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erxsxre · 3 months

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@snugglyporos said:

Suddenly there are rumors of a new vigilante! Clearly, this is something for Aizawa to investigate. Of course, when he's on the rooftop, someone appears next to him! After all, brooding on rooftops is what heroes do, yes? Except, it's a sheep. With a domino mask. And also, it appears to not be good at the brooding. Oh no. There's another one of those creatures. This one appears to be a sheep!

The evening had dragged, this stakeout was not only time consuming but boring, he had been perched there for some few hours, just watching the lower streets and location that had been outlined within the intel given in the briefing earlier. Seemed as though some activity was beginning, finally a sighting on the so called vigilante, he pushed away from the edge of the roof with intent to follow in the shadows, turning around straight into....a sheep. "Are you serious?" He seemed to growl, not wanting to lose track of the target due to such a distraction. "Go away."

#snugglyporos #omfg hahaha #ᵀʰᵃᵗ'ˢ 'ᴾˡᵘˢ ᵁˡᵗʳᵃ. [ᴹᵃⁱⁿ]#ᴵᵗ ᵀᵒᵒᵏ ᴱⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢᵉᶜᵒⁿᵈˢ ᴮᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵂᵉʳᵉ Qᵘⁱᵉᵗ. [ᴿᵉᵖˡʸ]#ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᴱˣᵖᵉˡˡᵉᵈ [ᴵ.ᶜ]

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daisyvisions · 11 months

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if there's any deobi who can read astrology compatibility... would you accept payment in fics of your fave member? 👀

#specifically for sangmil #im half serious...#omfg HAHAHA

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ellivermicelli · 3 months

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retaught myself how to gif so i could put some ghoap fairies for your feed

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wwenzies · 2 months

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#me #wenzies #let’s just ignore that my teeth look grossly yellow in these omfg #I swear it’s the flirt HAHAHA

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broodygaming · 3 months

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the closeup of Robbie while he breaks down each penis one by one is fucking killing me hahaha this is too much

#so fucking funny hahaha #cr spoilers #critical role #is it? is it spoilers? omfg this is too much hahaha

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heartfulcakes · 1 year

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I dress them up like brats and barbies

#legit not even looking at their actual outfits anymore Omfg hahaha #obey me #obey me fanart #obey me diavolo #obey me beelzebub #obey me mephistopheles #obey me asmodeus #obey me Mc #obey me luke #my art

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mycatismyfriend · 6 months

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Angel the Series | 5x15 | Part 2 of this post.

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inkykeiji · 10 months

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helloo :)

can i get thirst + 1950s kei hehe

prompt: thirst series: 1950s au warnings: historically inaccurate 1950s au, reader is female, ur in keigo’s lap for pretty much this entire piece, a very spit-slicked kiss words: 1.3k

absolutely!!! thank you so much for requesting him hehe c:

“It’s another hot-hot-hot one out there, folks! Twenty-eight degrees, with temps climbing into the mid-thirties, and a humidex of thirty-six,” the voice on the radio cackles, stuffed with static. “Be sure to keep those bodies cool and those throats hydrated!”

Gosh, when is this heat wave gonna end? you’re murmuring to yourself as you push past the swinging screen door, a glass pitcher of freshly made ice cold lemonade in your hands, droplets of condensation already beginning to stream down the curved sides.

“Hopefully this can help quench your thirst,” you set the pitcher down on the rickety wooden table next to Keigo, holding a glass steady as you pour, sure to get a few ice cubes and a slice of lemon, just how he likes it.

“Thank you, angel,” he takes the glass from your hands, grateful, tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip.

“So?” you rock a little on the balls of your feet in anticipation, keen eyes watching his Adams apple bob as he swallows a mouthful. “How is it?”

“Mm,” he hums as his hands encircle your waist, pulling you down into his lap, the plastic of his lawnchair squeaking beneath your combined weight. “Perfect, as always.”

He noses along the curve of your neck, inhaling slowly as he plants sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across your damp flesh. The light summer breeze rustles the leaves of the old oak tree on your front lawn, twining through the full branches, caressing your saliva-slicked skin and leaving a pleasant, cooling sensation in its wake. Sighing, your body relaxes against Keigo’s as your head tips back, exposing more of your neck to him.

“That nice?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice smooth and thick like caramel.

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes still closed. “Feels good.”

You feel him lean away for a moment, taking the heat of his mouth with him, ears pricking as teeth clink against glass, as ice clinks against teeth. Then he’s back, an ice cube cupped in his tongue, frosty and frigid as it drags across your feverish skin.

The unexpected cold makes you jump, and Keigo chuckles—a deep, velvety sound that vibrates against your flesh—as he licks up the notches of your neck, ice gliding with his tongue, slow and purposeful.

Chills erupt across your body, back arching just a little and pressing further into his touch, powerless to stop the soft mewl that spills from your lips.

He takes his time with it, unhurried in his ministrations, thorough in his work, each caress of his tongue meticulously thought out, sure to cover every inch of exposed skin he can easily reach—the nape of your neck and the blades of your shoulders and the column of your throat—until the cube has fully melted, leaving a mess of watery saliva painted across your skin in large, wide strokes.

The icy tip traces your jugular vein one last time for good measure, up, up, up, traveling along the edge of your jaw to the lobe of your ear, and shivers skitter up your spine, sending a wave rippling through your flesh.

“All done,” he purrs in your ear, breath still chilled from the ice.

And you just can’t help yourself, suddenly parched for him, twisting in his grasp and capturing his lips. Hands splayed wide on either of his cheeks, you tug him closer, fingertips hooking behind the hinges of his jaw, nails sinking into his skin, leaving behind shallow crescents.

He tastes sticky-sweet, a syrupy film of vanilla cola still clinging to his tongue and lacing his spit, complemented by the slight sour tang of the lemonade. Your tongue curls around his own, sucks it into your mouth and scrapes your teeth across the surface, desperate to swallow down whatever you can of him, to steal just a stringy piece of him and hold him in your tummy, close to your heart.

A keepsake, while he’s away.

Finally, you part, with glimmering lips and spit-slicked chins, chests heaving together with ragged little breaths.

“Wow,” Keigo chuckles, the word wispy, eyes shining bright like two starbursts of topaz. “What was that for?”

“I, um,” you turn away from him, suddenly shy, settling back against his body and tucking your face into your shoulder. “I just—I really don’t want you to go tomorrow,” you admit softly, a slight pout in your voice. “I know it isn’t fair, but...”

But I want you all to myself. But I miss you like crazy when you’re gone. But it’s true.

“I understand, baby,” he leans his cheek against yours, short stubble scratching your sensitive skin, and squeezes you to his chest, tight and secure. “You know, you could always come with me...”

“Keigo, please, don’t start—”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” you pull back to look at him, shifting a little in his lap.

Holding his stare, your eyes search his, shimmering topaz ever-changing in the late afternoon sun, flickering with the sunbeams streaming through the fluttering leaves, casting shadows and shapes on his face. He gazes back just as steadily, nothing but sincerity brimming in his eyes, and your lips tug down.

Fingers brush back the golden curls saturated in sweat sticking to his forehead, carding through the unruly strands in a rhythmic motion, eyes following their movement.

He catches your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your palm.

Keigo’s been attempting to persuade you to quit your job for a while now, to abandon the life you worked so hard to build, painstakingly from the ground up and with your own two hands, to throw caution to the wind and come jet-setting with him around the world despite the fact that you know next to nothing about his work—nothing about his elusive and mysterious job that requires freshly pressed and finely tailored tuxedos, that pays six figures, that allows him to have a two-storey house and a 1957 cherry red Chevy Bel Air and a collection of glittering Rolex watches—despite the fact that, technically, you aren’t allowed to.

“You know I’d love to, but my job at the diner—”

“Isn’t necessary anymore.”

“Is important to me,” you continue, voice firm with conviction.

You know he doesn’t exactly get it, why you’d want to keep working a broke-down job at a shitty little mom & pop malt shop when he can now provide for all of your needs, and more, but this job holds a certain type of sentimentality.

Because it’s something that’s yours, something you earned all on your own, accomplished through your own volition and hard work, something that enabled you to claw your way to freedom.

You love the grease, the way the scent of fresh-cut fries and sizzling cheeseburgers twines through your hair and carries home with you.

You love the sticky milkshakes and melty sundaes and ostentatious banana splits, the way they always seem to perpetually stain the tips of your fingers, tinging everything with sugar.

You love the speckled white tables and the glittery red booths and the checkerboard floor, the way your regular customers’ eyes light up when they spot you.

You love it all, so dearly.

“I can’t just leave.” Not now, not yet, not until you’re ready to let go.

He doesn’t exactly get it, but he doesn’t need to.

It being important to you is already enough reason for him.

He glances up at you through thick gold lashes, thumb pausing in its quest to pick off a chip of peeling white paint from the table, holding your eyes for a moment before giving a resigned nod, shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly in another defeat.

“Ah well,” he sighs with a shrug, pulling you back to his chest and cradling you in his arms, chin resting on the crown of your head. “It was worth a shot. One of these days you’ll finally say yes to me, and I’ll be the happiest man on earth.”

“Yeah,” you murmur softly, arms curling around his own and hugging them to your torso. “Maybe one day.”

It isn’t the first time he’s suggested it. It won’t be the last; not until you finally say yes.

But you think you’re alright with that.