#THIS IS LESS THAN SURFACE LEVEL THIS IS LIKE. HALF OF THE SURFACE LEVEL AT MOST.

[fanaticsnail]

WIP Wednesday (Friday)

Thank you @rorywritesjunk for the tag. I am so looking forward to the Howl's Au you're doing!

Here is a cut from the next installment of Doffy's pollen I've been working on for the past little while. If there's something on my WIP list you're curious about, I'm happy to give a little snippet of what I've been chipping away at.

Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes: Doflamingo x Reader Part 2

Synopsis: You've been invited to a soiree at the World Government HQ at the request of your friend, Maria, who is attending with her latest beau, Bogard. Doflamingo intentionally didn't ask you to attend on his arm, and is attempting to make you jealous by bringing two of his concubines with him. You decide to 'get even' by suggesting Sir Crocodile aid you in making him jealous in return.

Word Count: 460 (Just a snippet of a larger fic)

Context: You and Doflamingo have a love-hate relationship. He loves you, you hate him. He tried to drug you with the dust of the lust plant, only for your drinking glasses to be swapped at the last minute. He was in need of a reprieve and coerced you to "help him out". You did, but it doesn't make you hate him any less.

What to expect in this next installment: Drinking, jealous Doflamingo, sloppy drunk Doflamingo, pathetic Doflamingo, kissing Sir Crocodile, enjoying the company of Sir Crocodile, Doflamingo cornering you in a private room....

“Sir Crocodile,” you arch your back further on the bar and look up at him through your eyelashes, “Would you be up for a little game?” He arches his brow up, placing his cigar in his teeth before breathing in a gulping lungfull of sour smoke.

“Up to no good again are you?” He asked, the cool rumble of his voice shaking your spine in joyful anticipation. You nodded, subtle enough not to draw attention away from Doflamingo as he continued consuming his concubines’ mouths vigorously. “State your terms,” Sir Crocodile asked with a light purr.

“An exchange, sir,” you cocked your head, playfully biting your lip as you hummed at him, “I’ll buy you a glass of anything you want, if you would grant me a single kiss.” Sir Crocodile’s interest peaked, his eyes widening ever so slightly as you continued your suggestion. 

“Doflamingo is attempting to make me jealous,” you noted, prompting Crocodile to look at him from the corner of his eye, “And I simply do not care.” Crocodile hummed in thought, enjoying another deep drag from his cigar, nodding at you to resume your explanation. 

“I don’t want him, and I need him to know I don’t want him,” you confessed as Crocodile placed his cigar in the steel tray beside him, “I would rather chew glass than endure his attention a moment longer, so I thought perhaps if I were to enjoy the attention of another,” you drew up your index and middle fingers on the bar, playfully walking the digits atop the mahogany surface, “He might leave me in peace.” 

“And I was the easier mark to make between all those here present?” Sir Crocodile hunched down to your level, looking deeply into your eyes with his stalking orbs. 

“Not at all, sir,” you smirked, eyes darting between his with flirtatious mischief, “I chose you because I thought, one: Sir Crocodile would likely need something interesting to cure his boredom amongst the marines and fellow warlords,” you inched your fingers ever closer to his golden hook, looking down at it while you hovered your fingertips over the metallic surface, “And, two: Sir Crocodile is the most handsome man in this room, and it would be an absolute delight to hold his attention, even if naught for a moment.” 

A slow chuckle emitted from deep within his throat, his eyes falling half-lidded as his smile grew wider and more playful beneath his scarred cheeks. 

“A single drink for a single kiss,” he confirmed with a curt nod, his right hand collecting yours from atop his hook and pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “Or a bottle of my choosing, and you would be more than welcome to continue singing my praises atop my knee for the night, Princess.”

#one piece #x reader #snippet #doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo #sir crocodile #op sir crocodile #wip roundup

[daz4i]

my mind is once again assaulted by people's incorrect views of my special little guy. not sure i can recover from this.

#kind of considering being a hater but also it's rude to respond directly-indirectly to someone's post isn't it #(like directly as in referencing it specifically but not even where op can see... theoretically. bc it's still public after all) #all i will say is OH MY GODDDDDDD THIS IS THE MOST SHALLOW READING YOU COULD SUPPLY FOR A CHARACTER WITH ENDLESS LAYERS #THIS IS LESS THAN SURFACE LEVEL THIS IS LIKE. HALF OF THE SURFACE LEVEL AT MOST. #ALSO YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABT PSYCHOLOGY! SORRY #ok that's all i'm gonna say. hater moment over. mostly. in a public setting at least. #i was planning to read the whole post but just 3 lines in it already pissed me off too much 😭 #yeah i'm normal about fictional characters why do you ask. #regular disclaimer of 'this is all fiction do what you want don't let me stop you it doesn't actually matter' #with the usual defense of 'yeah well fiction is there to make you feel and so here i am. feeling' etc #edit: ok i went back to be more civil (in my head. yeah) and they made *some* okay points. #but the core of it was still so wrong that. >:( idk it's 6 am i ran out of words

[becca-e-barnes]

Needy tired sex is so underrated like imagine needing each other so much needing to touch them and for them to touch you straddling their lap and sinking down on their cock tiredly rocking back and forth tucking your head into the side of their neck as you can only let out sleepy needy moans

Oooooh I really like this!! And I love it with son's best friend bucky actually (I've missed writing him, he needs to come back)

But I can really imagine this if Bucky managed to get you to himself for a whole night, uninterrupted. You've maybe already had the kind of frantic, intense sex you're used to with him but time alone is a rarity and you can't help but crave the intimacy you're not used to receiving from your husband.

It's hard to tear yourselves apart on nights like that because Bucky feels like he has to touch you as much as he can now that he's got the chance. He'd have his fingers locked with yours or his thumb slowly running over your cheek bone or his hands trailing from your thigh, up over your hips and across your waist. He'd map the curves and contours of your body with the most reverent touch, leaving nothing unappreciated, telling you how beautiful you are with a sincerity that catches in the back of your throat.

It's so hard not to fall into the gentle, familiar intimacy of the moment he's created. You're both still pleasantly buzzing with the afterglow of your orgasms, a sleepy haze making you both more than a little drowsy but you haven't had enough of each other yet.

There's an unspoken understanding that these hours have to count. They have to matter. In the morning, you'll shower and get dressed and go back home to your husband. He'll return to his college flat and you have no idea when you'll be able to feel this close to him again.

"I don't know that I'll ever get enough of you. A lifetime wouldn't be enough." He whispers, his eyes trained on yours. You don't take the time to correct him and remind him that a 'lifetime' together isn't on the cards. You know he knows that, he might be young but he's not stupid. It's nice to feel wanted again, after years of being borderline ignored by your husband.

"You're too sweet for your own good." You pull him into a gentle kiss, your fingers curling in the short, dark hair just above the nape of his neck.

You're not quite sure how but before you know it, you're sat in his lap with your chest pressed to his and he's rock hard inside you again. It's much slower and more intimate than you both had patience for earlier but it's so damn satisfying.

"Fuck, you feel like Heaven." He groans, almost sounding pathetic as he grips your hips and helps you keep the steady pace he knows you both enjoy so much.

"Bucky, I n-need... I can't..." You whine, unable to articulate what exactly it is that you need from him in that moment. In truth, you need nothing more than what you have. Your body just craves more.

"I know, sweetheart. Believe me, I know." His hands map out your body from your hips, up your back until he's rubbing your shoulders while your head falls into the crook of your neck. You groan, low and filthy against his neck, enjoying the way his dick rubs your sweet spot, right where you need it to.

"Doing so well for me. Don't stop." It's an overindulgent level of pleasure. You'd have been more than satisfied, at least until the morning but with Bucky, nothing is ever really enough.

#asks answered <3 #anon #becca writes spice #sbf!bucky #son's best friend!bucky #apparently my next quiet week is in 2064 #because shit is just relentless rn #it's one busy week after another #at least it's a fun kind of busy #like beach trips and drinks busy #I need to spend less time in the damn sun #I went down to work last night and showed them my back #and they very kindly covered half my back in a huge burn dressing #at least the pain is gone #it's just itchy now #I love the dynamic with sbf!bucky though #it's so fun to write something more than surface level attraction #I'd love to give those two a fic #but I would have no idea where to start

[scare-ard--sleigh]

i read the damien and robert noir/vampire comic and i still have no idea how they feel about each other : | please i need answers : |

#dream daddyblogging #their interactions are so weird i'm sorry lmao like not bad weird just hard to read. surface-level. no more or less than anything else #i can glean from all of their other dynamics except them and mary and damien&hugo and robert&craig #(and joseph obviously but damien's relationship with joseph is hard to read too i'm mostly half-guessing what's happening there)

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

TW: NSFW, yandere

gn reader

You’re attracted to Bakugou for many reasons – he’s tall and ripped and handsome and a bit of an asshole – but really, what you like about him most is that he doesn't seem like he’d be too much trouble. And you mean that in many ways. 

You’ve been in relationships before, and none of them have ended on good terms – always leading to deep upsets and disappointments. You’d come to the realization that boys, on any level that wasn’t purely sexual, were something you didn’t really need or want at the moment – which is why Bakugou, in all his disinterested glory, was just perfect for you. 

He’d fold you in half in filthy places like the locker room or bathroom or in his smoke-steeped car – making your heart beat from the thrill without that nagging feeling of being underappreciated because, well, you didn’t really care. He wasn’t your boyfriend and you weren’t committed to each other in any serious way, so there really weren’t any grounds for standards or expectations – it was just sex – carnal ball-clapping sweaty sex – pure and simple and just what you needed. No more, no less.

You didn’t go on dates or meet each other's parents or give each other chocolate on Valentine's Day or any other presents on any other holiday – you didn’t even hang out aside from seeing each other at parties and sometimes in the school hallways. He’d cock his head with a grin, and you’d smile coyly up through your lashes, and you’d meet in the handicapped bathrooms between classes to get drilled over the sink with your face smudged against the cool mirror.

It's only when he starts knowing things about you that you grow a little stiff with your arrangement - things he couldn’t possibly know from you as you’d never cared to speak about your private life. And sure, some of those things he could have easily found out through your social media standing – which already makes you feel a little iffy – but there are other things he’ll slip out, specifics about your interests and classes and whereabouts and the stuff you do with your friends – stuff you’re positive you’ve not posted anywhere. 

When you asked him about it, halfway jokingly with a somewhat nervous laugh, he’d only quirked a brow and brushed it off, insisting you’d been the one that told him. And you, despite being sure he’s lying, decide to believe it anyway. Because what the two of you have right now is still good – much better than any other fuck-friend you’d had before. Katsuki makes you so wet, and he's always so able to just pound your orgasm right out of you. 

If payment is small talk, you can humor him.

But then the sex becomes a little dull. Instead of his fist wrapping tight around your throat, he’s now sucking gentle love bites into the skin. And he no longer has his hand in your hair, forcing your face down against a cold surface with nails digging into your scalp to keep you still while fucking you fast and selfishly from behind.

Both his hands are instead holding you around the waist, keeping your body skin-to-skin against his chest as he gently lolls you on his lap – so slow you can’t even feel your heart – so slow you’re still breathing through your nose. He hasn’t slapped your ass once, and it’s beginning to get a little sad.

You want to tell him that you want him to fuck you like he’s a dirty cop and you’re a criminal resisting arrest – and not this old married couple shit. But you also don’t want to be rude. 

However, after all the one-sided heart-to-hearts he’d sat you through lately – spending more time chatting than making you cum – you were left feeling a little awkward, honestly. And between that and how he’d started texting you goodnights at eight-thirty – you were afraid he’d lost his original raw sex appeal.

He’s become so pedestrian in your eyes he might as well have been wearing glasses and a sweater vest.

You let him finish without saying anything – but you can't deny you’re happy when you feel him finally blow his load.

Dismounting him, you jump to your seat in the car and pull your underwear back up without a word.

It’s silent while he lights a smoke and rolls down his window – his hand coming to rest on your thigh after.

You look out your own window, your face in your palm while you think. And then talk. “I think… we need to stop.”

He's a little busy with his cigarette, but still, he answers, casually. “Stop what?” Smoke goes out his mouth and up his nostrils, then out again.

“This.” You answer. “Fucking.”

The hand on your thigh stirs and you catch him shifting his head to look at you, but you don’t return the gesture – keeping your eyes fixed on the puddle peppering with raindrops out on the empty parking lot the two of you’ve often spent time burning rubber drifting donuts before making the windows steamy.

“Why?” He eventually says. Flicking the spent filter out onto the wet pavement. Rolling the window back up and leaving the both of you in a way too tense silence of muted rain.

You sigh, leaning back against the headrest. “We’re not strangers anymore... It’s just getting a little boring.”

He taps another cigarette up from his box but doesn’t light it – just rolls it around in his fingers with his head bowed. “Boring, huh?” He repeats. And then there’s a pause. 

A hefty pause. A silent one that lasts a little too long and makes you forget the subject in favor of thinking about other things – like, had your roommate done the dishes this time, or were they still on the counter?

“What if I lock the car and drive us off a cliff?” He breaks through your thoughts, and this time, it’s you who turns your head. Looking at him while he still fingers the same slim roll in his hands – mumbling to it, it would seem. “I’ll laugh, you’ll scream… and maybe I’ll light this cig’ while we’re in the air…”

He sighs – as though what he’d just said was not what he’d said – then copies your action, letting his head fall back to rest against the leather – his face blank and his breath steady.

“If you fuck someone else, I’ll break their face.”

This time you blink when staring at him – face riddled, doubting what you were hearing come out of his mouth. “You what?”

“If- you fuck- someone else…” He repeats slowly. “I- will break- their face.” He says it so calmly you’re still unsure whether you heard him right. “Understand?” He asks – chin cocked up while glancing at you from the corner of his red eyes. “I won't stop punching until their teeth are on the ground and their eyes are so bloated and bloody they can no longer see who it is that’s throwing the hits.”

You blink a few more times. Stunned into a stupor, picturing it with parted lips without any words escaping them.

He rolls down the window again and puts the smoke between his lips.

And while he lights it and blows the roof full of grey, you’re still hung up on the image…

Maybe Bakugou wasn’t as boring as you thought.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere katsuki #yandere my hero academia #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere bakugou smut #bakugou smut #boku no hero academia smut #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you

[luveline]

Ooo can we have a blurb where bombshell! R and Spence were either on a date or were about to have their first time but got called into work? They both look a little annoyed at being interrupted. The bombshell reader series has my heart 🥺

im picturing boyband reid here maybe <3 fem

cw suggestive content

“These are trick buttons,” you accuse. 

Spencer laughs for the tenth time in as many minutes, perhaps tickled under your hands, more likely that he’s just feeling the same rush of hormones (namely adrenaline) as you are. “They’re not trick buttons, it’s ‘cos your hands are shaking.” 

He takes your poor hands in his. “It’s okay,” he adds softly, “I can do it.” 

“I’m not nervous, I’m excited,” you say, less soft, more desperate than he is, or at least on the surface. 

“I know, I know–” He catches your lips in a sudden eager kiss, a hand jumping to your cheek to ferry you closer, the other sewing down between your two chests to work open his fiendish buttons. 

“See,” he says between kissing, “easy.” 

“I’d like to see this level of dexterity when you unclasp my bra,” you mumble, kissing with every bit of hunger and love you have for him, lips drifting to his cheek, and then down to his jaw. Your mouth opens of its own accord. Spencer lets a breath slip from him coloured with wanting, the most amorous sound he’s ever made under your hands as you kiss, and nip, and—

Your phone rings from the nightstand, a heavy, repetitive vibration. 

“Ignore it,” you say easily, climbing up over Spencer’s lap, hand to the side of his face and rubbing tenderly. 

“I was planning on it,” he says. He was shy at first, those first few kisses, but Spencer’s a person like any other and he squeezes your hips closer to his without further argument. 

Your phone stops ringing a half a minute later. You smile into his mouth, even more when his fingers climb the length of your spine to slip playfully under the clasp of your bra. “How many tries do I get?” he asks. 

You sit back just a touch to meet his charming gaze. “As many as you need, handsome… I’m very patient.” 

He pulls you in to kiss your neck just as his phone begins to ring. 

“It’s work,” he guesses, paused regretfully under your chin. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“That’s my ringtone for work.” 

You breathe heavily atop him. “Can’t we be late?” 

He smiles at you gently. “I’m sorry, angel. If we’re late again this week he might actually bite your head off.”

Things were so perfect. This was it, this was the moment you finally knew each other to the very core, and your stomach aches with how badly you want him. You're startled at the heat behind your eyes knowing it’s not gonna happen. 

“Not tonight,” Spencer says, like he can read your mind. Maybe he’d been thinking a similar thing. “But soon, okay?”

You wrap your arms around his neck. 

His phone stops ringing before he can catch it. Both of your phones ping with simultaneous text messages quickly afterward, before your ringtone begins again in earnest. 

He leans graciously toward the nightstand, allowing you to continue hugging him while also answering the phone. “Hello?” you ask. 

“Agent Hotchner’s calling you in.” 

You press your nose to Spencer’s shoulder. “Okay. I have Dr. Reid with me too. Please stop calling, we’ll be there as soon as possible,” you say, flustered. You hang up quick. 

Spencer pats your back with his fingers, palm flat to your shoulder, apparently the less gutted of the both of you at your missed moment. “Let me get you dressed, okay?” he says. “You’re too sulky. It wouldn’t have even been that good.” 

“How rude.” 

His teasing continues. “I’m serious. I haven’t been with anyone since that girl in Vegas–”

“What girl in Vegas?” 

“–and anyways,” he says, tilting your head back, his smile both playful and adoring at once, “you shouldn’t have been on top.” 

“Spencer,” you laugh, pressing your hand to your eyes. 

“I have a head full of statistics on female pleasure and I don’t need them to know you should be laying down when we–”

You kiss him. “That’s enough,” you say, pressing the tips of your noses together. “I get the picture.” Your arm curled around his neck feels right, and you’re heartbroken to let it slink back to your side, but you do. “I love you. I wish we’d chosen different careers.” 

“I love you, too, but I don’t. Then we never would’ve met,” he says simply.

You let out a happy breath. “I guess not.” 

Spencer hoists you off of his lap in an impressive show of strength, but then he dumps you in the mess of sheets, which is less lovely. “What do you want to wear?” he asks, springing up, heading straight for his closet. “I pressed your pinstriped dress yesterday, that would look cute with your stockings. And you won’t need a jacket, it’s hotter out there than it is in here. Why are you looking at me like that? We literally don’t have time for this.” 

You love him. You’re gonna rock his world when you get home. “The dress is fine.” You put your arms up in the air. “I’m waiting. And look! We’re half undressed already. How convenient.” 

#spencer and bombshell reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds

[astroterf-ed]

[resigned to reality but still in disbelief] girl there is no way I'm paying tuition only to teach myself.

#in like 1.5 of my classes I stg the teachers don't actually teach anything related to the work they're grading #and I'm only taking 4(now three cause my seminar was a half semester) classes #my bug class actually teaches #my museum class(seminar) actually taught #my writing class.... she lectures but it's totally unrelated to our writing and imo it's very surface level and she doesn't reach a lot of #conclusions about the text as a whole #like I see more in-depth and satisfying analysis in our weekly discussion posts #I feel bad saying that too because like she clearly does want us to do well and her analysis IS interesting #it just doesn't help with the assignments she gives us #my archaeology teacher teaches but then expects us to fill in a lot of gaps in his lectures ourselves including stuff that you would need a #JSTOR subscription for lol + when someone in class asked for sources we could refer to he said 'you can probably google it'[you couldn't] #and a different time he said 'look at the slides' which didn't contain enough info to match what he requested #and like I feel in those classes I'm just succeeding because of past stockpiled knowledge/ knowledge I would have acquired anyway and it's #driving me insane because like aren't you people supposed to be helping me lol + I WANT TO BE BETTER THAN I CAN MAKE MYSELF ALONE #I WANT TO BE AFFECTED BY OTHERS #but at the same time there's no [experimental] control so it's like maybe the lectures are having effects that i'm just not registering??? #april.txt #april.lore #this is the exact same fucking experience as high school except the teachers are less accessible and I'm paying for it #also in high school the lack of teachers' ability to help me was cause like... they'd try to explain things to me but I straight up didn't #understand so it was more effective to go online #not cause they didn't care/ weren't teaching their own curriculum #plus high school stuff is more google-able so it wasn't as much of a problem

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God’ For God cannot be tempted by evil.” James 1:13.

But Father Geto can be. 

Newly appointed Chaplain of the Noble Court, Suguru is a reformed sinner. Sanctity, discipline and celibacy are commandments of his choosing. A devout servant of the Lord. Armored with the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Shield of Faith. 

This should be sufficient enough to withstand temptation. 

Right? 

Pairing: Geto x Female reader 

C/W: Religious themes, dark romance, eventual filth. 18+. MDNI. 

A/N: Holy hell. Anon, you sick, twisted genius. You, the puppeteer. Me, the puppet who writes. This one — this story might be the one. Frothing at the mouth to know what you guys think. Going on AO3 for sure. I haven’t decided if I will keep this long fic series here, but since it was an anon ask its only right to honor them with the first chapter. 

Art credit: @ potchi_jpg on X

Music: Garden Kisses x Giveon (this was on a manic repeat for at least an hour. It wrote the chapter. I implore you to listen and levitate like I did).

CHAPTER I. Hello, Duchess.

Andesite. Dacite. Schist. 

Gorgeous. 

Suguru takes a mental note of the rock formations whizzing by just before he spears the Aegean Sea. Tailwind force trailing his feet in an elegant whirl.

Eh, mediocre landing. He’s out of practice. 

It’s true. Seminary did not allow for too much idle time in between biblical studies. Devil’s playground, and such. 

And it’s not in his nature to half-ass any life endeavor, whatever it may be. 

Suguru deftly levels out in the welcoming waves. Loose-limbed and fluid. Choosing to hover below her surface for a few moments longer. The tail end of his thick, singular French braid undulating behind him.

His body flows in tandem with the current. Swimming deep enough to scatter a pool of Fagri. He instinctively captures one in his large hand — not quite as out-of-touch as he thought. 

‘Make it to shore! If Poseidon calls, don’t answer Him, son!’

The gentle fisherman called out each time Suguru dove off their vessel. Still two or three, sometimes up to five miles from the coast, he’d plunge into the waters. Regardless of her mood, Suguru craved to be surrounded by her embrace. 

To be baptized by her tide. 

Showered with her salt of the earth. 

A dampened smile blooms across Suguru’s terse lips. Oxygen bubbles float about, from the muffled chuckle escaping him. 

His father’s voice rings between his ears. A little less clearly, nowadays. 

He always dove deeper than his fellow seafarers. Without the restraints of gear or protective equipment. Unnaturally comfortable in an element more labile than human nature. 

Suguru’s father mused about his Stormborn boy’s true lineage. 

‘Everyday, I prayed for you. Begged for you. And the God of the Ocean delivered a precious gift. Don’t return to His storms too soon.’

Fond memories, a little yellowed now. Callouses from those days have faded. 

Suguru is a different man. Born again. In a new country. With a new home, a new purpose. 

Even still, it’s comforting to know the world is 70% water, 30% land. And the Great Majority has always welcomed him with open arms.

No matter the iteration of his life, he’ll always find a home at Sea.

“Father Geto!”

What? 

Suguru begins his ascent. He is still by the cliff edge. Not nearly far enough for the Sirens to beckon. 

“Chaplain! Are you out there?”

Not even the saltwater penetrates his ears like this melody. 

An ethereal crescendo. With all the grace and beauty of a summer swan. Light enough to lull stoic men to a peaceful, permanent, slumber. 

More alluring. More disorienting than the songs at sea he’s heard and resisted. Potent enough to drown a warship. 

Who is calling for him?

Suguru chases the lethal sound. Careful pauses at each depth-level. To avoid returning to Poseidon’s storms too soon, as his father would say. 

“Father Geto!” 

Ahh, a voice he recognizes. His alter boy, Noel, at the peak.

Helios is kind, today. Because the Sun kisses Suguru as he breaks the surface. If the Ocean is his home, the Sun is certainly his lover. 

“What is it, Noel?” He calls in between strides to the volcanic edge.

“You have a visitor!” A tremble to Noel’s tone. Suguru cant help the low chuckle that leaves him.

Adolescents are always so anxious. Nervous about the most inconsequential, meaningless things. He was once the same. 

Who could be visiting? His schedule is supposed to be cleared today. 

Suguru laments leaving his clothing at the peak of the cliffside. Tossing a glance over his left shoulder - memories of his past life tattooed in various symbols. His back, covered in a sprawling trident. 

A permanent stain from the life he lived before this. It’s unbecoming of a priest to be seen this way. 

Latching onto the unforgiving rocky edges, Suguru scales the steep terrain in long steps and short holds. Serrated earth digs into his damp palms with each grasp.

He savors the pain. It’s familiar. An indication that he’s spent some time in the only other place he finds unfettered peace. 

“Noel, my schedule was cleared. Who could be—“

“Pardon my intrusion, Father Geto.” You seep into Suguru’s sentence, effectively answering his question. 

Music. 

Suguru nearly falls backward off the ledge he just set foot on.

Rumors about your beauty pollenated the compound for weeks. Anxiously anticipating your arrival. Hushed voices between maidens. Whispers within the walls of parlors. Bellowing gossip between court officials. 

All the words, all the speculations roll around Suguru’s skull. Louder than glass shattering in an empty room. 

They were wrong. 

Liars. 

Not even a tenth of the truth can be found in the frivolous ‘she’s a beauty’, ‘what a pretty face’ and comments of the like taking root in the compound. 

No, no. 

You were sculpted by every single Deity Suguru has ever studied.  

Because the One he has chosen to worship couldn’t have possibly crafted you alone. 

The good Lord is simply without the means.

Suguru will have to repent for that blasphemous thought later. 

…but God granted him eyesight, no? 

Eyes that can see underwater with the same clarity as a cloudless day. He trusts his eyes more than any part of his body. 

And they aren’t deceiving him. 

Flushed and turned away, Suguru takes a moment to soak you in, while patting himself dry. Maybe taking a little extra time to step into his khaki slacks and white button up. 

His wind pipe threatens to spasm with each sip of you he takes. 

Exquisite woman. 

You could convert a non believer in an instant. 

The gentle slope of your nose, those warmed soft, high cheeks deserve to be cherished in a museum. 

That dress. 

The tailor must’ve sewn it to your body in real time. Rolling hills and dips of your feminine curves. So quick to surrender to the ride your frame is taking him on. 

Suguru could fall to his knees and praise the Gods right here and now for their attention to detail. 

“Duchess? I’m embarrassed. Forgive my attire, I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

Still damp but fully clothed, Suguru walks forward with a steady hand outstretched. Intentionally skipping eye contact with Noel, who would’ve interpreted the glance as anger. The boy is practically vibrating in his periphery. 

Concerned about possibly making a mistake, sure. But if Suguru were still a betting man, he’d bet your presence is driving Noel’s rattled nerves. 

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness!” Unveiling your face to him with a gorgeous smile, you offer a delicate hand that drowns in his. 

Well.

To call it just a gorgeous smile makes him no better than the rumor mill and its grave underestimation. 

The air around him is sliced to a fraction of what it was. Suddenly gossamer thin and inadequate. 

You are breathtaking. 

“Please.” A deceptively even tone and casual wave of his hand. You wouldn’t know that words taste like sandpaper. 

“How can I serve you, Duchess?” 

“You do not have to address me as such, Father. I’m not wed, yet!”

Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you laugh. Heat scorches Suguru’s ears and you both are presently under shade. 

Do. Not. Covet.

“It’s all the same.” With a restrained smile, Suguru peels his eyes away from yours. 

Resting them on his rectory in the distance. He gestures his hands forward. Noel scrambles ahead of you two, undoubtedly to go tidy the chapel (that is already spotless). 

“You’re quite the swimmer.” 

You could assassinate him, you know. 

With that voice of yours. The way it stuns his senses. Far more dangerous now that it isn’t dampened by unrelenting waves. 

Suguru is a strong swimmer. He knows it. Noel knows it. The whole court knows it. Great Whites know it. 

So why is his spine unraveling at its seams when you say it? 

Why is his heart knocking against his sternum like it’s on the run from something? 

From someone, rather. 

“Mmm.” Suguru hums through closed lips. 

Unable to acknowledge the compliment with decorum. He opts for diversion instead. 

“Duchess, if I may. What prompted your visit to the chapel? How can I serve you?” 

The two of you take lazy strides along the cobblestone path. You ogle at a white rose bush that Suguru is particularly fond of. 

“I was touring the compound and noticed the garden surrounding the Church.” 

A distracted response, while nestling your nose in a pretty bloom. Sun rays fanning your face as if to showcase that you’re God’s favorite. A biblical example of how flowers should be enjoyed.

Is it just the roses? Or are you this beautiful no matter the plant?  

“Ahh. Come, then.” 

You’re being indulgent, Suguru. 

Maybe so. But the Chapel Grounds are his domain. The greenery lives and breathes under his fingertips. He adamantly refused a groundskeeper for the garden. Taking pride in nurturing its needy existence. 

Second only to his eyes, Suguru trusts his hands fully. They’re intelligent. Fast. Expansive. 

Definitive. Firm when the situation calls for it, yet gentle. Quick to learn. 

Attentive. 

He’s never gotten a shortage of compliments on his hands—

“Wisteria!” You torpedo through Suguru’s rapidly disintegrating spiral. And he couldn’t be more grateful. 

Regaining a shred of control, he leads you under the oak archway. Draped in curtains of Wisteria. The billowing lilac petals sway romantically in the sea breeze. 

Your lips hang open in a pretty, shocked ‘Oh.’ Eyes wide, gazing up at him in wonder. Adoration woven into those beautiful features slams hot and heavy into his lower abdomen. Remnant embers warming below his belt line. 

Suguru coughs to reset his over-sensitive senses. A futile gesture because you knock him right back down to his knees. 

“Oh, Father…..please?” A soft plea rolls through the slit in your lips. Pulling his eyes down to your pout.

Fuck. 

The rock formation Suguru took note of earlier suddenly materializes in his throat. You coated his honorific in a new tone. Breathy and desperate. As if he is the only person who could satisfy your needs. 

His skin is half a degree away from melting clear off his skeleton under those big, warm eyes of yours. 

“Specify your request, Duchess.”

Both hands jam into his pockets so he can dig his nails into his thighs unnoticed. The searing pain tethering him to this dimension. 

A deep rose blooms over your cheeks. Realizing you hadn’t actually asked him a question before begging. 

So, prettily. 

“May I please tend to your garden? It’s…I’m far from home and gardening brings me so much joy. Please, Father Geto—“

“Yes.” 

His agreement comes well before Suguru is ready. Or, thought it through. 

Should a noble woman be seen doing tasks as menial as gardening? 

Should you be seen without your fiancée on his grounds? 

What will you look like? 

Kneeling over a bed of sunflowers? 

Kneading the soil with your delicate, small hands—

“How can I thank you?” Your lips curl into an intoxicating smile. And Suguru no longer has the capacity to be in your presence. 

“No need, stay as long as you like. I have to take my leave.”

Suguru offers a curt wave and terse smile before spinning on his heel. Leaving you, a work of art, beneath the masterpiece that is his arc of wisteria. 

He barrels down the Chapel corridors at light speed. The pews, confessional, meeting rooms whirl by his periphery in a drunken haze.

Cold water. Cold water. 

The wooden bathroom door creaks and wails beneath his harsh touch. Suguru fumbles with the two-level lock.

He nearly strips down naked. The fire incinerating him from within is unbearable. If there were scissors within grasp he would’ve cut his braid completely off. Because even the familiar sway of his waist length mane along his back is too much. 

You are too much.

Suguru’s fingers unravel his braid and reposition his locks into a tight bun. Off the damp skin along his neck. 

‘Father….please?’

Your voice echoes from Suguru’s incapacitated brain down to his drooling cock. Icy water splashes against face. 

Suguru’s length has been weeping since you first revealed your face to him. Twitching and thrashing with every single word that came out of that pretty, sinful mouth. He’s never been so grateful that today he chose to swim with compression gear, rather than his usual bared skin. 

Are you doing this on purpose?

Wide eyed and demure. But with a voice more beautiful than any siren that has tried to lure him to his watery grave. 

Is this a test?

Suguru’s fingers desperately grasp the golden cross around his neck. Digging the symbol into his palm. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” He starts. Ignited, smoldering violet eyes staring back at him are unrecognizable. 

They are not of God. 

They are dark. 

Lust filled. 

“Now. And…and at the hour of our death.” Words slip through his gritted teeth. His other hand grips the sink edge. 

‘May I please tend to your Garden?’

“God. Please.” Suguru is the one pleading. To anyone above.

For self-control. For reprieve from the shape of your lips when you beg. His cock bucks against his inner thigh. Demanding attention to the ache between his legs. 

Are you Eve? 

Have you come to destroy his Eden?

Your delectable mounds barely hidden beneath that fucking dress as the Apple?

“Holy…Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners.” His vice grip around the cross tightens. Babbling words he hopes can provide him with some restraint, some clarity.

They don’t.

Because his other hand now hovers over the pulsating bulge in his slacks. His manhood starved. Especially having been deprived of touch. Of warmth for longer than Suguru remembers.

“Holy…Mary…fuck.” Blasphemy rolling off his tongue. 

Scorching heat radiating from his hovering palm pierces his clothing. Encasing his cock like a warmed blanket. Enticing him like the soft sex of a woman. Every single muscle is under wire tension. Forcing space between his need and his hand. 

His hands. Don’t forsake him now. He trusts his hands. 

“Father Geto? Are you alright?” Noel’s call from the other side of the door startles Suguru still.

“I’m—“ Suguru clears his dry throat “I’m alright, Noel. What do you need?”

“I saw you run in here and—“

“I’m okay.” Suguru replies, more softly this time. The boy is almost too tender-hearted for his own good.

He doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief. 

“I left your updated schedule on your desk.” 

“And what would I do without you?”

Suguru can almost hear Noel smiling across the barrier. Gleefully padding away. Completely unaware that his presence was the saving grace from disgracing himself. 

Another splash of cold water on his face and multiple deep breaths later, Suguru finally gains enough composure to emerge. 

Curious about the updates to his schedule, he strides to his office. A leather folder awaits with his itinerary.

Saturday: 0800 - 1000- Youth lecture 

Saturday: 1800 - 2000 - Evening mass

Sunday: 0700 - 0900 - Morning mass

Sunday: 1300 - 1400 - Pre-Marital Counseling [CONFIDENTIAL] 

“High court, then.” Suguru muses to himself. Pulling out the envelope with a matching demarcation. Meant for his eyes only. Should the seal be broken en route to the recipient the offender could be sentenced to death for treason. 

And at this moment, Suguru finds that fate less painful than the spear currently piercing his lungs.

His eyes burn into the names written at the bottom of the page.

The Duke Ahriman  & The Duchess-to-Be.

Chapter II

E/N: Hello from [redacted]. I am literally losing my shite. I’m already in love with the plot before it has even fully materialized. And prince-of-the-sea-Suguru? This headcannon has me in a chokehold I fear. Thank you for reading 💋

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto x you #suguru geto smut #geto smut #suguru smut #jjk suguru #geto suguru #suguru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk angst #priest smut #jjk geto #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #jjk fanart #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto suguru x reader #jjk fic #geto angst #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

[sanakimohara]

“DDLG” H. H. Pt. 2

A/N: Someone made this request and I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT WHEN I TRIED TO ANSWER THEM….i almost had a breakdown from the guilt (I’m so sorry love) but here’s more DDLG Hyunjin for you guys 🖤

[ MDNI ]

++++++

Dom Hyunjin has you spoiled rotten to the core. His card lives in your hand and he loves it. “Daddy, look what I bought today. It comes with this too..” you show off everything you get and he’ll sit there admiring it all. His spending isn’t deemed a reward for you. No, it’s more of a natural instinct of showing his affection towards you, and his giving nature only makes you softer for him. He gives and you take.

Dom Hyunjin is a borderline hard dominant. He lets you get away with a lot of things if you’re in public but when you’re alone you pay the price tenfold. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t work on him often. Acts of submission do. “You want to be forgiven that bad?” “If you’re really sorry do as your told, baby doll.” “Stop crying. You asked for this, remember?”

Dom Hyunjin will mock you. He loves it, mirroring your pathetic pleads and dramatic pouts. He could be pressing your tear stained face into the pillows, laughing softly as you cry and tremble underneath him. You know he doesn’t mean any harm by it but the notion that he could care less turns you on more than you care to admit.

Dom Hyunjin gets possessive so easily. He’s not particularly fond of anyone eyeing you for more than two seconds. When you’re out together he’s got a causal grip on you. An arm around your waist or a firm hand on your lower back. Doesn’t matter to him as long as you’re in line of reach. It’s comforting on a surface level but you know he’s being discreetly territorial.

Dom Hyunjin likes to get a before and after shot of you everytime he fucks you. It’s a common habit you don’t entirely understand but find oddly endearing. Seeing your makeup so elegantly done just to be ruined with tears and a mixture of cum brings a smile to his face without fail. He’ll sneak in some pictures of you sleeping, all worn out, and curled into his side.

Dom Hyunjin prefers you wear skirts or dresses around him. If you add stockings/thigh high socks with it he inevitably trails after you all day, waiting for the perfect moment to bend you over and get a much a deserves taste of your cunt. You can try and swat his hands away or telling him “No, not now daddy. I’m busy.” He won’t hear a word you say, pushing your skirt above your hips, and kneeling to kiss the curve of your ass. “Don’t mind me then.” He murmurs against your skin, tracing your slit over your lace panties with two fingers, and you give in with a soft moan.

Dom Hyunjin sends you gifts when he’s away. Some are sentimental, intricate flower bouquets, personalized jewelry, and anything he finds particularly cute that he knows you’d like. You have a growing collection of designer products/clothes he’s given you. Never, once have you complained or wanted to return something because he doesn’t make a mistake…ever.

Dom Hyunjin lets you play with the rings on his hand when you’re bored, secretly adoring the way your fingers glide through his, and the slight size difference between them. Sometimes you don’t realize you’re doing it as a way to cope if you’re anxious.

Dom Hyunjin gives you random head pats when you’re completing a task. “Look what I made, daddy! Lix helped me..” you beam a smile at him, holding up the platter of fudge squares you’ve made, and he can’t help but to praise your efforts. “They look amazing, baby.” He compliments you softly, tousling your hair just a little as you giggle quietly, and hold up a piece for him to taste. He’ll gladly take a bite, letting half of it melt on his tongue before offering what’s left to you. “Open,” he commands gently, smiling as your lips fall apart, obediently accepting the treat with a smile.

Dom Hyunjin styles your hair a lot. Especially during aftercare -he’s adamant about brushing through it a hundred times, gentle as ever with you, and tying it back with a bow/ribbon of your choice. You doze off quickly each time, genuinely comforted by the gesture. Even in public he’ll play with your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear if it’s out of place, or fluffing it to frame your face perfectly.

Dom Hyunjin travels with you frequently. Flying from country to country is common for you two but doing it together is exceptionally exciting. It’s not everyday you get to spend a week in Paris before landing in Japan the very next day. “Can we go to the Sanrio store in Tokyo tomorrow?” He looks up from scrolling on his phone, squinting as he thinks of an answer, and eventually he nods in agreement. “We can. After the campaign shoot though. How’s that sound, baby doll?” You grin at him and rush to plant a kiss on his cheek to which he steals one from your lips. “That works for me…”

Dom Hyunjin doesn’t set too many rules for you. He’s aware you’re capable of taking care of things yourself, that you’re independent, and headstrong. However, when you do want to release control to him the transition is seamless. He can read you like a book when it happens. How quiet you get in public or gravitating to him at events. The slightest expression in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know. He’ll do any act of service for you, lace up your heels, order your meals, and carrying your belongings or bags. Princess Treatment galore.

+++++

Like I said someone requested this but I accidentally deleted it when I tried to reply to it….🖤 so I’m really sorry and I hope they see this and know it’s for them 😭🖤

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

His “Yes…” in the audio….???? that’s exactly how he’d sound saying it to you. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. 🖤 Credits to the creator fr 🖤

#skz #stray kids #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz x reader #hwang hyujin imagines #hyunjin hwang #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin series #hyunjin headcanons #hyunjin x you #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin stray kids #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin #hyunjin hard thoughts #hyunjin hard hours #kpop smut #ddlg18 #ddlgsub #ddlgdom #ddlgcommunity

[mecachrome]

not sure whether excerpts from oscar's book have alr been posted here but i found some of the quotes from the author's exclusive interviews with j.sera & rené quite interesting and thought i'd gather them in one place ❓__❓

i always love hearing insights on his karting days and how his unique rc bg & transition from australian to european karting shaped his racecraft... also notable that Every Single person who ever speaks about oscar is just like "well more than anything... he was SMART" 😭 obsessed with baby oscar already learning to dispense his energy in understated / calculative / strategic ways... more below the cut:

another thing i find quite interesting is how because oscar started karting in a relatively smaller scene that wasn't quite as competitive or talent-heavy as in europe, he was always too young/small for the classes he competed in (as with rc racing). of course he was never quite as egregiously undersized as lando but it's kind of fun that they have very similar karting lore in that aspect. not from the book but self-provided visuals:

also love how much the seras talk about his style, from his smooth inputs and clean driving to how much open-wheel potential he exhibited from the very beginning T__T

as for rené's insights on oscar's time at prema, i also find them interesting because while they corroborate a lot of surface level details about his junior campaigns that we're alr familiar with it's cool to be reminded of his growth from f3 (zero front row starts, winning more off consistency and competitor error than any personal dominant performance) to putting it all together in the second half of f2 (consecutive run of poles/fr wins to end the season).

also interesting to hear that THE most angry rené ever saw him was after his f3 monza penalty, because oscar's demeanor & reactions to adversity get discussed a lot and while he's always been very level-headed and i'd argue his core personality has not changed much if at all over the past 5 years, you can still see how he was just that touch less filtered and more defensive during his junior days. oscar is definitely still someone who refuses to take blame if he knows he wasn't at fault and who will never give credit to others when the work was mostly done by him ("i was the one driving" re: mweb helping him) but there has been a fairly noticeable growth curve from the guy who said he felt Physically Weak at the fr finale because of how nervous he was, who said he was grateful to be in school because it distracted him from his "habit of overthinking" that he was trying to get rid of, who complained extensively at monza about the novalak / beckmann incidents and then said "seems to be quite a common theme with liam if i'm honest 😐" re: continued contact in the press conf, to the guy today who reacts to deleted laps with a dry 👍 and stealthily downplays racing incidents to the point of not even calling them "incidents" at all.

there's also a bit from rené about how close he is to chris piastri and how he traveled to melbourne from italy Solely to attend his 50th birthday party, and basically how the piastris are just Good People and that oscar's demeanor is what sets him apart. which i thought was sweet :')

also bonus interesting media quote from laurent rossi, which i've seen before but don't remember in its entirety — specifically the part saying that the other academy drivers "weren't as curious" and basically calling oscar the only smart one of the bunch.... 😭😭😭 this freaking guy

#oscar piastri #text #*m #prob not v interesting but i wanted to save these somewhere ! 0 desktop organization going on here

[comicaurora]

I've started making my way through the playlist hbomberguy made of actually good video essays by queer creators and spotted a comment of yours on the one about the relationship between Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, which was fun xD red in the wild!

Anyways, just wanted to appreciate how both you and Blue and you are very good at showing your sources! It's always nice to know that the people you've watched for years have good habits after an event like this, and I hope you guys are among the people that get some new fans after this whole debacle, because your channel definitely qualifies for "good educational videos made by queer people"

I'm glad! Blue's much better about listing his sources and follow-up reading than I am.

To be honest, I loved the video, but my imposter syndrome always flares like crazy when I watch an essay like that. It might be the ADHD or it might just be who I am as a person, but I feel like I've lived my whole life striving to make everything I do the best it can be, and still managing to fuck up and get criticised for things I could've done better if only I never missed anything. It's an actual gut-drop when it turns out a source I used wasn't trustworthy, or when in older videos I only went wiki-deep for some claims and didn't check every source to be 100% sure I wasn't being goat-fish'd. And this being the internet, I can get criticized at any time for things I've gotten wrong years ago, since it's evergreen online and to the new-viewing critic it's as fresh as yesterday. It makes it hard for me to stay proud of my work past the first moment of "oh I would've done that different now". There's a cocktail of complicated, scary feelings around this space, no matter how little I actually have in common with the bad guys of this scenario - it's less about the reality and more about who my imposter syndrome tells me I am. I saw several people saying that the video actually made them feel much better about their own work because it made it clear that accidental plagiarism on that scale is impossible, but if my anxieties listened to reason I would've successfully machete'd them out of my skull years ago. I just hope I never fuck up badly enough to deserve an hbombing of my own.

But my own stress aside, the hbomb essay exposed a level of laxness, laziness and entitlement on the part of these plagiarists that I think is almost incomprehensible to people who actually create for a living or even just the joy of it. How hollow do you have to be to take in someone else's writing and not consider it, digest it, let it reshape your views and then formulate your own interpretation on it, but instead to file off the serial numbers and pretend it's yours, trusting that the person whose thoughts and words you valued enough to steal will never be powerful enough to call you out on it? I go down research rabbit holes because I love the frustration and thrill of putting something together! How joyless it must be to skim the surface and borrow someone else's conclusions!

I've sometimes had people email asking for sources on parts of my interpretation of various myths, possibly in the interest of source-citing for school papers (a nightmare concept in and of itself) and with very few exceptions I usually have to tell them "the only sources were the english translations I used of the primary source where the myth was originally written, like I said in the video, and the part where I said I was conspiracy-boarding has no source other than my own analysis of the given source, which is why I called it conspiracy-boarding" and I was always a little baffled by those emails - half the videos are introduced like "this is The Prose Edda" or "this is in Ovid's Metamorphoses" or "this bit is Hesiod" so what else could they want - but seeing the hbomb of the week made me realize that truly original analysis might not be what most people are expecting from a "thing summarized." They might be expecting a compilation of other people's summaries instead.

#asks #not aurora

[ghost-bxrd]

Do you have more fae!Dick headcanons, but from the batfam or his friends pov? 🥺

Check out this awesome post for a phenomenal addition to the Fae verse!

But in case you wanna stick with only Dick being fae, here’s some more headcanons for you, hehe ✨ I can never say no to doing more 👏

I don’t know enough about Dick’s friends to do a good pov for them, but here’s Bruce and Jason for now 💚

Bruce

Bruce knew something was other about Dick from the moment he started screaming when his parents fell and every single animal inside the circus went wild

Dick is a strange child. he never lies, but he’s got this uncanny ability to maneuver around the truth and make it bend to his will. It comes in handy during his Robin days, but Bruce will be the first to admit it creeps him out a bit. Even thinks that sound like a lie on surface level and up being truthful. To the letter.

Contracts. During their time as Batman and Robin, Bruce unknowingly enters into multiple little deals with Dick without being aware of it. Dick never takes advantage, but there’s one instance where Bruce finally realizes how important it is to leave absolutely no loopholes in orders or wordings when Dick nearly kills someone and it still falls into the terms of their agreement

The manor. Things have never been completely normal about the ancestral home, but with Dick around the walls seem to breathe. There’s always a light on behind some window even when it’s late and Alfred is long asleep. At night something scratches along the walls and the scent of rain and mushrooms lingers in the air. Neither Bruce or Alfred ever find its source. Hallways become long and winding when you’re half asleep. The walk to the restroom ends up being at least ten minutes.

Bruce yells at Dick and uses his full name for the first time and Dick just— folds. It’s not his true name, but he treats it as such. And Bruce is horrified at the way Dick’s entire form seems to warp and gain new joints and twist itself outside the human imagination. But then he blinks and it’s just Dick again, glaring balefully, hissing at Bruce not to use his name in anger. Ever. Bruce is too startled to do anything but promise he won’t.

Promises. Dick uses them sparingly, but when he does he upholds them with a vengeance. Bruce learns to never, ever make Dick promise something that will endanger him. Because dick would still follow through on it blindly.

Promises made by other people. Dick becomes vindictive if he thinks someone isn’t upholding their end of the bargain. The first time it happens, a simple thing about being home in time for dinner, Bruce got assaulted by rabid deer with curiously sharp teeth on his way to the car. In the middle of Gotham City. Bruce and Dick have a serious talk afterwards.

Jason

Dick is less than thrilled when Jason is declared Robin. Fae are possessive. That’s his name Bruce gave away. That’s his family Jason is infiltrating. Dick wants Jason gone. (Bruce barely manages to stop the murder of crows from shoving Jason off a roof)

Jason doesn’t realize there’s a pissed off fae out for blood. Bruce has a hard time rallying Dick, but he manages. Ergo; Jason thinks the manor is the best thing since sliced bread and he’s super excited about meeting Dick. He joins Alfred in making Dick’s favorite meal for his official visit and unknowingly ends up winning Dick over with it. An offering of favored food to fae creatures goes a long way in earning their favor. And Dick is no different. It helps that the food is genuinely delicious and Jason jumps at the chance to refill his plate. Jason unknowingly dodged a bullet there.

Dick becomes protective of Jason. Jason is his now in the same way Bruce and Alfred are. They’re human. He’s fae. They’re so very vulnerable and susceptible to injury and manipulation.

Jason avoids wandering the halls of Wayne manor alone for the longest time because he always feels there are eyes following him. (They are.)

The manor, reacting to Dick’s inherent magic, shortens each of Jason’s routes. It creeps Jason out even more

Sometimes there are feathers at the foot of Jason’s bed. He doesn’t know what kind of bird they could be from. When he shows them to Bruce the man just sighs

Jason has a temper tantrum and retreats into the woods behind the manor. He can’t find his way back until he calls out for Dick and suddenly the manor looms behind the next tree

#fae dick grayson #faerie folk #pagan folklore #the things that live in the woods #I’m not going with traditional fae I’m going with the creatures my family told me about #they undoubtedly are fae #just not the ones usually portrayed in media #it’s the old folklore handed down through generations #jason todd #batfamily #dick grayson #batfam #bruce wayne #robin #headcanons #ghost talks

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

i can't stop thinking about Hawks getting pissed during an interview where another pro hero makes a remark about how Hawks pretty little sidekick could do so much better at their agency,,, and he has to sit there and play nice but once it's over hes allllllllllll over her,,,,, yea <3

I was at a con when I got this request and it got me giggling out loud and shit.

This took so long to write because I had writer's block, but I hope you like it <3

Warnings: the tiniest bit of spice, basically just enhanced making out, I tried to make this one a bit more fluffy, language, a random oc because I couldn't really think of any other pro-heroes within the age range who were assholes

Word Count: 2.5k

"And now for our next set of guests, I would firstly like to introduce the primary reason that half of our female viewers tuned in tonight."

The live audience erupted into applause as the pro made his way onto the stage, waving a hand before running it through perfectly-styled golden bangs.

The host, a middle-aged man with strikingly purple hair met him halfway. "Hawks, how are you doing tonight?"

"I'm doing great." He smiled, perfectly aware of how easily that grin could melt hearts. "Happy to be here."

"We're happy to have you!" The host reflected his expression, flashing a set of teeth that were so flawlessly white it was almost unnerving. "And next up, we have another hero slowly climbing up the ranks, the Hound Hero, K-Nine!"

Another man hopped on to the stage, earning another round of cheers from the crowd in front of him.

Umber hair had been wrapped into an unkempt bun, matching the deep shade of his eyes. He could be considered pretty attractive, Hawks supposed, if you could look past the ears poking past the up-do.

Although he didn't know the hero's legal name, nor did he care enough to look it up beforehand, he was ninety perfect positive that it started with the letter 'K.'

Cheesy, but he wouldn't judge. He'd been known to appreciate a good pun.

What he didn't appreciate was that fact that he PR rep had dragged him to another interview on his supposed day off.

Still, he was better than most at keeping up appearances, flashing that heart-stopping grin and throwing in a clever comment when the time called for it.

The host asked the usual questions, the similarities to K-Nine and himself, even though he was sure that those ended at their shared animal-based quirks and the fact that they were both in their mid twenties. Regardless, anyone with eyes would see that the two could barely be considered to be on the same level, something that brought an air of dullness to the interview.

As usual, the winged pro found it difficult to pay attention, leg bouncing in anticipation of how long he would be stuck here. That was one of the less-apparent downsides of being someone who prominently valued speed; sitting through such monotonous situations was quite the feat.

Instead, he droned out the voices as the men across from him started to discuss the importance of sidekicks.

And that's when he heard your name.

He perked up, immediately recognizing that K-Nine was staring in his direction, wolfish grin only accentuated by the sharpened canines poking out from under his lips. "I gotta say, I'm jealous."

Hawks cocked an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

Nodding, the brunet allowed the surface-level authenticity to settle for a moment. "Someone as cute as that? I don't know how anyone there manages to get work done."

It was almost unnoticeable, practically unseen over the televised pixels many were watching through. Regardless, the slight tense of his wings in pure irritation was undeniable.

So, that's what this was about.

Forcing a smile, he replied. "Considering our criminal apprehension rates, I think you'd be surprised."

K-Nine leaned back into his chair, haughty expression flickering between the good-hearted playfulness he was supposed to be exuding. "All I'm saying is a pretty little thing like that could do a lot better at my agency."

Golden eyes narrowed slightly as the connotation, fingers digging into the plush sofa as he used every bit of mental strength to will the spite from his tone. "As far as I know, all of my sidekicks are perfect content to work with me. Just like I'm sure yours are happy to work with you. Not sure how they handle all the fleas, though."

The cluster of people in front of him busted into laughter, and he joined, but the sound seemed to be laced with a soft malice if you managed to listen hard enough.

Playing nice for the public was one of his strong suits, and considering his resilience in a long-term business relationship with Endeavor, he could rightfully say that he was able to handle difficult personalities.

All that tolerance seemed to fly out the window when it came to you.

And the hero across from him either had the social recognition skills of a goldfish, or was too dumb to care.

Regardless, K-Nine turned to the audience. "Come on, I've got a chance, right?"

Some man in the crowd let out a whistle and Hawks felt a compelling urge to hurl a shoe at his nose.

"Speaking of romance," the host verbally silenced the room, making Hawks more grateful than he thought momentarily possible, "I've got to ask, anyone special worthy of a mention?"

Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief, the inquiry signaling the closure of the interview, which had seemingly gone on for a few decades at the very least.

It was always like this, the same question would be asked, and then he'd give the same bullshit-answer about the love from his fans being more than enough.

Fuck, how great would it be if he threw your name into the mix.

That'd shut that arrogant mutt up real quick, that's for sure.

But he'd keep his mouth shut, if not for his own benefit, but for yours.

With your take-down rate, it was blatantly how talented you were as a hero and, even if it wouldn't be many, Hawks would be damned if anyone questioned your acceptance into his agency.

In all honesty, he had initially recognized your power and intelligence, traits that had gotten you the job in the first place.

It was in those first few months that he had begun to realize how much he liked you, how much he liked to watch you kick ass, or how pretty you were, even if it was preposterously early in the morning.

So he'd stay quiet, if only to keep a few impudent naysayers off your back.

Not to mention that you might wring his neck.

Instead, Hawks sat simmering with annoyance on that plush sofa until the cameras were cut and he was forced to shake hands, first with the host, then with his fellow interviewee for the night, the latter receiving the tiniest bit more squeeze.

The night was cold but he opted to fly back to his agency, allowing the chill tangle through his hair and hopefully disperse some of the vexation he desperately needed eradicated.

Besides, driving would mean lesser access to his office skylight, which also meant a long-ass elevator ride that he didn't have time for.

It was unlocked, thankfully, and he slipped into the room. He moved to shrug off his jacket, but paused, double taking at the light blooming under the thin fracture between his door and the marble flooring.

Obviously, he wasn't scared. Anybody would have to be pretty idiotic to attempt robbing a place belonging to the number 2 hero, and even more so to leave a light on.

Regardless, he stayed quiet, hoping to avoid an unnecessary interaction with a coworker he didn't have the patience for, and crept around the corner, expression softening a bit at what he saw.

It was you.

You were huddled over your desk, typing furiously at some important looking document. The computer screen illuminated your features, casting a dull glow over the otherwise unlit room.

Hawks recognized the soft tense of your eyebrows every few seconds, the way that you would pause to collect your thoughts because issuing that recognizable click-clack of your keyboard in focused chunks of writing.

He leaned back on the wall, arms crossed as he watched you work with a fond grin gracing his features.

After a while, you sighed, taking a moment to rotate the stiffness beginning to take place in your neck. Your gaze lazily flit over the room and you jumped. "Fuck!"

"Wow, that took you forever, sweetheart," he sighed, tilting his head in a teasing inquiry. "Do we need to work on awareness skills with the other sidekicks?"

"If you're gonna keep lurking behind corners like the boogeyman, then probably." You rolled your eyes, allowing his petname to settle in your mind. "And I thought I told you not to call me that during work."

"Why? Because you get all blushy and embarrassed?" He pushed off the wall, strolling over and nestling his head on your left shoulder.

You tensed a bit as he arms snaked over that of the chair, hands wrapping around your torso. "I don't."

The hero laughed, pulling at your cheeks like he could feel the heat creeping into him. "Work hours are over anyway. Which means that you should be here."

"I need to finish this report." You nodded to the screen as if to prove your point, eyes narrowing as he continued to bury his face into your neck. "Are you okay?"

He paused, eyebrows furrowing as he backed away. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You get extra clingy when you're upset. Did something happen at the interview?"

So, you hadn't seen it.

"How dare you," the faux-hurt lacing his tone was a stark contrast to the satisfaction he felt knowing that you were close enough to recognize some of his physical tellers. Still, you didn't need to know that. "I do wonderful in interviews."

You smiled and he felt his heart melt. "Well, I'm just going to have to check and make sure."

Saving the work on your current tab, you moved your mouse to open up a new one before finding YouTube, which would most likely already have clips of the program uploaded. You were barely hovering over the search bar when the man all but threw himself on to your lap, arms latching themselves around your waist. "Don't. There were so many annoying people there."

"I thought you had an avian quirk," you groaned, arms straining as you tried to detach his. "If you had boa constrictor powers then I would've liked to know."

He glanced up, eyes wide and oddly reminiscent of a child waking up his parents in the middle of the night. "I'll let you stay and work overtime if you let me hang out here for a while. It's been a very long day."

"Oh, I'm sure it has." You rolled your eyes, sighing in exasperation.

Despite the sarcasm, you succumbed to his request, letting go of his annoyingly firm grasp in favor of continuing to finish your report. Hawks found himself relaxing into your thighs, overly hyper brain surprisingly calmed with the muted tapping of your keyboard.

After a few more minutes, you shifted, pushing his unsuspecting form onto the floor and giving a laugh at the pout overcoming his face. "Bathroom. I'll be two minutes, at the very most."

It was, in fact, just past one-hundred and twenty seconds by the time you returned. The hero was currently taking up occupancy in your swivel chair, oblivious to the confusion at which you glaring at your phone with.

"Do you somebody named Kano Kirisaki?" You asked.

"Who?" He asked without looking up.

"The Hound Hero. He's somewhere in the late sixties on the charts, I think?" Despite your career as a pro-sidekick, you weren't exactly overly concerned with the rankings.

"Oh," he replied, ignoring the urge to add a 'called it.' A tic of annoyance threatened to emerge on his forehead, but he did his best to ignore it. "What about him?"

"I just got a text. The guy said that you gave him my number. Is that true?"

That made him pause.

"He said what?" The vexation simmering in his copper gaze was downright terrifying, only extenuated by the slow upturn of his chin as his eyes met yours.

"Apparently not." You made a beeline for the door, device still in hand and fingers typing away. "I'll just let him know that-"

Something whizzed past your face and you came to an abrupt halt, feeling the breath of air over your cheek as the object whirled by and just barely missed you.

You blinked, taking a moment to recognize what had just happened. You hadn't been hit, but the object previously in your hand?

Less lucky.

Spinning around in shock, you were met with the stupefied face of Hawks, who was currently staring in horror at the item stuck in the wall and the feather protruding out of it.

He just skewered your phone.

You turned again, silently walking over and yanking the hardened plume out before inspecting the damage. The screen had been shattered, the back cameras also blown to bits from the harsh impact.

"Oh, fuck." The hero stood, movements quick and panicked as he ran over to you. "Oh, shit. I am so sorry."

"What the fuck?" The sentence was less of an aggressive statement, more of an actual, bewildered question. Seeing as how completely flabbergasted you were, it was almost hard to be genuinely angry for the first few seconds.

"I swear, I don't know why I did that," he assured, running a hand through his hair in alarm. "But I'll get you a new one. That model was kinda old anyways."

You scoffed. "Oh, thank goodness. I was hoping to get a replacement. How wonderful that you happened to impale this one."

His arm caught yours as you turned to leave, forcing your line of sight to meet his. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Against your best efforts, you felt your chest lighten a bit at the tenderness he was regarding you with. It was almost impossible to stay cold when the guy you had been admiring for weeks was looking at you like that. "I just don't... I just need you to know that you can be honest with me. I don't know what's wrong, but if there's anythi-"

Your eyes shot open as his mouth smashed against yours, taking a pause before fluttering to a close.

One of his hands curled into your hair, the other finding its way around your waist. His kiss traveled over your jaw, trailing until it was above your collarbone.

With his enhanced senses, it was easy to tell what areas you were most sensitive. He relished in every pleasured breath, the way your heart rate would speed up when he bit down ever so gently.

It took a tangible amount of self-control to keep himself from jumping you when the smallest whine fell from your lips. Instead, he lifted his leg in between your thighs, watching your form falter as a spark of warmth shot through your abdomen.

You around an arm across his shoulder, an attempt to steady yourself as you watched him pull away, arrogant grin gracing his features and eyes glowing softly. Their soft luminescence was nothing less than beautiful and you silently questioned why you hadn't scheduled more late night patrols. His fingers grazed underneath your shirt, tickled the skin of your waist with their gentle warmth.

The breath had escaped your lungs, but it was nearly impossible to keep the smile from your features. "What the fuck happened in that interview?"

Hawks chuckled, touch brushing over the small mark on your collarbone that he had left behind. His heart jumped at the thought of leaving more, leaving zero questions about who you belonged to. "Nothing that you need to worry about, sweetheart."

It was less than a day by the time you got your new phone.

#mha hawks #bnha imagines #bnha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks bnha #hawks x you #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #keigo x reader #mha imagines #mha #bnha #hawks #hawks imagine

[gatorbites-imagines]

Would you do another Clark Kent X top!male reader with a scent/ musk kink?

Something like both the reader and Clark are kryptonians and scent is really important and strong for them. They’re having their like first time from being away from each other in a while and Clark goes feral for the readers smell.

Thanks for your consideration :)

Clark Kent x kryptonian male reader

Drabble

This took like three times as long as normal to write. This is also loosely inspired by this toecurlingly delicious ghostsoap fic I read the other day. Also, kryptonian headcanons be upon ye.

Theres no actual in hole action in this and its shorter than normal cuz Im trying out kryptonian words, so I’ll add a translation under the cut.

Zughozh = war suit, armor

Zrhymin = spouse, masculine

Zhao = romantic love, lust

Ugahn = mission, task, job

Usemehd = longing, craving

Vahn = passive form, to smell or sniff

Kolir = to touch or feel

Jurim = Skin

Wailagehd = satiation, fullness, wholeness

Shom = fire

Ehvahn = Active form, to smell or sniff

Eul = God

Eurredhuhs = shrine, church, temple

Zrhueiao = beautiful, appealing

The mechanical door barely shut behind the two of you before you were all over one another, hands grabbing at fabric and tearing, teeth biting, tongues licking, growls and purrs leaving the strange piece of biology your species possess in their throat and chest. A loud trilled noise leaves Clare as you tear the fabric of his Zughozh and dig your thumbs into the spot under his pecs, where humans have their solar plexus.

Clarks knees buckle like wet tissue paper as you massage at his sunspot, an organ settled in the same area as the solar plexus on humans, an area that stores the extra radiation you gather from the sun that isn’t used to sustain or give you power. Normally it means nothing, but between Zrhymin who share a deep zhao, the meaning it deeper, as the organ grows sensitive in response to one’s other half and their presence.

A long time has passed since you two have been together, separated by Ugahn, as your duties as heroes fill your lives so deeply. But it doesn’t stop the two of you from feeling the deep Usemehd for the others Vahn and Kolir, to rub and lick the heavy scents and musk off one another’s Jurim and make it part of oneself. You were less effected, as you had stayed on earth as Clark was away on his mission, giving you the ability to return to the fortress of solitude or your shared home to take in Clark’s scent and musk.

But Clark had had no one but himself for all this time, leaving him feeling empty and lacking Wailagehd, his inner most needs and cravings left longing and aching. Even as he would lay awake at night pleasuring himself to the thought of you, of your scent, of your strong musk, and the pheromones you carried that set him on shom. Even as he keened into the night, making himself finish over and over, always left lacking and empty without you there to purr at him, to touch him and rub your essence all over his Jurim.

Maybe it was because of your higher caste, born of a higher evolved stage of kryptonians, that left your scent so addicting to Clark. Left him feeling like an addict huffing your laundry and used towels as he jerked himself off, feeling like some kind of pervert. But the way you reacted similarly to his own scent, and how you were quick to spread his legs, or bend him over whatever surface present, told him you craved him just as deeply.

But the separation had left Clark so deeply Usemehd, that you found him collapsing to his knees, his strong grip tearing your Zughozh with a level of desperation and neediness you had so rarely seen from your Zrhomin. His face was quickly buried in the crevice between your thigh and your torso, Clark making sure to inhale and Ehvahn your very essence, his hands massaging and rubbing at you as if worshipping you like some type of Eul in a Eurredhuhs.

As your fingers run through Clarks curls, trying to pull him back so as to kiss him, your Zrhomin growls, his eyes cracking open just a smidge to glare at you with glowing red eyes. His lip pulls back just enough to show off his sharper canines, his action only causing soft laughter to leave you as you pull him closer to your body, letting him indulge himself as deeply as he wants.

His worship makes you throb, hard and leaking, something that only strengthens your musk and smells, which only seem to work Clark even harder. The steady drip drip drip you can hear between Clark’s thighs tell you he is just as soaked, his cum soaking through his boxers and onto the floor in a puddle, just from touching you alone.

He is Zrhueiao between your thighs, nose burying deeper into your crevices and musk filled areas, his wet tongue and mouth leaving you slick and heady, the guttural purrs passing your lips matching his own. Before the night is over, you will have covered Clark in all you are, as will he to you, and though only other kryptonians would be able to smell, it will settle something deep and primal in the both of you.

#male reader #kryptonian reader #clark kent #superman #dc #justice league #clark kent x male reader #clark kent headcanon #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #superman imagine #superman headcanon #superman x reader #superman x male reader #dc imagine #dc headcanon #dc x male reader #dc x reader #justice league headcanon #justice league x reader #justice league imagine #justice league x male reader #kryptonian biology #kryptonian headcanons #inserting my headcanons into anything i write involving kryptonians and no one can stop me #i stole the sunspot from a superbat fanfic

[wing-ed-thing]

Best Friend Headcanons with Izuku Midoriya

Tags: No Reader Pronouns, Classmate!Reader, Interpersonal Conflict

𓆃 Overall a solid friend who's gentle, considerate, and supportive of anything you could ever set your mind to, but your friendship will require a lot of work if it's reaching anything past surface level.

𓆃 Because, make no mistake, Izuku is a very good friend, but your relationship will either always be surface level or he'll become one of your very best friends for your lifetime.

𓆃 It's very easy to befriend Izuku in the first place. It takes less than one meaningful interaction to put you on his radar, and especially in group settings, time spent together doing activities is enough to naturally draw you close.

𓆃 Even if you weren't necessarily Izuku's friend in the first place, if Iida invites you both to his place for studying one week and Ochako invites everyone out to BBQ the next week, you're basically friends by proxy.

𓆃 Because Izuku doesn't care too much about the barrier between classmate/acquaintance and being friends. He'll most definitely care if you care, but that certainly doesn't stop him from awkwardly raving about your quirk or costume or other notable trait that's unique to you.

𓆃 Social anxiety be damned; he's curious!

𓆃 It also doesn't hurt that he's extremely easy to match energies with.

𓆃 And that's one of the most endearing parts of having Izuku as a friend, especially if you also have niche hobbies or special interests. Izuku is always eager to learn and spend meaningful social time.

𓆃 The hour doesn't matter; Izuku is always down to sit for any length of time in the common area at odd hours to chat or just share space.

𓆃 He's also surprisingly down for most anything short of criminal activity or rule breaking. Although, it does take some convincing.

𓆃 You and the rest of your friend group will want to grab fast food at an odd hour and it takes at least a half hour of warming Izuku up to the idea and talk him out of sticking too strictly to his sleep routine.

𓆃 The key is that you have to drop hints about it throughout the day to warm him up. You have the best record by far when it comes to convincing Izuku to take spontaneous trips or do spontaneous projects.

𓆃 (You convinced him to do a snack run in 5 minutes flat.)

𓆃 One fantastic thing about Izuku is that he never makes you feel like you're bothering him and always makes it abundantly clear that he wants to spend time with you no matter how mundane the activity is.

𓆃 He loves running errands to the point that somethings he'll run errands for you... and this is where you might run into some issues.

𓆃 For all of his overthinking, Izuku sure likes to assume. He likes to assume your needs; he likes to assume when conversations are over (even if you're bringing something serious up to him and you really need to talk it all the way through); and most egregiously, he often assumes your feelings.

𓆃 Izuku reads into everything, and there are times when the amount of reassurance he needs is excessive. And the worst of it is that he won't even ask if you're mad or annoyed or whatever negative emotion he's afraid of you having.

𓆃 He'll just be avoiding you for a few days and it's up to you to ask if anything is wrong with him.

𓆃 Or the times he comes to you, his way of asking can be presumptuous and sometimes even insulting.

𓆃 "I know you were outperformed by Komori in the last match-ups, and you're super angry— I mean, it's no wonder because, with her new support items, the matchup was super one-sided from the beginning, so I understand why you're feeling really useless and weak right now..." and he'll say all that without you having even said a word.

𓆃 This can inadvertently turn things that are occupying your brain space into issues with him. He'll express regret that he didn't help you more with your strategy— even if you didn't even ask him for help in the first place— and suddenly the conversation about feeling bummed about your loss has turned into comforting Izuku.

𓆃 And any kind of direct conversation leads to him trying to overcompensate. No matter how calm or peaceful you are in bringing up issues between the two of you, you can almost certainly count on him saying, "I'll never do it ever again," "I can't believe I've been such a bad friend," and "You don't deserve to have to deal with someone like me."

𓆃 While he's not trying to be manipulative, his words most definitely come off as such. And it comes from an inability to take things he's done wrong in stride.

𓆃 And this isn't to mention if you do something that bothers him. He'll ignore that and plan on taking it to his grave, not realizing that there's been an awkward resentment or tension building up that will inevitably burst.

𓆃 Although, make no mistake, Izuku isn't some passive guy who will take the hits as they come without a word. If he's not passive-aggressive in his anger toward you, he's not afraid to let everything he's been stewing in explode on you all at once, and those unfiltered thoughts can be nasty.

𓆃 For someone so well-spoken in most other parts of his life, Izuku doesn't know how to split the different between passive-aggressive avoidance and direct, emotional sputtering when it comes to his interpersonal conflict communication.

𓆃 The moment emotions get tied up in everything is the moment Izuku implodes.

𓆃 He'll never tell you that he felt left out of something or that something you've been saying has been rubbing him the wrong way, but he expects you to pick up on that without ever mentioning it to you.

𓆃 Depending on the level of issues you have with each other, you're going to have one serious conversation that makes or breaks your entire friendship. Because for how skittish and people-pleasing Midoriya is, he's surprisingly high maintenance.

𓆃 He expects, on some level, that everyone thinks like he does and is as thorough as he is. Izuku doesn't like having direct conversations about issues, so he doesn't until it's too late.

𓆃 And truly, isn't that how it goes when direct communication isn't within your wheelhouse?

𓆃 That's your main obstacle because it's truly bound to happen. But if you care about each other enough and choose to listen with open hearts and minds, you'll have made a friend for life.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

#izuku midoria x reader #izuku x reader #deku x reader #mha x reader #my hero x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #mha reader insert #deku headcanons #izuku headcanons #reader insert #x reader #my hero academia fanfiction

[petrichor-idyllic]

Hellooo how about a Minho x she/her reader where Minho has been hit by the lightning and hs the scars and one day Reader walks on Minho being half naked and she traces his scars and theres tension building up ;) THANK YOU

I love lightning scars Minho so absolutely.

This is a relatively new request, but I'm trying to get some of the easier ones done since I'm currently away.

And I just liked this idea.

SPARKS

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. After TDC in the Safe Haven. You're a Right Arm member because I just like the idea.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, spice, typical dumb horny teenage bullshit. That's it, really.

You're a member of the Right Arm.

You're not high-ranking or necessarily special. You just ended up tagging along after Vince came through the refugee camp you were staying at.

But that doesn't mean you don't do anything. You're bold and forward, and you went through life-risking measures to help WICKED's Subjects escape.

Because, well, everyone did.

That doesn't matter now, though. They're safe, you're safe - everyone is safe and everything is okay.

Well, kind of.

Trauma doesn't just vanish. But, people are getting on with their lives.

And so are you.

You've ended up befriending some of the Gladers. Originally, you were friends with Harriet and Sonya since they'd been around a while - and they introduced you to the boys. So, you've got your own little friendship group now.

You're particularly close to Frypan and have some friendly competition with Gally. But you like them all the same.

Well...

Almost.

You don't know what it is about Minho that has you in such a chokehold. Sure, maybe if you were some innocent girl from a Maze who didn't know how to act around boys, it would make sense. But you're not.

You've survived the Scorch and the land outside of the remainder of society. It's not like Minho is the first person you've ever been attracted to either. So, why does he make you feel like this?

Apart from the fact he is undeniably attractive.

You figure it's just dumb surface level physical attraction. And with nothing else better to do, you decide to test the waters a bit.

Glancing at him across the table as the bonfire dances and his friends chat, often meeting each other's gaze. He holds it longer than he should. He always does.

Always standing or sitting next to him; your arms or your knees brushing as neither of you make any effort to grow the distance between you.

Playful inside jokes that often have subtle suggestive undertones. Normally, in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it style that the other Gladers brush off or don't notice. This results in Minho smirking into his chosen beverage, drinking up your figure out of the corner of his eye.

It goes on like this for a while; just being in the same friend group with some subtle flirtations going on. It's actually kind of fun and a much needed way to relax.

But it doesn't actually go much further than that. And you're fine with that.

For a while.

The jokes start becoming more explicit. The eye contact becoming less subtle. The closeness becoming drunken dancing instead of just standing together.

People are starting to notice.

The dumb attraction is starting to become actual feelings. He's brave and strong and funny and everything you want - and it's just making the sexual tension thicker.

God - it's getting bad. Anyone and everyone in a room with you two would be able to feel it.

The Gladers often tease Minho about it, talking about how he's one wrong move away from ripping your clothes off and cracking where he stands.

It's taking a lot of resilience from the both of you. Especially since you're both stubborn - it's become a silent game of who will crumble first.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" You're currently sorting out bedding and hauling different types of sleeping arrangements around camp. With Gally being put in charge of the Builders now, the huts are being thrown up like there's no tomorrow.

The Gladers and other Maze Subjects got the first available buildings, along with high up Right Arm members. You don't really mind, to be fair, you enjoy the hammocks and are happy to help the Gladers.

But as Thomas shouts you, you groan, turning around, blankets threatening to spill out of your hold. "Hey, Thomas. You good?"

"Yeah," something seems off about him as he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, "I know you're already busy, but could you check on Minho for me?"

"Huh?" You tilt your head, concern immediately setting in. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"Uh," Thomas did not think this far ahead of his dumb plan. "Well, we just haven't seen him all day - seems kinda down. Figured you'd be the best person to speak to him."

This perplexes you. "Why me? You guys are closer."

And you could've sworn you'd seen Gally and Minho shoving each other about earlier today. Though, maybe you're just mixing up your days.

"Yeah, but he likes you, so..." You pause, farrowing your brows. He likes you? In what context? Like you know that he likes you. But... like, more than just the dumb flirting?

You shake it off. "Alright, gimme a second."

You dump the bedding off where it needs to be and make a beeline for Minho's hut.

Little do you know that Minho has just gotten out of the shower - and is completely fine. Thomas and Frypan decided they'd had enough of enduring the tension between you and this is the result that.

Reaching the door, it's slightly ajar, and in your concerned state, you, for some reason, decide not to knock.

"Hey, Minho, are you-?" You push open the door and immediately freeze.

Well, shit.

Minho stands with his back to you, loose sweatpants hanging off of his hips and he's without a shirt. He rubs his hair with a towel, freezing at your voice and turning slightly to look at you.

Which would be less awkward if you weren't in some kind of trance.

Minho is tall and muscular, and he doesn't have to be half naked for you to be aware of that. But, that's not what's stands out.

All over his upper body, mainly populating his back, are pinkish lines. They travel down his spine and split like webs across his back, some whisps creeping across his sides and grazing his front.

"You just gonna stare or ask me about it?" Minho says after a good few seconds pass.

What do you even ask?

"Uh, what... why..?" You trail off and Minho raises his eyebrow before scoffing.

"I got hit by lightning." He states matter-of-factly. "Ended up giving me some scars."

"When did that happen?"

"Out in the Scorch, just before we met Brenda and Jorge."

"And you never mentioned this?"

"Well, it didn't seem like a big deal," he smirks. "And I'm kinda enjoying the look on your face."

This kind of snaps you back into reality. You're here for a reason.

You clear you throat, closing the door behind you for more privacy just in case the ex-Runner is on the verge of a meltdown. "Are you... alright?"

"Uh, yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Minho is growing more concerned by the second. What is happening here?

"Well, Thomas said that something was wrong and asked me to talk to you."

Minho scoffs, putting the dots together and slowly nodding his head before rubbing his face with his hands. "Did he, now? Shuckin' slinthead. I knew they were up to something."

"Huh?"

"They're messing with you - us, even."

"Huh? Why would- oh! Oh."

Ah. That makes more sense. And is mildly mortifying.

"Yeah." Minho shakes his head, turning away from you again as he mumbles to himself. "Sorry, my friends are dicks."

"It's uh, fine. It's fine."

Your gaze falls back on Minho's chiselled form. He's practically mouth-watering.

And it's not like this is weird. You've been pushing each other's boundaries since day one. This could be another opportunity to see how far you can take things. I mean, he would if this were the other way around. So, with a sudden peak in confidence, you walk over.

Minho chucks his towel on his bed. "So, are you-?"

Minho doesn't even get the chance to finish his question as electricity sparks through him. Again. This time, not because he's nearly dying, but because your fingers graze his back.

His entire body stills, his mind immediately becoming foggy, and the hair on his arms stands on end.

"Do they still hurt?" You ask, your gaze focused on his skin and your voice low.

You're gentle in your moments, letting your fingertips barely tickle his flesh. But with the immediate and tense reaction, you're reminded that Minho is about as touch-straved as someone can get.

He's just good at hiding it.

"Uh, no, not really. They kinda feel weird sometimes, and I was really buggin' out about them when I first noticed them. But I guess I had bigger klunk on my plate." He tries to maintain his composure, but his voice wavers at several points.

You bring your hand higher, dancing across his spine and between his shoulder blades.

"Why were you buggin' out?" You've grown somewhat used to the Glader way of speaking.

He hesitates for a second, physically jumping when your other hand joins in, using your thumb to rub circles and pull at the scars threating to escape to his middrift.

"Well, I uh- shit," he mumbles the cuss word, stepping back more and into your touch, letting his head fall back. "I just... they just look weird, yanno?"

"I think they look hot."

Okay, you're becoming very bold.

"Hm? You think I look hot?" He asks, half-looking over his shoulder at you, not wanting to fully turn around and lose the feeling.

"That's not what I said."

"That's what I'm askin'."

You blink at him, watching his lopsided smile creep across his face.

In a game of confidence - Minho will always win.

Which means trying to play it cool.

"I just think scars are interesting, they tell a story."

"Do you go around touching everyone's scars, then?" He cracks a wicked grin you can't see as he turns his head away again. "That might get you in a bit of trouble around here."

"Yeah, but not with you." It actually is genuinely fun tracing the patterns in his skin. You have one hand following one path and the other following a different one.

"Oh, yeah? How do you know that?"

"Because you like it."

He peers at you again, his face suddenly serious and his tone lower than before. "You're really starting to push it, yanno that?"

"Push what?" You tilt your head, pretending to play innocent.

"You know what."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"So, you're just feeling me up because you think my scars are hot?" He scoffs. "That's what's happening here?"

You think for a second. Fuck it. "Yep."

"Well, there's more scars if you wanna touch them?"

Your eyes flicker to his face, letting your arms fall from his skin. He turns around, holding his hands behind his back, he rocks on his heels.

From his back, travelling to his front are smaller webs of the scarring. At first glance, you thought they only reached around his sides, but now you're realising there's thinner, less noticeable branches trailing across his abs.

He presses his lips into a thin line, almost like he's calling your bluff. Because this is the game you've been playing. Pushing each other. And you've pushed him so he's pushing you.

Though, this very well might end up being the breaking point.

Too stubborn to back down, your hand connects with his stomach area. He flinches, but very quickly relaxes again. You gently run your fingers across the lines and the curves of not only the remains of the electricity, but of just his body.

Your eyes flicker to his face as you expect him to make some cocky comment about how that's not a scar. But he doesn't. His eyes are fixated on your hand.

It's a feeling he's never really experienced before - watching someone enjoy him. Someone touch him with such care. With such want. Someone touching him like this at all is new.

And it's you.

You're the one touching him.

You.

And that's making it so much worse.

He doesn't make any effort to hide or stop the tightening sensation in his pants or the way his chest is rising and falling. His mind is falling into complete fog; he feels like he's taken something he probably shouldn't have.

You notice it, too.

"Minho-?"

"Shut up," he says almost immediately, eyes finally meeting yours. His pupils are wide and his eyelids heavy. "This... this isn't fair. You can't..."

He seems a strange mix of stressed and turned on.

"Okay, I'll stop," you pull your hand away, but he immediately grabs it, laying it flat against his middrift. "Minho?"

"Don't," he mumbles. "Don't stop." He can't look at you properly.

God, what's happening to him?

"Look," he continues, trying to gain some sort of clarity for a second. "If you're just messing around, that's fine, but leave now, okay? 'Cause this is getting cruel."

His words and the way he's acting is sending heat straight to your core. You step towards him, your faces inches apart.

"Are you caving, Minho?" Your voice is sultry as your hand slides further down his front.

"Are you?" He responds, leaning in further, your noses brush and you can feel his breath on your face.

"We can't keep doing this, yanno? One of us has to break eventually." You mumble, practically into his lips.

His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips.

"Shuck it," his hands come to your waist, yanking you closer as he finally kisses you. You squeak from the force behind it as you throw you arms around his neck, clawing into his back to try and steady yourself.

It takes a matter of seconds for Minho to spin you around, pushing you onto the bed, both of you tangling together. Desperation sets in fairly quickly.

Minho's hands under your shirt as you try to pull it over your head. His lips on your neck and chest as he slips a hand under you, trying to yank your jeans down. You leave stains on his skin from your nails.

It's a blur of emotion and hormones.

Then Minho hesitates as he sits back. At first, you think he's just admiring you as you lay in your underwear, but there's something else.

"You good?" You ask, becoming concerned.

"You know we're not gonna be friends anymore if we do this, right? Like the flirting and klunk is fun, but this is different. We can't take this back. A-and I've never done this before. I don't wanna shuck up our friendship or make things weird."

You blink at him before sitting up. He watches you as you move onto your knees and kiss him again.

"I don't wanna be your damn friend, Minho. Take the hint."

It's like there's a light behind his eyes, a smile creeping across his face, but unlike his usual cocky smirk, it's soft and warm and genuine.

He pecks your lips. It's sweet and unusual for him. "You wanna be more than friends, then?"

"Yeah," you chuckle, "but I'm sure we can worry about that later. We're a bit busy right now." You wrap your arms around his neck again, lightly touching the scars on his back. He grins at you, connecting your lips again as he pushes you down.

He pulls away, his teeth brushing your ear lobe as he lets out a low chuckle.

"Sounds like a good plan."

Here ya go, another spicey Minho piece for y'all.

I hope you enjoyed :))

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