you would see him often throughout your days at the red keep. or you wouldn’t. your eyes were on him, then they weren’t. you could see him, then you couldn’t.
he would often prey along the corridors, walking a steady (not fast and not slow,) constant, confident pace.
and your eyes would find him, gazing upon his shoulders steady, his chin raised, expression smug, ever the perfect picture of a prince.
but then his gaze would find you, his violet, sneering eyes locking onto your own and he would falter.
the first time you actually registered the act, his eyelids fluttering, legs stiffening, aerion had actually stumbled. a trip of his boot against the floor in exactly the wrong spot and he lost control of his legs for just a second and you could only compare the look on his face to one of completely horror.
it was difficult to hide your surprise and even harder to hide your laughter.
but the next time he was more careful. more prepared. his footsteps faltered but they weren’t as stiff. instead, he had seen you, and he reacted the way aerion did, with his lips parting, mind going slightly fuzzy, but he didn’t stumble, he forced his legs forward. almost too fast.
aerion saw you, dipped his head, and ran.
he had ran past you.
with his head down and fingers tight at his sides, aerion had ran past you.
you didn’t immediately understand what you had just witnessed, having to take a long moment where you stared at the stone wall, replaying the moment in your head.
once
twice
thrice.
aerion targaryen had run past you.
and that’s what he did. you would see him, then you wouldn’t. for he had already seen you and darted somewhere else. only being able to catch a glimpse of his silver hair for a small second before he was scurrying away like a frightened animal.
then when he couldn’t run away, for his duty or propriety, and he had to be near you, you began to notice his fingers.
not only as they were hard to miss due to the constant fidgeting, a constant twiddling movement in the corner of your eye, but also because they had become rather red.
the tips of his fingers, the area surrounding his fingernails, had been bitten and scratched to a large extent. his hands now resembling ones less of a spoiled prince but more of a servant instead.
however they weren’t the only thing he would bite upon seeing you.
his lip. his bottom one specifically. usually rosy and smooth, now bitten and raw.
you decided to tease him.
the next time you saw him and he couldn’t run away without causing a scene, you decided to stand in front of him. that was all. just moving directly in front of him and staring. you could see his eyes widen almost like a doe and his lip vanish between his teeth. you spoke some honeyed words, a greeting, a polite one. and then you saw red.
down his chin, a line of ruby blood, descending from his lip and onto the floor.
a drop.
a quick “your grace,” and a hand to his jaw to inspect the wound and he had gasped. lightly, under your fingertips.
he brought his red fingers to his red chin almost in disbelief, then looked at the fresh red on his hands, looked at you, wide-eyed and shaking, and ran.
but this wasn’t him. he wasn’t nervous. he was the bright prince. he wasn’t nervous.
he would find you and speak calmly an apology for the previous day where you had to see such a sight of blood. so he found you, and you found him, quicker than he would’ve liked but you had developed a certain skill of finding said prince rather quickly after moons of him scrambling away.
he wanted to speak, he tried to speak. then when he finally did after an encouraging tilt of your head, he stuttered, fucking stuttered.
it was meant to be an apology, or the closest thing to an apology aerion targaryen could find, but instead it came out as a broken stammer of I’s and you see’s and the blood and uh’s.
he was stuttering so adorably with his shaky fists and glassy eyes you almost took pity on him. he stuttered out his apology, best he could do, most he could say and ran. again. once more.
Being the handsome guy that he is, he’s always used his good looks to his advantage, but now, ironically, he’s with a partner who can’t see his good looks.
So, this guy loves to bring your hands to his face so you can feel his beautiful features. It doesn’t matter if you stroke his cheeks or playfully pinch the tip of his nose — you can do whatever you want, seriously.
Sometimes, when you’re hugging and just enjoying each other’s company, he loves to tell you how much he wishes you could see how beautiful you are and how you both make such a pretty couple.
i really like to imagine that there are poeple in the danganronpa universe that try to mimic junko and they are like all over the world but none of them can properly capture junko enoshimas silhouette
(the 2 above this text are taken from monaca's beta design)
i feel like people wouldnt really be able to capture and handle being junko enoshima but they do it anyways
Sidney got such a big and pointy nose. Like the perfect type to ride, you know?
Whether it was him on his knees, taking sweet time lapping at your pussy and you rolling your hips so you could grind against it and him letting you pressing in to let you, not caring if he couldn't breathe, or him underneath you as you sat on his face, his hands gripping thighs so you couldn't get off him, him feasting on you while all you could do was cry and come as his nose grinding on your clit while his tongue slid inside you—I mean.
Totally pretty nose. So pure thoughts. Just wanna boop it.
a/n: been thinking thoughts about the Superman movie and thought I'd write something small to just get the ball rolling!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Superman characters. I do not claim to own any of the Superman characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.
word count: ~1.4k
You genuinely questioned Lex Luthor’s obsession with your boyfriend. You weren’t even sure if your love for Clark got that intense. But regardless, your real problem with this entire situation was that you were being held in a fucking utility closet.
You understood the concept of being bait. Lex had somehow learnt that you were Clark Kent’s girlfriend, aka seemingly the one normal man who knew how to contact the superhero, and had concocted this outrageous plan. Lex holding you at Luthor Corp meant Clark would call Superman to get you back and Superman would be forced to come and save you and that meant Lex could do whatever he had planned. The entire slightly convoluted thing was quite easy to understand really (though you did wonder, for how smart he seemed, how dumb Lex Luthor could also be). But you didn’t know why the fuck he was keeping you locked in a closet you were quite sure the janitor would need come cleaning hour.
And frankly, you were a little insulted too. Sure you weren’t a metahuman, but you can’t possibly have been viewed as that weak that all he needed was a small room and a lock. That being said, you had been trying to break out for the past hour with no success…
So now there you sat, criss-cross on the floor, leaning back against one of the shelves and trying to calm your mind enough to come up with a plan. You needed to get out before Clark even realised you had been taken, and considering how the only time the man was punctual was when he was supposed to come home to you, that window of opportunity was finite and diminishing.
But before you could get at another attempt that would only break your fingernails, the door opened. A large figure blocked out whatever light may have tried to enter, so you were forced to squint up at them, but you could only see a black tactical suit and a helmet with weird glass goggle-eyes.
Ultraman was holding something, a tray, and he bent down and placed it just in front of you. If you hadn’t known any better, you might have thought he was even… tender with it. You looked down and it was a simple spread, a glass of water and a plain granola bar, but just the sight of food and water made you feel a little bit better. You hadn’t been kept long, but at least they weren’t going to kill you yet.
You picked up the glass of water and began to sip from it, but your eyes travelled up again when he didn’t leave. You drank half the water then put the glass back and picked up the granola bar. Maybe he was supposed to stay until you were done eating and take the tray back. It’s not like you could really do anything with what was on the tray though. They had given you one of those plastic cups from IKEA that would only break under a bulldozer.
You unwrapped the granola bar and took a bite, chewed, swallowed, took a sip of your water, and continued until you had finished. The entire time Ultraman just stood and watched you eat and drink, and it made you feel a bit weird. Surely he could have just come back for the tray later.
“Can I have some more?” You asked, tapping the glass of water as you spoke. His head tilted a little but he didn’t do anything else and you frowned. “Can I get some more water? Am I allowed more water?” But he didn’t say anything.
When the last drop of water had been drained and you put everything back on the tray, he walked closer again. Instead of grabbing the tray, he gently placed the palm of his hand against the top of your head. You frowned at him, staring up at where his eyes were, but he just pet you on the top of the head, like a child feeling the fur of a dog for the first time. You shifted and cleared your throat, your skin crawling a little, but he just repeated the motion a few more times before picking up the tray and leaving, locking the door behind himself.
You got up onto your feet quickly, scanning the shelves to see if you could find something that might help you, but it wasn’t even ten minutes later when the door was opening again. You fell back against the shelf on the wall behind you, slipping a little and gripping at the sides, but he didn’t come very close, just stepped inside the door and thrust his hand out to you. He was holding a glass of water.
You stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and hands gripped tightly to the shelf before you pushed yourself upright and took the glass from him. Again, he watched you drink from it, and though you couldn’t see his eyes, you could feel them trained on you.
You took your time with this glass, sipping slowly and watching him in return. He was covered head to toe. The material of his suit looked rough, and you were sure it was probably proofed against whatever possible assault he may suffer. But still when you handed him back the glass, you tried to bolt out of the door from beside him.
It was a foolish plan but it was the only one you had. Movies always made the element of surprise look like the best course of action, but you barely got a few steps down the hallway before his arms were wrapping around your waist and hoisting you over his shoulder. You were basically a rag doll in his hands, flailing around but useless, weak.
You tried to pummel your fists into his back, but it did nothing. You tried to kick your legs about but one hand came up and pressed against the backs of your thighs and despite all your effort, it was like pushing against concrete.
Just as he set you down in the closet, a deafening crash occurred down the hall. There was yelling, familiar and unfamiliar, and your heart leapt in your chest. You slipped under Ultraman’s arm while he was distracted and made your way back into the hall to find Clark storming down the hallway, a door completely destroyed behind him from which Lex Luthor peered out.
You took a step forward to begin running to him as he yelled your name, but those same arms of concrete wrapped around your waist again and wrenched you back. You huffed angrily at that, slamming your palms against the forearm around your stomach and craning your head back to try and look him in the eyes.
“He’s here ok? You can let me go,” You grumbled, but Ultraman didn’t budge, simply began dragging you back in the confines of his arms. Just as Clark reached you, arm raised to slam into Ultraman’s face, Lex’s voice called out from behind.
“You can let her go,” he ordered, gesturing his head in your direction, but for a moment, a moment longer than he had ever disobeyed Lex, Ultraman held on. The chin of his helmet pressed to the back of your head and his arms tightened around you, as if hugging you to him. You frowned up at him, your hands going limp against his forearms, and a dreadful feeling of fear curled up in your stomach. The awful feeling dawned on you that maybe, possibly…. Ultraman liked you. Or at least thought of you as some sort of pet.
Just as Clark was about to begin prying Ultraman’s hands off of you himself, he let you go and stepped back. His head bowed a little and… well, he almost looked sad. Clark was quick to wrap you up in his arms, holding you close to his chest as you pressed your face there. For the first time the fear was really hitting you…
Clark picked you up into his arms, gave Ultraman one last seething look, then turned away and headed back in the direction of Lex’s office. He barged past him and headed for the window, but just before he flew out, he turned back and glared at Lex.
“You’ll pay for this,” he spat, but Lex Luthor only smiled, gesturing to Eve in the corner who still had her phone held up, filming everything.
“I’ve got everything I need,” he shrugged, and you just clung to Clark as you rested your chin on his shoulder. Just before he pushed off into the sky, you looked at Ultraman over Lex’s shoulder, but he was already watching you.
