, is a joy forever, with her soft face, her sweet body, and her delicate touch. On this, I will allow you an image: she was the absolute pinnacle of girlhood, the perfect blending of innocence and wanton sexiness. When you pressed her slender wrists down into the sheets of her bed with those pale, thin fingers and pinned her slender body with your cock, you became one with a living, breathing piece of high art. The feeling of that, ah, that is something you cannot ever convey. And that's probably how it started, your obsession with her; she was beautiful and delicate and utterly desirable. She had all the loveliness of a porcelain figurine; just looking at her could arouse you, bring about your lusts and make your mouth dry up.

But there is something, and you realise this, something both primal and shameful, about wanting to sully that image of innocence. Not, of course, that your feelings towards Minju are wholly visceral—you do love her, and genuinely so. The things you do may imply something different, a detachment from her as a person if someone were looking in from the outside, but just as you assured her, it's an act born out of admiration. It's an act out of devotion.

To dollify the living, breathing, loving, feeling organism called Minju, then to make her merely an object for your desires. Ah, there's something wonderfully, gloriously filthy in that—the violation and the liberation. In all those actions and thoughts, you can be sure, is that undercurrent of perverseness and lust. Your lips tracing across Minju's navel is an act of passion, one to express the fullness and warmth that has bloomed inside your chest. Your hands gripping her thighs so tight that they leave deep, crimson fingerprints on the skin is an act of passion too—one to express a primal need.

When it all starts, Minju, a girl so usually full of energy and vivacity, is demure and quiet; she sits in this stoic way in front of you, knees together and her hands resting on her thighs, just below the table. The table holds the tools of your art: hairclips, mascara, lip gloss, nail polish and everything else. She waits, as she always does, in silent expectation.

Minju wears the outfit you laid out for her that afternoon. The fabrics are light and flowing, cotton in a milky off-white colour hugging her upper body and a linen shirt whose billowy sleeves hang around her slender arms; at the wrists, she keeps the cuffs rolled up. Cotton shorts, equally soft, equally neutral in colour, held to her small waist by a ribbon as a makeshift belt. All of it was chosen specifically by you—it's all so very angelic, and comfortable. Innocent.

You set about your work, asking her to place a hand on the table. Nails take the longest to dry so you start there: you paint the end of each of her slender fingers one at a time, taking great care, letting her rest her hand in the palm of your own as you go through the motion. Whisper-like strokes of the brush over the thin keratin in a pastel shade, the pink of newly-blossomed cherry flowers. A compliment to her fair complexion. 

One hand done, you raise it closer to your mouth and gently blow over the fingertips, to quicken their drying. Her hand, in yours, is ever so small. So petite. You remark this, smiling, and her expression—wide-eyed and quietly attentive—softens. It's a sight so adorable; how the ends of her lips upturn as if you've said something exceptionally touching. That's the thing with Minju; you just never quite get used to how much trust and affection is conveyed in those big, soft eyes.

Not long until the other hand is done, perfect crisp painting without a single smudge, or mistake.

You screw in the brush, then stand to move the table aside, you pull it away from her and then push it away. You kneel at her feet, hand resting gently on a small calf. You lift a leg, then draw your hand down it, to her heel. Bare feet, too, are a marvel in and of themselves: smooth skin over arched bones. Like all good things, it's imperfect; she's a dancer after all, still, she takes all the care to moisturise and you take all the care to massage them.

Now, Minju is ticklish, always has been, so when you take hold of her foot in preparation to paint her nails, she struggles not to break composure, and yet a cute little smirk betrays her. With one hand, you hold it steady; with the other, you reach to the table and draw the brush from the pot of white paint. White like the brightest snow, a winter's morn. You make slow, even strokes, over her nails, starting with the big toe and making your way down the digits, till her little feet are thoroughly and beautifully made up.

She flinches occasionally, under your touch, but with great care, you never make a mistake. No stain on her flesh. Repeated for her other foot too, each followed by a patient period of gently blowing, which sees her struggle against the tickling of her flesh even more. This time, she moves, almost unable to help it—and you know that to admonish her would not be the gentlemanly thing.

"It's okay Minju. Relax," you tell her, softly, as she takes a steadying breath, "that's it. Good."

It is here where you see a glow of pleasure and a hint of a smile on her pretty, youthful face, at hearing words of praise from you. This you know well: to Minju, your affirmations have an almost spiritual significance. In all the time you have known her, she has yearned to do well, to make others around her happy, to gain approval and affection, and as someone important in her life, this sentiment extends to you.

"My angel," you call her, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last. You lean close to place a gentle peck of your lips against her leg, just above the ankle, which causes her to stir. But that's okay, a moment of weakness is ever expected. You shift away from her leg, letting the soft flesh slip from your hand, and admire the neat work you have done so far. "There we go."

You bring your chair close to her, so you can sit, knee to knee across from her and set to work on her pretty features. First, you frame her face by clipping back the locks of fine honey-brown that threatened to obscure her eyes. Then you take the lip gloss in a soft rose colour, and a slender, synthetic-haired brush, and begin the work of accentuating her lips. Start at the top and glide over the curve that runs along her cupid's bow. Define the fine edges and then coat, to treat yourself to a shimmering pink glow; a shine over the otherwise natural look.

"Perfect. Oh, how I want to kiss them."

Minju doesn't say a word but the look in her eye speaks all the same, 'I wish you would do it.'

She remains still as you take hold of the thin eyeliner pencil in one hand and Minju's chin with the other, carefully positioning the tip under the lash line, and drawing it slowly, ever-so-carefully. Drawing a light, curved line to the side, first on her right, and then on her left. Do the same, light and clean, under the bottom lashes, being extra sure to define her creases.

Her eyes, as you study them, are so rich and vivid in colour that they command all of your attention and all of your efforts. So you work carefully, deliberately; being this close to her means you can see each speck, each mote in those deep, earthy brown irises. This intimacy, the face-to-face nearness of it all, brings on a unique vulnerability: when she closes her eyes next, to allow you to apply shadow to her lids, Minju puts herself at your mercy.

Minju's lips part and a small but noticeable hitch of her breath follows as you pull yourself away and admire your work. She has this kind of seductive natural pout—soft, shapely. Something alluring that the angles of her mouth lend her. As you sweep blush powder over her cheeks with a fine, oval-shaped brush, she utters a soft question, "How does it look?"

You bring a finger to rest against the fullness of her cheek, letting it trace along her soft flesh, down her jaw, and under her chin—before bringing it upwards, a physical prompting, to make her lift her chin higher. "Perfect. Always."

It occurs to you, as you define her eyebrows in quick, practised strokes, that for all the work you put into her, the inhuman focus and the undivided attention, this effort is nothing against the absolute, undying beauty that is Park Minju. It's a sort of colour-by-numbers deal; with all the perfect lines drawn out, it's up to you—a mock amateur—to simply embellish, to exaggerate, what is already there. To add shadow, light, and life.

You finish your work creating ('Creating' is the wrong word, more so, refining) the perfect doll. Minju keeps still, and patient. Beautiful.

"Precious girl."

By her earlobe, just below the jaw, there is a spot. The most perfect, sensitive area, to which you bow your head. Close your eyes. Place your lips. You kiss this spot, slowly, dragging your lips against her flesh, across it, revelling in the delicate softness. Revelling in her soft little moan, muffled only by pursed lips.

You push your chair back, and stand, looking down at her from above. You draw the clips back from her hair and it falls back into the perfect place. You circle around her once, slow, methodical. Taking all of her in, marvelling.

The greatest treasure in all the world. A masterpiece.

She follows your every guidance as you pull her to her feet. After all, she is, for tonight, nothing more than a doll. Pliable. Openly, and explicitly, subservient. You turn her and position her before a full-length mirror set in the far corner of her room. There she stands, arms at her side, staring back at you with doe-like, innocent eyes. There you stand, tall, strong behind her, hands on her arms.

"Perfect. You really are the most precious girl."

Your grip on her upper arms is gentle but firm as you ease her forward into a bend at the hips, tilting her towards the mirror as you place her into a pose. Fingers playing lightly down her limbs, like stroking the keys on the piano, or the strings on a guitar. You place her hands behind her back, and instruct her expression, "Give me a sweet smile."

Your voice is quiet in her ear as she nods, just the slightest, almost indiscernible incline of the head. She stares down the mirror as her full, kissable lips slowly contort into a charming, simpering smile, the type that the most beloved princesses often wear. You press up behind her, brushing your body tight against hers and see how that lovely little grin of hers slowly stretches up, to become ever so slightly crooked.

In your reflection in the mirror, you see yourself behind her. She holds perfectly still, hands fixed as if bound at the wrists, legs set slightly apart. "Pretty, don't you think?" You ask, teasingly. You press a little into her upper back, angling her in such a way that in the reflection you see down her cotton shirt, revealing the taut, soft curve of her small breasts. The sight of that, the teasing glance, is intoxicating. It brings a slight tremor down your spine, one you swallow down with a sharp breath. "Yes," you assure her, "Very pretty."

Her breathing comes laboured now, sharp little gasps; perhaps it has started to arouse her too, knowing herself to be at the mercy of your hands. Knowing herself to be nothing more than an object at this time—a living doll. To be used, played with, broken, toyed with, cared for or cast aside as you will.

You pull her to a stand and guide her away from the mirror. Her legs are long but you tower over her. She's so light to the touch, the petite girl, that should you need to, you could carry anywhere you desire in one swooping embrace.

You lead her to her dresser, to pose her against it. You guide her lithe left leg, so it crosses over the right one, you place her hands on the wood and let her rest against it. And she, docile, complies. "Like this?" She whispers.

"That's perfect."

You draw the collar of her shirt over her left shoulder, the one closest to you, until it hangs at around elbow height, exposing the skin underneath. A bare arm, all the way up to the strap of her tank top. You smile, admiring your own work, her poise and posture. You adjust her face, so she gazes slightly down in front of her. A final check to ensure the pose is perfect. It doesn't hurt that Minju is a natural when it comes to expressions: there is always some inflexion to the curl of her lips and the shape of her eyes, that says, 'I love this'.

You take the final unused item from the table, a Polaroid camera, one of the new instant types. This one, white, boxy and expensive, is perfect to capture Minju's pristine beauty. One image taken of her here, a pose in the frame, holding the photo to wait for it to develop is worth, it seems, a thousand words. It never ceases to amaze you: how well the camera captures her: how it draws out that natural aura of Minju and depicts it on the fine gloss. It makes, in effect, a perfect keepsake.

You take two more shots, each one giving you pause for appreciation. Each one, was perfect, like it was a scene from an album cover or the poster for a movie. She watches you from her position, gazing intently at you with a lovingly longing gaze. Watching you in fascination, and admiration.

You hold one in front of her. "This is my favourite, look at the way your leg curves here," you point to it, showing her. "And here, the shoulder, just at that angle. See the light dancing in your eyes and on the pink gloss, on the lips. Beautiful."

She remains lifelessly still staring at herself in the print without a word or reaction.

"Now, just one more like this, but first..." You place the camera slowly on the dresser, then grab the hem of her shirt. You fold it in under itself a few times until it sits taut across her stomach, just above her button. Her narrow waist is set into beautiful relief: a curvature down toned abs leading to between her thin hips. Then you pull at the other shoulder of the shirt, more pale skin, more svelteness of form, more smooth flesh. There's a light shiver through her skin as you graze her arm with your finger.

You push slightly into her chest, leaning her back a little over the dresser and then you tilt her head back exposing her neck. Soft lips fall open just the slightest, like the petals of a rose blooming, a faint gasp of a moan parting her pink lips, and her heavy breathing filling her heaving chest.

Taking the camera, you step back, crouch slightly, hold the lens up to eye height and take the shot; a flash and a click of the shutter is followed by a slow hum and a whir of the plastic film rolling out. Another polaroid, you take it to her, tugging lightly at her chin to direct her gaze to it. "This one," you breathe in close to her, placing a kiss on her exposed neck, "is something truly special." You fix on her scent, something fruity and soft: orange blossom undertones.

Minju lets out a soft gasp.

"This one turns me on. The exposed skin. The lustful eyes. Those parted lips, like an invitation," you utter, "do you know how beautiful you look, Minju? How sexy?"

The deepening of her breath tells you what you want to hear.

"New pose. Come here." You take hold of her bare shoulders and pull her to a stand. Her shirt hangs at her back between her elbows. You move behind her as you guide her toward the window, opening her curtains wide and letting the final embers of sunlight in to kiss her skin. You slip her shirt from her arms that hang by her side. "Let's lean you against here."

You guide her hands onto the sill of the window. Let her hands rest flat against it. Hold her by the hips and pull them back, making her shuffle her legs back. Make the curve of her ass tighter, the flex of her lower back deeper.

You pose her into this deep bend, then guide her face up so she faces the evening light. So she basks, regally, in the final glow of the setting sun, and you can see the pinking hue reflected in her eyes.

"Be a good doll and remain still."

The heat has turned Minju's pale flesh red, but you soothe her with a palm, a brush against a soft cheek and an affectionate 'hush'. You fixate upon the curves and lines of her back, following the path of her spine down with your hand, taking care to remain in the hollow. That central channel carved through her back that draws down the centre, passing by dimples in her lower back before widening at the hips and merging into her tapering waist, is a work of art unto itself. 

A simple touch of a kiss against that soft flesh at the base of the spine, and Minju fails to disguise a sharp breath as you kneel, her bare calves become a mounting point for your hands. She inhales in soft, controlled bursts as your fingertips stroke around the curve of her lower leg, working around and under the leg, dragging slowly upwards as you make careful circles over her toned calves, till your finger hits the lower thigh. Upward, further. Her body trembles gently as your hand traces along her inner thigh, up to her light cotton shorts where you draw your hand over to the back of her thighs and back down.

"Be a good doll," you repeat, quiet, breath warm against her lower back. You hook your fingers into her shorts, running your palms on her taut, toned little ass. Slight tremors from Minju ripple through your skin as you hook in the fingers of either hand beneath the elastic of her underwear too. A lingering hesitation passes as you focus, and in the serenity of the moment, you draw everything down in one slow, measured pull. The sight of the white cotton dragging down over the firm roundness of her ass has you weak.

You stop at her ankles, and one at a time, you lift a foot out of the clothes, and pull them free, planting her foot back down in a slightly wider stance. You look up, and to her faint reflection in the window, and admire the look she wears, the unnerving determination to hold still and say not a single thing. The deep red hue paints her skin as the day darkens.

"Stay," you command.

You find the camera one final time, to indulge in one final intoxicating shot: Minju, back beautifully lit by the last remnants of the sun's rays, the light striking her skin and making the paleness and tone all the more beautiful; the slight swell of her hips, the small, firm, almost apple-like curve of her behind, and those slim toned thighs in the shadow.

"Hold for me, don't move."

She stares resolutely into the distance through the window, hands clutching the edge of the window sill as you draw the viewfinder to your eye once again. Click, a flash and a whir. The exposure of the light behind her leaves a shadowy image on the thinning film of her nude behind; the smooth line of her legs, her trim waist and that sweet little thing between her legs. An air of sophistication; and one of sin.

"See this?" You show it to her and the embarrassment causes a flutter in her eyes; the arousal of watching her own bare ass on the printed film causes the slightest redness of her cheeks. "I'm going to use that right there. Stay."

There's another twitch in her eyes as you walk away and leave her there, still posing, looking as sensational as ever. You walk out the door, to drink, relax, anything to make her wait. Make her suffer the indignity of exposure and vulnerability.

You spy her through the doorway and never does she move a muscle, your little doll-girl stands there obediently as requested. Time passes—several minutes. And yet she, with such admirable determination, wills herself to stay in position until you return. And you do. You saunter back in, slow. Walking behind her and she never once looks back over her shoulder.

You rest a hand on her waist and the contact is met with a sudden release of tension—her chest falls with a sigh. Her pose remains perfect—adulation for your hand, written in the small shakes of her body and the gradual intonations of her heavy pants. A perfect and delicate angel. Your hand slips from her waist down over the taut curve of her ass, palm resting for the briefest moment on the soft, supple flesh. The pliability. Your hand continues the path it has carved over her skin until it rests lightly between her legs.

A gentle palm over her sex sends a current through her entire form, and a tensing in her muscles is the only indication she offers that there's a struggle to suppress noise in her throat. Hot and wet and you're a man driven by impulse. You step behind her, stroking her, massaging her, then withdrawing to instead spread her slightly with a single, teasing fingertip. "Good little doll."

A clear, sticky, glistening moisture trickles onto the digit and in the way Minju shivers, you are given every impression, you're sure of it, that her lower stomach muscles have clenched tight and are presently squeezing themselves in on each other. A fever pitch is reached within her, and you're ready too.

You draw your hand away, leaving Minju suspended in torment: there is desire, there is desperation and tension that must be alleviated. That itch soothed. She must hear it, the sound of you unbuckling and unzipping. A rustle of fabric as you pull them down and take them off.

With no word, you hit a palm against her ass, a quick and painful swat with your bare hand. Hard, smacking against soft, dough-like flesh. She stifles a soft, bitten-off yelp that sends a vibration up the curve of her back. "Going to play with you," you utter quietly. "Use this doll however I like."

Your hand is drawn back over the red mark on her tender flesh, stroking the mark, massaging, and it soon heats against your palm. You follow it by pressing the very tip of your dick, gently, against her opening. Enough pressure there for you both to know where the next moments go and a slight motion—only the gentlest thrusting—to grind that sensitive flesh in. Just enough to make her bite back her lower lip, to struggle against the overwhelming urge to break her poise.

To add to that struggle, the sensation, you lull her, deceive her, by trailing your length against her slick, tender folds, then abruptly drag it over the tight hole right there at the back. One more light tap there too, right on her little asshole, that drives her into a daze. Then you take her slit again, spreading her open, rubbing yourself over that hot hole and sending her a thousand electric tingles up through her hips.

You thrust once, a single long thrust, right into her little pussy, as much as her wetness will allow until resistance forms. Then back out, completely. Glistening with the slick fluids, you slap your shaft against her ass a couple of times. Wetness dripping, staining those tight cheeks. Then a wet slap of your hand to a cheek. Testing when she will break. Searching for that whimper, that moan, or maybe she'll hold it so well that a tear will form in her eye.

You fill her again, use her a little, rocking your hips back and forth. A careless use of her for pleasure, no consideration for her, for what she might desire and it is pure torture to her. One hand circles over her ass, grazing over the reddened mark, you let it settle on the top of her thigh for leverage and dig your fingertips into the skin. Another few firm pumps into her. Out. All the way out.

Dripping fluid pools around her slit, spilling out down her thigh, hot. "There's no better use for you than this," you hiss, as you smear the wetness over her flesh with the swollen head. The discomfort, the uncertainty, all of it written on her reddened skin and trembling lips. Another few slow pumps up her. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Draw out—slow, torturous—and then fill her again, rough, and violent, driving yourself up hard against her soft skin. Again. "Just like a sex doll," you groan. "Like you're a dirty toy."

Those words draw this low growl inside her, and Minju shudders under the intensity, this vibrating noise rising in her. Fuck, it feels wonderful in her, tight, burning hot—soft, yielding—wet, messy. Drive into that tension, the squeeze on you, where she can feel you so full and snug inside her.

Allow yourself for a moment, to just enjoy her, as she is. She will allow you to, don't fret. Enjoy her as a possession, something lesser than yourself; an object to be manipulated, used and owned. Let her be your slut and let the words roll around in your head. There are times you prefer to fill her with long, agonising strokes, and there are those other times that are frantic and hurried. She takes it all, wilfully and willingly and adoration flows through your veins.

No care for if she cums, you simply use her too. It is not in a casual disregard for her desires, or in selfish pursuit of pleasure at the sacrifice of her. No, no. That is not true. Minju wants this. She cares less about her own pleasure than you. Should she cum, then maybe that would be a nice perk to all of this, but all she wants is to submit herself as a vessel for yours. To serve as the implement to which you expel everything. You have taken her into that dream world she desires to inhabit, where she's an item to be manoeuvred as one wills.

And so you get close, right inside of her—clutch, tense—as she milks you so exquisitely, squeezing and so soft, so fucking silken-smooth and at the very last, you pull out—every last drop is captured on Minju's skin. Her spread ass, her back, thighs.

For all the care you took, perfecting her makeup, now a fine sweat paints a layer across her skin and you're shooting over it and making a true mess of her. All that, her absolute purity and devotion, and what you have done is sullied it. Your doll, your most precious is dirtied. But your most precious thing in the world deserves the best you can give her.

So it is after you have painted your release over her body, that you leave her again—basking in the humiliation of how fluids trickle down her flesh. Just a toy, put aside to stand, vulnerable, debauched and unsatisfied, waiting to be picked up again and played with once more. You could leave her all night. Have her be ready and willing any time you desire. Your toy.

"Fuck, what a sight." You step away, back out of the room, spent and gazing at her. Minju, of course, keeps her back facing you the entire time, she does not dare turn back around to see her, not even to cover up or find modesty, it simply would not occur to her to do so.

Aware of the pain, the hurt of being left this way. Left unfinished. A small smile plays on your lips, the knowledge that this is what turns her on most. Her lover is out there, he's drinking, eating, watching TV, or anything, and she doesn't really know where. She just stays resting over the window ledge with her legs held apart, exposed and vulnerable.

Knowing, feeling, every stroke that has been applied over her body, every part you have made use of, and the places in which you have violated, is enough to turn Minju's insides all warm and fuzzy and soft. Your fingerprints are inked upon her flesh—traced by the veneer of liquids coating her—a record of who has marked her, owned her, as nothing more than an instrument of delight.

Until you're ready to come back, she holds back an unspoken whimper. Tension in her stomach muscles and legs threatened to give out.

Oh, how badly the poor girl yearns to be picked up, taken and fucked again and again.

Eventually, you do return, and without warning. As if you'd never been gone a moment at all, you're just there suddenly behind her, you just have that presence of power that exudes over her. You say her name—nothing else—but the tinge to your voice tells her that you've missed her.

You bring your hands around her slim waist, just above the hips, and trail upwards. Grinding back inside her feels as wonderful as ever. Still throbbing, still wet, still wanton, and she takes you in, spreading wide once again. "Missed me?" You coo, but she still never responds verbally—dutifully compliant, Minju simply moans, her cheeks flushed the same colour as her smeared lips.

You're rough with her, pulling her away from the window and pushing her into the middle of the room. Hasty, impatient, and uncaring. Now, you see, Minju weighs nothing to you, it feels like there's nothing to her; something light, lithe, easily manoeuvrable, like you can twist her and pull her without resistance.

You draw her to you, picking her up from the ground by her waist and walking forward. You set her down on a desk—her ass perching first, then you push her onto her back, drawing up her knees to her chest and pressing onto her. Oh, flexible Minju, sweet Minju: the perfect sexual tool to place and fold and screw whichever way you want.

Minju is pinned there, under you, taking you into her pussy, tight around you. Dutifully letting you shove into her repeatedly, without fight or complaint, only meek, restrained sounds of satisfaction. Letting her limbs fold, letting herself be toyed with however you need or want.

Stretch her as you take hold of her neck and restrain her to the wooden surface. You bear down on her, fucking into her with strong, sure pumps, and with every thrust into Minju, you feel her heat against your thighs and groin, her warm juices seeping down over her, and a vulgar squelching sound filling the air.

The air is dense and hot and she is flushed bright red; she gazes at you, her face etched with need. You're forcing your doll-girl, fucking her raw and hard into her desk. Rough, dominating strokes. And what does she do but squirm and moan and take every ounce of your strength? "F-fuck," she moans out the profanity, her body succumbing to the overwhelming burst of intense, numbing heat. She flinches a few times as her eyes squeeze shut.

So close, now. Another round, and there is nowhere Minju is more content than trapped, helpless, watching you near another orgasm. She doesn't even attempt to hide her delight when you're about to blow. A smile of satisfaction as you unload inside of her. A welcome sight as you feel yourself rupture, as your essence pumps into her little fuckhole. The sticky hot cum that fills her.

And Minju moans for you, breathless, happy, so lovingly joyful that her existence has resulted in this moment—this act—her purpose as nothing more than something you fuck, claim, and own.

But, there is work to be done, work you cannot shirk away from. So, with a light sigh, you wipe your forehead, you gather Minju off of the table—flickering eyelids and all—and you lead her with gentle encouragement. "Let's clean you off. There's a good girl," you say, and she holds onto your neck, as you lift her off the desk.

You perch Minju on the sink for a moment, un-trapping her legs so she can stand once you place her into the shower.

"Stay. Still."

And again, you can see that longing gaze. Sultry, drawn. She wants so much, and she needs so little.

"There," you draw out the word with a certain finality and walk behind her to start the shower, switching from bath faucet to shower nozzle, and taking great care in testing the heat of the water, to make sure not to burn her precious skin.

You start with her shoulders, sweeping her soaked locks down her back, wet, heavy and darker now. Washing her takes time, patience, and gentleness—you bring the palm of your hand over her shoulder while the other directs the shower head. The water trails down her arm, little rivulets tracing over her porcelain skin. You draw the shower across her back and admire how the water caresses the curves of her frame.

She keeps perfectly still, save the tremble that comes with the rise of her chest each time the water meets a sensitive point. Your hand follows in the water, over her sides, slowly. You draw her close against your chest, putting your head beside Minju's, looking down over her shoulder. you bring the head of the shower to her chest and let the water flow across, over the swell of her breasts.

You whisper into her ear, "Stay just like this. Let me wash down my toy after use."

Your name comes out of her mouth, a little strained, and when you wrap your arm around her and cup her little breast, she immediately whimpers. This poor girl still hasn't cum, and she's so sensitive.

You rest her against you, keeping your front flush against the curve of her back, and there is something wonderful and sweet in the way she falls back against you. Minju leans her head back on your shoulder, a nuzzle, and your hand continues to cup her and you play with her nipple. The shower, however, you bring lower and lower, down over her slender belly and between her legs.

The lower it goes, the more soft whimpers she makes, and Minju's feet begin to curl, and she draws a slow intake of air through her clenched teeth. You dip the jets of water low, and Minju finally gives out this small groan, her eyes squeezing tight and her mouth opening and closing, the words and sounds catching as she trembles all over. 

You press it against her pussy, and she bucks lightly backwards against you—hard—and grinds. A pleasured exhale, a sign of satisfaction. That the poor girl is finally getting her pleasure but "No, no, no," she says—is she feeling guilty for it?—and she struggles forward from your grasp.

"Shh... it's okay," you soothe her, but she still jerks her body. There's this fact, that always rings true, whenever you use Minju like this. Part of it, she told you before, is how in her own head she degrades herself. She tells herself that she doesn't deserve to cum. That a toy's only purpose is for others, and she will deny herself an orgasm until you give her express permission to finish herself. That's why she fights now, she is ashamed of her own arousal and enjoyment.

You press the shower hard into her clit and she groans, "I can't... I can't—"

"Yes, you can." You focus on using the shower in little circles, not allowing any distance between it and the sensitive nub. Her head falls back on you, eyes shut tight as if in anguish. "You have served me so well. You were so wonderful. Let go for me, beautiful." You murmur those things in her ear and Minju opens her lips to say something but no words form, it's simply a long, deep-seated, contented moan. A relief-filled sound that is music to your ears.

Her back goes completely tense, and her hips twist and buck, but you press firmly down, keeping her locked into the jet. She bites her lower lip, almost like she's desperate, and it hurts, the way her whole body tenses up for so many seconds before the relief sweeps over her. The sensations surge throughout her body, leaving her limp and satisfied.

After the rush passes through, she moans, over and over. Shattering pleasure has overtaken her mind and all she can think about is the joy her lover has bestowed upon her, the ultimate show of adoration and tenderness.

"Good girl. That's it. Give in," you breathe out the last sentence, and Minju moans louder, riding it out. Her body writhes violently and her toes curl as her breathing stops, she's stuck at the very height of her pleasure, but finally lets out an ecstatic, long-winded moan. You drop the shower, and cradle Minju with your whole body.

Her hips jump one last time against your hand and then she goes completely lax against you, her feet plant flat down and her whole body gives out. Minju slides back onto her heels, and her face drops toward the floor and she just smiles with pure glee. If not for you, she would collapse to the floor in this exhausted, limp state.

For some minutes, you hold Minju until she can find enough strength until the daze of her orgasm is no longer in effect.

"Now, let's really clean up."

"Let me," she says. "Let me clean you, please."

[superbat-love]

Clark: I’m so sorry, Bruce. I'll make sure Jon and Kon steer clear of the merry-go-round with the kids from now on.

Bruce: It’s honestly not a big deal, Clark. The kids had a blast, even though they puked at the end.

Clark: I’ll fetch some clean clothes for the little ones.

Bruce: If it's not too much trouble, could you find a blue, black, red, and green shirt?

Clark: …You color-code your kids?

Bruce: How else would I keep track of them?

Damian: [approaches Bruce] I’m good. I threw up a little in my mouth, but then I swallowed it down.

Bruce: TMI Jason.

Damian: It’s Damian!

Bruce: Damian, put your shirt back on and give me that hairclip. And please, no more using it as a can opener. You know that Cass doesn't like it. [turns to Clark] Okay, so a blue, black and red shirt would be great. Thanks Clark.

Superbat Family Fics

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Them As Parents #2

𐙚 Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

𐙚ྀ ͜ ͡ ︶ Added Nikto this time + his is a little longer bc I didn’t add him the first time

Ghost

Lost the kids at ikea once

The way he was so unbothered too

He’s so nonchalant about it because he’s confident that the children know better and are capable of taking care of themselves

If anything he’s a little anxious about your reaction if you found out

So when an employee notices Simon frequently turning his head, eyes roaming around they approach him

When Simon told the employee he had lost two little kids the employee was more concerned than him

Soap

When you leave the kids home alone with their father it’s almost worse than if they had been left alone

He is NOT a trusted adult

If you don’t leave a large enough pot of food for them Soap will order whatever the kids want to eat

Unfortunately for you, his sons inherited his big appetite

You come back home, groceries in hand gawking at the boxes of takeout set all over the table

“Johnny, I said I wouldn’t be long at the store…”

“Sorry, got a bit hungry” he responds while stuffing his face

Gaz

When going to the store he likes getting matching outfits for his girls

He’ll overload the cart with an assortment of cute bows and hairclips, pretty dresses, and adorable little shoes

When going out, he carries a backpack for each kid packed with a sweater in case it’s cold, comfy shoes incase they lose one, and snacks for when they’re hungry or fussy

He gets so excited when he’s there to witness his baby’s first everything, records it on a calendar and you best believe he’ll never forget those small milestones

Alejandro

When he’s cooking meat on the grill outside he raises his head to watch the kids play in the yard

His love language is calling them over to give them a piece of roast meat to taste

When the kids were old enough to drive he first taught them with a riding lawnmower because he didn’t trust them with his truck

He likes to be mean to his kids (in a loving way ofc) and play pranks on them

Phillip Graves

He can be stern at times but most of the time he’ll spoil his kids rotten

Especially his daughter

When she asked for a pony he almost decided to move to a house with 3 acres for a couple of horses

You reasoned with him and instead settled to take your daughter to weekly horseback riding lessons

Keegan

One of his favorite things to do is figuring out what features of yours and his he can find in his kids

“She’s got your smile” “He has your wit” “Your sass is apparent even in our children”

I bet he’s the type of carry his toddlers like a bag

He pays great attention to detail so he’ll immediately notice if something or someone upset his children

König

After he overcame his insecurity he was head over heels for the baby

Will constantly watch over your shoulder, taking in every detail of how you care for the children so he can do it too

Not wanting to spend a moment apart from you or your children

If he’s running errands he’ll take the kids with him

When his daughter was a few months old he used to bring her with him into the hardware store and proudly show her off

It would make his day when someone would tell him how adorable she was and how alike they look

Horangi

Imagine him with twins ૮꒰/ฅ//ฅ//꒱ა

He’s almost always carrying them

You argue with him over this because it’s made your toddlers used to being held all the time

He’d be a great girl dad, wouldn’t resist buying cute toys and kid makeup sets and letting them paint his nails and apply lipstick on him

Would walk around in princess high heels and bows whilst keeping a poker face

Nikto

He wants to be seen like a pillar, someone his kids can rely on and never fear for their safety

Though concealed, under the strong surface his heart pulsates and beats the moment he’s handed the squirming bundle at the hospital

A mix of emotions swirls underneath his facade, the small face he’s staring at is his flesh and blood and he can hardly believe it

Strives to create a secure ambience at home for his little ones to grow up in

He wishes he could shield them from all harm

On mornings when he’s supposed to rest, the kids will sneak into your bedroom and crawl into bed between you

He groans, feigning annoyance, but scoops them in his strong arms chuckling as they squeal and giggle

[heiayen]

this looks like us! gn!reader x various (kaveh, wanderer, zhongli, childe, kazuha, lyney, venti.)

summary: what things do they match with you? keychains, jewelry, clothing? let's take a look!

tags: implied modern au, around 80-100 words per character, just very short headcanons <3 could be ooc because it's my first time writing in a moment, not proofread that much

notes: ehhhh trying to get back into writing with short silly hcs... hello everyone. grand heia comeback 90% will make second part with more characters !!

Kaveh is the kind of person to have matching keychains with you! He has already got a keychain for his keys, a proud lion guarding the keys... that he manages to lose often anyway, so why not get another one? This time matching yours, and instead of attaching it to his keys (because gods forbid he loses them and the keychain!), he attaches it to his bag. And let me tell you, it does not end on a single keychain!

Most of the time, you don't even know that you are matching anything with Wanderer, seriously. If you ask him to get something matching together then, yes, he will agree, although begrudgingly, but also so often he will buy you something (while telling you to not make a big deal out of it, you're his partner, yes, yes, move on), and a few days later you will notice him having a matching pair of that thing. You never call him out for that, just smile to yourself.

As the gentleman he is, Zhongli is the man to give you matching rings or necklaces, all selected by him with utmost care. Every piece he gets for you two is one of the best quality, and he makes sure it fits your preferences, so don't worry if you wear only one kind of metal! He always pays attention to any stones in your jewelry, to ensure they are the best quality available. And sometimes, you find it so hard to bite down the urge to show off your new ring or necklace to all your friends, saying that yes, it's your partner who got it for you.

Childe is the person to see something that reminds him of you two, and get it, no hesitation. A pair of funny socks (with an animal that reminds him of you), keychains (that teddy bear was similar to you)... a scarf in the same pattern as his, because you need to be dressed well during winter, he doesn't want you to get sick– did he just point at those two chestnuts and said that it reminded him of you two? You don't see it, but whatever makes him happy!

Kazuha makes handmade yarn bracelets for you two, and he's quite skilled at it! He always picks your favorite colors, sometimes with matching pedants and pretty patterns, and you never know that he's making one, usually during late night hours, with the lamp's light as his companion, when sleep doesn't want to arrive. You got a few of them already but will happily accept every next one he makes, proudly wearing them on your wrists. It's always a lovely sight, to look at your joined hands adored by the bracelets he makes. Maybe you should learn how to make them too…?

With Lyney, you will more than often find yourself matching outfits... or at least pieces of it, if you can't wear a fully coordinated outfit. A matching shirt? Sure, that sounds great! You two can get some funny print together on it– or not funny, just a normal print. You two can also dress in a similar style if you don't have anything to match, or even match socks out of all things. Additionally, if you enjoy painting your nails... Lyney would happily paint his nails with a polish matching your eyes, and would gladly help you find one matching his, so that you two can match your nails!

Venti, on the other hand, likes to match... yes, hair clips with you. He got a bunch of them at home, all different. Ones with small flowers or stars, animals even, in so many colors and shapes– the point is, he's got them a lot, and he will happily lend you them so you two can have matching hairclips in your hair. He will also happily buy a pair if he sees one and likes it, and give you one of them. Soon, you will have an entire box of hair clips...

[angelst4rs]

☆. . . butterflies.

☆. . . how could he say no to you?

☆. . . gn reader, real short because. yeah.

☆. . . various characters !!!!!! i had luke pearce in my head as i was writing this but then i thought. hm. no.

he is truly the living proof of the saying "looks could kill"—for a single glance from his sharp eyes would send shivers down anybody's spines. but here he was, sitting in front of you as you decorate his hair with colorful butterfly hairclips.

at first, he was opposed to the idea when you offered to style his hair with the small clips. but after seeing you smile so brightly, how could he ever refuse? with a defeated sigh, he merely nodded, instantly getting dragged to the nearby chair.

as soon as he sat down, he could feel your fingers comb through his hair. it was soothing, but of course he wouldn't admit it. his ego was too high for that! so he resorted to letting out a quiet sigh, before a small clip! was heard.

not long after, the tiny sounds multiplied, accompanied with small chuckles from you. he knew he looked silly, but at least you're the only one who's going to see him look like this. "are you done yet?"

"just a bit more!" he could hear your smile even if he wasn't facing you at all. suddenly, he saw you walk in front of him with a smile brighter than the sun itself, feeling proud of the work you just finished.

you handed him a mirror, and his hunch was true—he did look silly. however, he couldn't help but let a soft smile paint his face as he looked up to meet your gaze, the sides of your eyes crinkling in delight.

the pure joy and love emitted from your being was worth it. now, he didn't care how ridiculous he looked, he was just happy that you're having a great time making him look silly.

— luke pearce, artem wing, vyn richter, dan heng (+ imbibitor lunae), sunday, xiao, scaramouche, cyno, jiyan + your favs.

likes & reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[itsthatmff]

helllooo, can you write boyfriends headcanons with other men like flashy flash and amai mask please? ~

IM FINALLY BACK WITH MORE HEADCANONS! writing for these was so hard- it was my first time doing amai mask too- I hope they turned out well 😩

Please keep the requests incoming I’ll try to work through them! I’m sorry for taking so long and Thank you so much for the patience.

Boyfriend Headcanons on OPM men Pt. 2

Fem!reader

Included: Flashy flash, Amai mask, Saitama, Zombie man

Flashy Flash

Having him as a boyfriend sure isn’t for the weak

He’s definetly the leader of the sassy man apocalypse

He takes his night routine SERIOUSLY like you will have a 20 step hair routine and a spa session

He gives great hair care tips though

Lets you braid his hair when you’re bored or does your hair when you’re tired

Gossiping with him is super fun

When he’s annoyed or jealous he scoffs a lot

Tiny bit reluctant over physical affection but his hugs and kisses feel so gentle, you could melt into them.

He goes all out when you’re on your period, like he knows exactly what you need and what to do.

Gifts you hairclips on random occasions !

Doesn’t like you touching his katana cuz he’s worried you’ll hurt yourself.

You get the best dates with him because he knows the best spots, prefers staying at home with you though in case one of his opps are after him.

He does bicker with you from time to time because he knows you too well and can’t be bothered to deal with your overdramatic ass

"Yeah fine we get it you’re just angry because you’re craving some desserts. Stop whining and lets go get it.“

Amai Mask

Might seem like a narcissistic and selfish bastard at first but he really just has issues

As a boyfriend he might not be able to spend much time with you since he is a hero AND a celebrity with a filled schedule

Makes sure to spoil you rotten tho

You get expensive gifts from him on a weekly basis and he takes you out to the best restaurants

He has to be very discreet with your relationship since it could cause him a bad reputation and backlash from the media

Whenever he’s overwhelmed or had a bad day he seeks comfort in your embraces

Feels like you’re the only one who understands him

Genuinely opens up to you and shows you his vulnerable side from time to time

He gets VERY jealous like he better not catch you admiring some other hero

At first he’d laugh it off not wanting to believe such a thing but slowly the jealousy would start creeping up

“You’re mine understood?”

Is just scared of u leaving him

He calls to tell you there’s a new magazine out that features him and wants you to buy it.

Thinks you’re his biggest supporter and likes to brag about you.

Saitama

Dates consist of gaming or getting deals at different supermarkets

I can totally imagine that he’s willing to try some new things at the convenience store with you and do taste tests.

Never rates the food a 10/10 cuz he thinks Genos could do it better.

YES sometimes Genos DOES make dinner dates for you two, he goes all out making a 5 star dinner for his sensei and his girlfriend.

Saitama secretly loves it when you come and sit on his lap as he watches tv.

He may not look like it but he really notices the small details, like he’ll ask if you put on different perfume or shampoo. Does it so sleek too.

He’d lean in to your neck and WHISPER INTO YOUR EAR

"Hm..you smell so good, got a new perfume?“

This guy just knows how to get you flustered

Is very nonchalant about most things, doesn’t really get jealous. (Unless you’re being overly nice to someone that has like really good hair)

“Yo genos. How much do you think a hair transplant costs?”

“Why are you asking sensei?”

“No reason really..” as he GLARES at the guy you’re talking to.

Doesn’t call you often, more like he randomly texts you what he’s doing and if your schedule matches his you both hangout.

Wants to climb up the ranks in order to impress you and loves to tell you about his day when he gets home.

Gets the most expressive around you.

He kicks out Genos when you two need your private time.

Gives the best piggy back rides.

Zombieman

Hands down the best boyfriend out there

He’s so chill about everything

Likes to take you everywhere with him, especially on shooting ranges, coffee shops or jazz bars

Respects your boundaries a lot, if you don’t like the smoke from his cigarettes he’ll try not to smoke around you, if you’re a smoker yourself he always looks forward to smoke some with you.

You both have a very casual relationship, there’s no awkwardness at all nor the cheesiness and pampering

That also includes physical affection. Cuddling on the couch or holding hands seems natural to you.

As nihilistic as he is, he can’t hide whenever he’s jealous.

“Was it fun chatting to that human?” He’d ask whilst pressing down the last remaining of his cigarette onto the whiskey glass. He wasn’t upset, more like curious of what you saw in another man.

Only calls you in the evenings after he walks you home. Likes to hear your voice before he goes to sleep.

He loves to get you roses

Asks childish emperor for advice on what to get you. Doesn’t even realise himself that he slips in your name in every conversation.

Is the kind of boyfriend that is happy enough to just watch you from afar.

Never ever gets aggressive with you. In fact you’ve never seen him angry.

Likes to polish his guns while you sit on his lap.

[harunayuuka2060]

Cater: Acey-kun~ What did you do to anger a whole dorm like that?

Ace: I don't know, Cater-senpai!

Riddle: Are you sure? Because even Leona-senpai was glaring at you.

Ace: ...

Deuce: It's because Ace said something stupid to Yuurin.

Deuce: About the hairpin.

Ace: I apologized already!

Trey: *laughs* Yes. I've seen that. But please don't do it again, Ace.

Trey: You don't want to mess with Leona.

Ace: Geez. He wasn't like this with Jack and Epel.

Riddle: You don't understand, Ace. If I have someone like Yuurin in Heartslabyul, I would be overprotective too.

Ace: Tch.

Cater: I'm not really familiar with this Yuurin, Riddle-kun.

Cater: What is he like?

Riddle: Oh, he's—

Riddle: You want to ride the horses?

Yuurin: Yes. Would it be possible, Housewarden Riddle?

Riddle: Hm. I can allow it, though do you have experience in riding one?

Yuurin: Yes. I took classes when I was little.

Riddle: I see. Well then, follow me.

Riddle: I suggest that you choose the most docile one for your own safety.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *points to a certain horse* How about that one?

Riddle: You can't. He's quite aggressive. He has already harmed multiple students because of his short-temper and attitude.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *approaches the horse's stall*

Riddle: Yuurin! What are you doing?!

Yuurin: *is having a staring contest with the horse*

The (aggressive) horse: *pricks his ears*

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *turns to look at Riddle with eagerness* I like him.

Riddle: ...

Random student: Are you sure about this, Sir Riddle?

Riddle: We'll just send him to infirmary if anything happens.

Yuurin: *riding the horse she picked*

Riddle: Yuurin! What are you planning to do now?

The horse: *whines, trotting in place*

Yuurin: Let's do a race.

Riddle: What?! It'll be dangerous for you!

Yuurin: I trust my horse.

Trey: So, did you end up having a race?

Riddle: Yes. He's not bad for a first-timer.

Cater: Does that mean he's a member of the Equestrian Club now?

Riddle: *sad frowns* No. He's still choosing. But I have given him permission to visit the horse whenever he wants to.

Ace: Y-You gave him special privilege?

Deuce: He hasn't chosen a club yet?

Ace, Trey, Riddle, and Cater: ...

Riddle: Deuce.

Deuce: D-Don't misunderstand, Housewarden Rosehearts! I have no plans in stealing Yuurin from the Equestrian Club!

Cater: Ah! By the way, Acey-kun! Isn't Jamil looking for a new member for the Basketball Club?

Ace: Huh? Y-Yeah... Why?

Cater: I'm sure Leona and the Savanaclaw students are still pissed about what you did, I think it will be an opportunity to be friends with Yuurin so they will forget entirely about the whole hairclip-bullying accusation. *smiles*

Riddle: That's a great idea, Cater.

Ace: ...

Ace: I-I'll try...

Ace: Please, Leona-senpai!

Leona: No. Yuurin is in the middle of training right now.

Leona: AND I HAVEN'T STILL FORGIVEN YOU.

Ace: ...

Ace: I'll just wait for him then.

Ace: What is he doing by the way— *his eyes widened*

Yuurin: *doing a triangle choke hold against an upperclassman*

Other students: *shouting* Yuurin! Don't let him create a space!

The upperclassman: I'm still... stronger than you, Yuurin!

Yuurin: !!!

Yuurin: *releases the grip around his neck, seizing hold of the trapped arm*

Yuurin: *with a swift adjustment, she transitions smoothly, securing the armbar position, applying pressure to his elbow*

The upperclassman: Ow! Ow! Stop! Stop!

Yuurin: *releases him*

The upperclassman: *groans* Ow...

Yuurin: Thank you so much for your assistance, senpai. *bows respectfully to him*

The upperclassman: Yeah... We'll do the defenses next.

The upperclassman: But let's do that after this week.

The upperclassman: I'm beat.

The other students: Great job, Yuurin!

Ace: ...

Leona: You still here?

Ace: Um... Wow.

Ace: Good thing we don't have a wrestling competition here.

Leona: There'll be one. *smirks* And I might invite you to compete.

Ace: Eh?! Please don't, Leona-senpai!

Yuurin and the rest of the Savanaclaw students: *looking at their direction*

Savanaclaw student A: Isn't that Ace Trappola from Heartslabyul?

Savanaclaw student B: What is that punk doing here?

Savanaclaw student C: Is he still making fun of you, Yuurin?

Yuurin: Oh. No. He already apologized.

Savanaclaw students: Good, good.

Savanaclaw students: Just beat him up like you did to us if he ever teases you again.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *smiles*

Savanaclaw students: ...

Savanaclaw students: Our little sister is so cute. 🥺

[cartoon-brainrot]

I posted these on Twitter one by one, but I was waiting to have the full collection to post them here!

I saw a lot of people draw the MLP as trolls, so I wanted to give it my own spin!

You’ll notice I didn’t just slot them in the main 6 genres, mostly because I just tried to find the genre that would fit them the most! As much as I love funk fluttershy or rarity, I don’t think their music style fits them <3

Fluttershy was the first one! I went with Classical-Metal, (although I debated for folk for quite some time) mostly because I thought that would suit her the most- and because she’s a metalhead in EG! Her hairstyle is taken from one of the outfits she used when she models for photo finish!

PinkiePie was so obviously Hyperpop I didn’t even think about it twice! The music, the colours, the style, the excessive accessories- it all fits her so well!

Applejack is country, I couldn’t take that from her. Just pure old country! I had some trouble with her hair, cause I wanted it to be big and poofy like Delta or Holly’s, but the first sketches weren’t quite right. I changed it at the last minute and I’m glad I did, because now I absolutely love it! And yes, her hat is more like a hairband, it’s missing the top- that’s where she slides the ponytail into!

Twilight was classical- I had no doubts from that, but I thought being a mix between techno and classical would fit her very well! I gave her a sort of gown-like tailfin, and her wings also work as extra fins! All in all, I wanted her to look like a mix between an angel and a jellyfish! Her hair is lighter because it!s always subtly glowing- and also because dark hair wouldn’t work for either classical (who have cotton candy shades) and techno (whose hair is always glowing)

Rarity is still a debate between Classical-Pop and Swing! I thought classical pop was great for her, especially because of her songs, but swing was SUCH a good style and genre for her! A lot of her outfits always have that vintage vibe, and her hairstyle reminded me of the headdresses they used in the 20s-30s!

Rainbowdash is PopRock, obviously. She has goggles for when she flies and her earrings are clear! The pop trolls are all brightly coloured so I kept the rainbow hair instead of using less colours, but I dimmed them so that she would blend in better with the rock theme!

And yes, all 6 of them have their elements on them! It’s just that they’re not all visible!

Twilight has it on her chest, Applejack and Rainbowdash have them on their belts! Pinkie pie has it on a hairclip, Rarity has it on a pin on her dress and fluttershy has it on her back!

[impish-baby]

Can we have some more Valerian pretty please? Just a few crumbs or anything you're willing to give

Hi, anon! You can have some general headcannons for him while I work on part two of his fic! ^^

Valerian headcanons - vampire caregiver - 🦇🥀

🦇 - doesn't have a preference for how his little one refers to him! He can be papa, momma, baba, doesn't matter to valerian. They will get a kick out of being called something like gramps though

(forewarning, any intense name calling might end up with your mouth washed out with soap, so maybe it's best to stick with a proper title. They know cursing can be fun to little ones, but they aren't raising an impolite child!)

He will call you a number of different pet names, but he prefers the classics like sweetheart and darling! His favorite thing to call you though is little prince/princess or some variation of that

🥀 - one of their favorite things in the whole world is dressing up their baby! Valerian takes great care in curating outfits for you, sometimes it makes you feel more like a doll than a person. "Oh, look at my little bat! You look so very lovely in this darling.." If you have long hair, the vampire is all over styling it! Especially loves adding bows and cute little hairclips if you'll let him (even with how overbearing they are, you do get some say in your wardrobe! If you prefer more masc, fem, or neutral styles your attire will reflect that)

🦇 - you'll never long for anything with him (other than your freedom)! Spoiling you is the greatest treasure, nothing is too much for his little royal. They get very passionate about you writing a list to Santa with all the things you want, even gets those little toy catalogs for you to circle (when you first arrive your room is already filled with things you enjoy, as creepy as that is. If you're good you can even go to the shops together and pick out more!)

🥀 - patience is a learned skill, and they've had a very, very long time to learn it. It takes a lot to anger or upset the vampire, so you can get away with quite a bit. Trying to harm yourself is completely out of the question, however. Any attempt will have you thralled for a good while, locked up in a crib or playpen depending on the time. "Now, you know better than that dearest. Come on, maybe you need some mittens on those little hands since you can't seem to not scratch yourself.."

🦇 - with that, punishments aren't very harsh and you'll have to push quite hard to receive one. Usually it's things like a time out or having to write a paper about what you did and why it was wrong, but it'll have to be drastic to get that far. Seeing the usually giddy vampire actually cross with you might be enough to scare you away from misbehaving again anyway

🥀 - valerian does want you to love him and stay of your own volition, he'll wait as long as it takes. You have all eternity together after all, dearest! Papa loves you, and you'll learn to love him, even if that's a hundred years from now

(a/n: it makes me so happy that people like them!! :> Feel free to ask more about him if there's something you'd like to see or are curious about.)

[happilychee]

fairy tail dragon slayer headcanons pt. 1

♡ what the first gen and second gen dragon slayers eat is pretty self-explanatory. all of their elements are... somewhat tangible. sting and rogue though? they're still figuring it out. rogue wonders if he can eat someone else's shadow, and sting immediately volunteers himself. "for science!" he says. the result is that sting almost passes out. oops. he insists they try on their friends, much to rogue's displeasure. the results are that sting is the most susceptible, then yukino, rufus, orga, and minerva is the least susceptible to magic drainage. sting insists rogue tries to eat an inanimate object's shadow, and nothing happens to it, so they decide that's the way to go.

♡ when wendy eats air, the oxygen levels thin. she has to be careful or she'll cause her allies and enemies alike to pass out. when sting eats light, the area gets darker and darker. this is great for rogue, who starts eating the shadows, and they manage to balance each other out.

♡ sting insists that different types of light taste differently. his favorite is light from golden hour, right when the sun is dipping below the horizon. moonlight will do in a pinch, but it's so diluted that it takes way more of it to recover sting's magic. he also gets sick if he eats too much moonlight.

♡ pantherlily already has transformation magic and enhanced strength, and carla learns to transform so she can help wendy fight. the other three exceeds feel... a little left out. happy learns how to fly faster and for longer (though he still complains about lucy being heavy). lector goes to porlyusica and wendy to learn some stamina regeneration spells for sting. everyone is surprised when frosch, completely on their own, manages to learn an adorable light spell that creates floating pink bubbles. rogue can consume the shadows from them without worrying about draining frosch's magic, and he spends the entire afternoon crying about it.

♡ dragon slayers are a bit like crows. their way of bonding with someone is through gifting trinkets. natsu will bring lucy, erza, and even gray pretty rocks or seashells that he's found on jobs. wendy picks up a new craft or hobby every week, so the members of fairy tail are constantly recieving handmade accessories from her (gajeel helps during the metalsmithing phase). gajeel does not buy cute things for people. he is like a dad in the fact that, when juvia mentions she wants watermelon, he buys her 20 watermelons. walking math problem fr.

♡ laxus has mixed feelings about his more draconic features and habits. he's never loved his magic because of the way he got it, and the memory of his father basically torturing him as he inserted the lacrima will stay with him forever. he tends to suppress dragon instincts more than anyone else in the group, and they all scold him for it. on a rare occasion, laxus will give in and buy something shiny (like a hairclip) for wendy. she has a little jewelry box for them that she guards fiercely.

♡ cobra considers himself more of a flying snake than a dragon. he once drew a picture that sent everyone into a laughing fit. he prefers to stick with the old oración seis crew, but the guild dragon slayers are always happy to see him when he stops by with crime sorcière.

♡ sting, because of his heightened senses and his affinity for light, prefers nighttime. the day can often be overwhelming, and overexposure to bright settings and lots of people leaves his skin buzzing. he likes to sit in the dim guild hall, leaning against the cool stone wall, as the chatter of the crowd quiets down with the setting sun.

♡ dragon slayers all have the Bite instinct. some exercise a degree of control about it, and others go crazy with it. wendy will very gently nibble on erza or mira's arm when she's in the mood, and sometimes she does it absentmindedly. natsu, on the other hand, is an absolute menace. multiple of erza's armor sets have natsu-shaped bite marks on them. he tends to go after her the most because he knows he won't hurt her with the armor. when natsu's more calmed down, he will chomp on lucy's shoulder. gajaeel copes by eating all of fairy tail's silverware (mira starts buying ceramic spoons), but when levy offers her wrist to him he can't help it.

♡ rogue is another one who doesn't really bite people. he, very rarely, nips at frosch's ears, which causes the exceed to giggle. sting is a Biter like natsu, but with slightly more decorum. he really wants to go at it but will restrain himself because most people aren't willing to be treated like a chew toy. luckily for him, gray and cana aren't most people! because they both wear pretty exposing clothing, gray and cana have no qualms about showing off sting's bite marks on their skin. sting always turns bright red when they tease him about it.

♡ laxus and cobra don't really feel the Bite instinct due to being second gen, but cobra is a little shit and bites people for the fun of it. laxus is completely unbothered when natsu clings to him like a koala and gnaws at him.

[artisticxlly]

Kagehina/Shobio headcanons!

Hinata has very pronounced canine teeth.

Both are a little possessive, but Hinata is worse off when it comes to it (he's more confrontational).

Kageyama has a thing for how Hinata smells and also how their bodies fit together (deep pressure has a big appeal to him (yes, he's autistic why do you ask /rhet)).

They both like getting their hair played with.

The most 'couply' petname they use is babe/baby (usually former gets used by Kageyama and latter gets used by Hinata), otherwise its playful insults or each other's first names.

Hinata likes spicy food, and Kageyama hates it (if it's past a certain spice level, he gets overwhelmed).

Hinata smells like coconut and citrus, and Kageyama smells like mint/flowery scents. Though subtle ones, he doesn't like heavily perfumed stuff.

Hinata tans and Kageyama sunburns.

Hinata has a shit ton of freckles, and Kageyama has a very small amount of moles that are very prominent. They are both kissed equally as much by the other partner.

(This one's a possible art idea of mine) In third year, Hinata steals some of Natsu's quite flashy/girly hairclips because Kageyama got irritated as he couldn't see Hinata's eyes (he had to surpress the urge to push Hinata's bangs back for him but don't worry he wasn't pining or anything nooo /s). Kageyama proceeded to have a gay crisis (Also, He/They Hinata is real to me idc idc idc /hj).

Kageyama isn't super great at eye contact except when it comes to Hinata. With him, he usually looks him in the eyes when speaking.

Hinata visited Kazuyo's grave to ask for his blessings before he confessed to Kageyama. Like he got flowers to put by the grave and even dressed up nicely for it. Kageyama was never told this, but he did notice the new addition of flowers when he visited Kazuyo's grave a few days later.

They like holding hands a LOT. It's one of their favourite pda's.

Big spoon? Little spoon? Nah, literally think of the most uncomfortable-looking position to entangle yourself in, and thats EXACTLY how they sleep.

Their closets aren't separated, which means they often just wear each other's clothes.

Kageyama gets cuteness irritation, he frowns a lot and knits his eyebrows together when Hinata is being adorable (Hinata doesn't pick up on that fact for a while and often criticises Kageyama for glaring at him even though he didn't do anything wrong).

Hinata likes marking Kageyama, sorry- Also, they get very demanding when needy,,

They have a nightlight by their bed and lamps scattered all over their living space. They practically never turn the big lights on.

Hinata starts carrying Kageyama's fidget toys with him, not only because he himself finds them fun to play with but also in the case of Kageyama getting overstimulated in a social setting.

The first time Kageyama was overwhelmed and rushed out of a scene, he had Hinata following him. Kageyama, at that point nonverbal, ended up explaining in writing what was going on with him on a tiny notebook he kept in his pocket. They wrote back and forth on it even and somewhere in Kageyama's old stash of things, he still keeps that notebook with the written pages still attached.

They both have sound-making stims that they do back and forth sometimes (Hinata pops his lips/makes a 'brr'/'mrp' sound and Kageyama clicks his tongue/snaps his fingers or cracks his knuckles). In some instances, they end up mirroring each other (with Kageyama doing an endearingly shabby job at rollings his 'r's).

They like making fun of romance movies when watching them, especially if the plot points are irritating or the characters are stupid (as if those two weren't pining for each other for literal YEARS before getting together.

They're both terrible at holding their alcohol. Both of them are lightweights for SURE.

If they got married: Hinata figured out when Kageyama would propose because he started fidgetting with the box in his jacket pocket and Hinata kept hearing something snap shut and open over and over.

I'd like to think that once they retire from the professional volleyball careers, they'd get a cat.

I also think they'd help out at volleyball workshops for younger teens when they're older (they like teaching the kids about their passion).

EDIT: Kageyama is a very stiff dancer while Hinata is veryyy smooth with hips (It flusters the hell out of Kageyama I just know it).

Let me know your thoughts if you have any!! :D

[inestheunicorn]

Made fish hairclips to help us survive this heat wave! I snagged one for myself and they're great 🐟 the Summer Shop Update will be on July 26 - 11h40 AM (Portugal time) ✨️✨️

Yesterday I finished editing 170+ photos for this drop and I still want to take a few more photos, pls send help 🙃

Shop here

[herringstrait]

Don't think words can convey how delighted I am whoever styled Nagumo for the festa merch made his outfit atrocious. Do you GET how amazing and in-character that is? It's like a dog doing whatever he wants bc he knows you'll love him for it anyway. The 2 clashing patterns on the shirt and the pants, the walmart bargain bin shoes, and the goodwill trench in mold green? Even his body language acting on hesitant and shy is more than I could dream of. (don't get me started on how he's drawing attention to the rings on his hands with his fingers). All that mess and people are still going to find him attractive. Teary eyed from just how *perfect* it all is. He has pretty privilege and everyone knows it (himself most of all).

Of course the kiddos and Pops look great, but it's the Order trio that drove home for me the fact the artist/stylist has to have red the source manga. The way they picked something formal for Osa that makes her chest look massive shows just enough skin for her to be slightly uncomfortable yet rock it (think JAA corporate gala). The way they even coordinated the silver in her hairclips and purse hardware with her partner's necklace. Shishiba's lax suaveness in his gangster-adjacent open collar shirt and black suit coat... the hairtie on his wrist... Never been so chuffed about a set of alternate styled outfits in my life. You can just tell when a stylist UNDERSTANDS a character's personality and vibe based on the outfit they put together, and here that understanding even extends to body language. Massive kudos to the brain behind it. They deserve a great packet of freshly steamed meat buns ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗