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Show Me Your Desire Pt. 3

A/N: because a lot of you asked for more of this I decided to make a Dilf edition (other DILFs will follow here's a hint on who 🤡💨🦩🍩)

Part 1 | Part 2

Plot: you ate the Yoku Yoku No Mi - the desire desire devil fruit - that shows you glimpses of someones deepest desires when you touch them. Therefore you made sure to avoid touches and insight into those personal moments. But things get out of hand

Warnings: none, sfw, maybe a tiny bit of angst?, not proofread, GN but written with FReader in mind

Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Marco, Rayleigh (all separately) x GnReader

Shanks

You didn’t belong here. Not at this level. The meeting was meant for powerful men, warlords, emperors, and their most dangerous commanders. But the underworld needed a liaison, and you had information they wanted.

That was your ticket in.

They called it a neutral summit, but the tension was razor-wire tight. Eyes slide over you like knives, curious, dismissive, predatory.

You kept your gloves on because there were too many people and things could spiral too fast out of hand.

Shanks entered late, laughing like this wasn’t some high-stake meeting. Coat slung over one shoulder. Hair like fire and an annoyingly charming smile that would disarm whole navies.

You pretended not to notice him but of course he noticed you.

It was at dinner. A toast was held, ironically meant to seal peace.

You didn’t drink. Not with strangers. But when your hand accidentally knocked into his glass, he steadied it and his fingers touched yours because you thought it was a good idea to keep the gloves off during dinner and now there was bare skin to bare skin.

You sucked in a breath and everything changed the vision hit you.

Not a fantasy. Not lust. A quiet moment. You. Standing beside him on the deck of the Red Force. Wearing his coat. Laughing. Eyes full of wild joy. His desire? Not to bed you. Not to control you. To love you.To choose you. A captain’s desire. Intimate. Terrifying and utterly real.

You ripped your hand back a little too fast making the wine slosh and the conversation around you dulled for a moment.

Shanks just watched you, head tilted slightly, like a man watching the sea change colors under moonlight.

And then he smiled, slow and knowing before you excused yourself and left the room.

After that incident you tried to avoid him.

You made up excuses to stay near the table’s edge, offered vague, polite nods or sometimes stood at the very back of the room.

But it was useless because the next day he found you alone at the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean.

You didn’t hear him approach. You just felt him.

“I’m not that scary, am I?”

You kept your gloves tight and your eyes forward. “Depends, who’s asking.”

He huffed a laugh. “Didn’t think I made that bad of an impression.”

“You didn’t.”

“But?”

You bit your lip and said nothing.

Shanks stepped beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body but not close enough to touch you.

“Something changed when I touched you.”

Your stomach flipped at his words and you unintentionally brushed over your gloves.

“I felt it,” he continued softly. “You flinched. You looked at me like I had opened a door I shouldn’t have.”

Your hands lowered to the railing grip tightly around it to somehow ground you. “It wasn’t you. It’s… me.”

“That so?”

He didn’t push. Not yet but he lingered.

And his silence was somehow worse. Because the Shanks everyone always talked about was loud, lighthearted, a flirt and annoyingly charming.

This one?

This one was dangerous.

Because he was watching and he saw far too much and you knew that he wouldn’t let it slide like this forever sooner or later he would confront you again.

He caught you days later. This time in the moonlight, at the edge of the port, where the ships waited like sleeping beasts.

You went there because you needed to be alone, needed space and you didn’t expect him to join you.

“I figured it out,” he said, like a secret between you. “What it is you’re hiding.”

You froze and looked a little scared at him. “No you didn’t.”

“You ate a Devil Fruit. Didn’t you?”

You inhaled sharply but didn’t say anything.

He took one slow step forward.

“You don’t like being touched. Not because of trauma. Because of something else. Something….new.”

You kept backing up until your spine hit a post and Shanks stopped inches from you.

“And when I touched you…” He trailed off. “You looked at me like I broke something precious.”

You finally spoke, your voice cracking. “Because you did.”

His brows furrowed.

“I see it,” you whispered. “When people touch me. I see what they want. Their deepest desire. And I can’t make it stop.”

Silence.

He didn’t laugh, he didn’t scoff, he just took one slow, measured and final step forward

“And mine?” he asked.

You looked away and didn’t answer.

“Tell me,” he said, softer this time. “What did I want?”

You didn’t want to say it. Because once you did, it won’t be pretend anymore. It would be real but you couldn’t keep it in you any longer, you needed to finally say it out loud so you turned to face him.

“You wanted peace,” you whispered. “You wanted me. With you. Free. Loved.”

His lips parted.

You looked away again. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember it. Because I do. I felt it. You wanted to keep me. Not as some prize. Not for sex. Just… me.”

There was a long silence between you during which neither of you moved.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said.

That made you laugh, bitterly, maybe a little too bitter. “For what?”

“For making you feel like it was a crime to be wanted, not as a prize but for someone precious.”

He gave you a small smile before he walked away leaving you to your thoughts, giving you space and worse, making you feel so utterly confused and overwhelmed.

The next few days Shanks visited you again and again. He never asked anymore questions about what you saw or your powers, no more demands, just him, his presence.

Sometimes he talked and joked. Sometimes he didn’t and let the silence settle between you both but not uncomfortable anymore.

But always during these times he let you choose how close he was allowed to get. Never touching, never crowding.

And that was what broke you.

Because he didn’t act on desire no matter how much he wanted it.

He honoured it.

He waited.

Until one night, when you sat beside him under the stars.

“It doesn’t hurt when it’s you.” You suddenly said.

He looked over with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean… it still happens. I still see it. But it doesn’t hurt, it never really did.”

He reached out, very slowly, until his fingertips barely brushed your glove.

“What do you see?” he asked cautiously.

You slid the glove off and lay your palm in his.

The moment your skin touched his again, the vision flared.

You. Older. Stronger. Laughing at his side. Hands scarred. Eyes warm. A family. A future. And him, holding you close during a storm, whispering he’ll never let the world take you.

When you snapped back you blinked rapidly and Shanks just looked at you, he didn’t press you to tell him.

“I see you, me, us.” you whispered.

He smiled at you, that warm charming smile that could melt steel and yet he didn’t make another move despite how much he wanted to. You didn’t need a devil fruit to see how much he restrained himself not to lean in and kiss you, touch you, hold you.

And that was when you realized that Shanks wasn’t like the rest, he was special, he cherished you, not your powers or looks, he wanted to be with you, the real you and you had never felt so safe and desired without being used.

So you did the only thing that felt right in that moment. You placed your hand on his cheek and leaned closer.

“You sure” he asked carefully.

But you just smiled. “Yes I’m sure, you…..I saw us, I felt what it means to be yours, you are…..not like the others Shanks. I think I can finally see that and I want this vision, this desire I saw, to become true because truth is your desire had now become mine too.” You said softly.

That was all the permission Shanks needed to finally close the gap between you two. He kissed you like a man who found the One Piece. It was sweet, it was gentle and it was full of love.

And that night was the first time you fell asleep in the arms of someone else, letting someone hold you without fearing the touch, without fearing skin on skin because when you touched him there was no vision flaring up anymore because this, right here, was what he desired most.  

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

Marco

You didn’t ask to feel the way someone aches for you when their fingers brush yours. You didn’t ask to be the mirror that reflects desire, laid bare and raw, without their permission. Without yours.

The Yoku Yoku no Mi was a curse. A secret you’ve kept from nearly everyone, especially the men in this pirate alliance, most of whom wouldn't take kindly to knowing their most private thoughts are one brush away from discovery.

You didn’t want this power, never wanted to see others deepest desires.

But then came Marco.

The phoenix. The doctor. The man made of fire and light and the weight of centuries behind tired blue eyes.

You were even more careful around him. Always wearing gloves. Always choosing something with long sleeves. Always coming up with an excuse to stay out of arm’s reach.

Until today.

The meeting was chaos. As usual.

You had slipped out early, your skin crawling from the too-close proximity of people who wanted you too much. You headed for the far side of the deck, where night air kissed your face and silence didn’t try to touch you.

You didn’t hear him approach until he was close enough to make the hairs on your neck rise.

“You alright, yoi?”

His voice was low. Familiar. It always made you feel a little steadier.

You turned and then it happened.

You stumbled on a loose plank, not much, just a slight tilt but enough.

Marco’s hand shot out and caught your wrist right where your sleeve had ridden up and now there was what you dreaded the most skin on skin.

It hit you like a wave of flame.

His longing. A deep, aching, devastating desire to go back. To a quiet morning, with you curled beside him, sunlight painting your face. His hand in your hair. His fingers brushing your cheek like you were something precious. Untouchable. Sacred. Then another scene - a quiet beach, not far from a sleepy village. A house, washed in warm light. You were there, beside him. He had his arms around your waist, chin tucked on your shoulder, both of you watching a bonfire down below. Children were laughing. Villagers dancing. He was smiling. That soft, sad smile that meant he wasn’t hurting for once. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel whole again not after everything that had happened. Until you showed up,” he whispered in your ear like a confession, like a secret. You saw a life he never let himself want again.

The desire ran so deep it burnt. It was past logic, past time. It scorched your chest with the ghost of something he never said.

And never would because Marco never took what he wanted because he lost too much already, he was too scared to find love, hope, a family only to lose it again.

He let go the second he felt you stiffen and stepped back instantly.

Gentleman. Doctor. Saint.

“You alright?”

You nodded slowly, a lie of course and he noticed it.

“...What happened?”

You stared at him, at those kind eyes, that steady heart, that fire barely holding itself together.

You could tell him. You could say, “You want me. And not like the others do. You want peace. And a home. And me in it.”

But how did you say that to someone who’s spent his whole life burying what he wanted under ashes?

“Nothing, it’s…..let’s not talk about it” you said voice shaking before you gave him a forced smile and walked away.

It didn’t take long though till he found you again.

Back on the lower deck with the wind in your hair and your eyes on the sea.

“You’ve been avoiding me, yoi.”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t.

He leaned beside you on the rail but didn’t touch you, didn’t pressure you.

The silence stretched long it was not uncomfortable but it was…..strange and a little awkward.

“You’re not scared of me.” He finally said and it wasn’t a question it was a statement.

“No.” Your voice was quiet. “But I’m scared of what I saw.”

“What you saw?” He asked turning slowly

You closed your eyes.

Dammit.

You didn’t mean to say that.

Because Marco was smart, infuriatingly smart, maybe even too smart for his own good, and of course he pieced it together faster than most would.

“That fruit you ate,” he murmured. “The one you didn’t want anyone to know about.”

You looked at him now, your heart was racing and your breathing increased. His face though was unreadable but you saw the firelight flicker in his eyes.

“You saw something when I touched you.”

You nodded slowly like a kid who got caught doing something wrong.

He didn’t ask what. Didn’t demand it.

But he said something worse.

“That’s not fair to you.”

You frowned totally surprised. “What?”

He pushed off the railing and ran a hand through his blond hair. He looked tired again, like the weight of his own restraint was killing him.

“You shouldn't have to carry someone else's buried feelings. Especially not mine. I can’t give you anything, yoi. You know what I’ve lost. I can’t risk losing more.”

You swallowed hard. “And what if I don’t care?”

He looked at you then with those annoyingly beautiful eyes and the mask dropped.

You saw it again but this time not through the fruit, but through him, right here, right in front of you. The want, the fear, the need.

“You should,” he whispered. “You should care. I’m not the man who gets to want things anymore.”

You stepped toward him. Slowly. Letting him pull away if he needed or wanted to but he didn’t and you stopped shortly before him.

“I’ve spent years watching everyone I love burn out,” he whispered. “Ace. Thatch. Pops. The crew scattered like ash in the wind. Every time I care, I lose. Every time I want, the world takes it,” he continued

“You do want me,” you say softly. “I saw it.”

His jaw tightened.

“I saw peace. Just… peace. You and me. It was so quiet it hurt.”

He looked like you stabbed him. Because you saw the one thing he tried hardest to bury.

“I’m not going to beg,” you said. “But I need you to know, I’m not scared of what you felt. I’m scared that you’ll keep pushing me away because you think you don’t deserve it. I know what you’ve lost, I know that you think you are not meant to be happy, that those you love and care about always end up lost but I still want this, I want to be the peace you so desperately want, need and deserve. I want to be the one to show you that you are allowed to love, to care and to be happy.”

The wind picked up leaving your words hang between you like embers waiting to land.

He didn’t say a word and just looked at you like you just shattered his whole world before he lifted a hand.

And this time, when he touched you, his warm and kind hand on your face, palm to cheek, calloused thumb brushing your skin you let him and leaned in slightly.

And there it was again.

That morning, that sunlight day, that warmth and that longing.

But this time, something changed.

Because he let it happen, he let you see, he wanted you to see.

He smiled at you, a warm genuine smile before he leaned in and let his forehead rest against yours. Voice like cracked stone.

“I don’t know how to hold this without burning it, yoi.”

You smiled, eyes stinging.

“Then burn me. If it’s you… I don’t mind the fire. Let it happen Marco, don’t be afraid, let me be yours,” you said softly and took a deep breath.

And before you knew it he kissed you like he meant it, like you were the only good thing that had happened to him since everything fell apart.

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

Rayleigh

The meeting was tense, but not chaotic. The old legends were always good at hiding sharp teeth behind pleasantries.

You weren’t meant to be here, not really. You were just a courier. A quiet neutral with information too valuable to trust to a den den mushi. A few letters passed between pirate alliances, a map folded in your inner coat, and a polite nod from Shakky was all it took for you to be sitting at the bar’s edge while some of the world’s most dangerous men talked strategy.

And then Rayleigh had touched you.

Just a casual thing. A greeting. A warm palm brushing your forearm as he passed you a drink.

It should’ve meant nothing.

But it shattered you.

The vision hit with no warning.

Not lust. Not command. Not violence.A quiet home. Sunlight. Laughter. The press of fingers tangled with yours in bed after the world had stopped spinning. You saw your reflection in his memory. Laughing. Older. Softer. Worn, but happy. You felt the weight of his hand resting on your lower back while you washed dishes. His nose in your hair. His thoughts whispered with such clarity you wanted to scream. “If I’d have met her when I was younger... maybe I would’ve stayed.”

And then the feeling disappeared, like the ocean after a wave.

He had already turned away, smiling lightly, unaware that he had just torn your chest open without ever drawing a blade.

You spent the rest of the night avoiding him but he noticed it, of course he did.

Rayleigh wasn’t like the others, didn’t leer, didn’t press. But he watched. That sharp glint in his eye missed nothing especially not someone who desperately tried to stay out of his way.

You pretended to drink. Pretended to laugh. Pretended you hadn’t felt the kind of love no one ever offered you, not even in your dreams.

But you could feel him getting closer. Quietly, slowly.

You fled outside when the pressure became too much.

The back of Shakky’s bar opened into a warm summer night. Moonlight spilled across the area like silver paint. You stood with your arms folded tight, sleeves down to your knuckles, as if you could protect your skin from accidents.

“Strange place to brood.”

You froze hearing his voice but you didn’t turn around.

“Didn’t realize I was being watched,” you said quietly.

Rayleigh stepped beside you, leaving a respectable distance, hands in his coat pockets.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t a question it was an observation.

“I’ve been avoiding everyone,” you replied, biting your tongue. “Too many wandering hands in there.”

A moment in silence passed.

“You’re not wearing gloves.”

“Maybe I should be.” You said looking from your bare hands up to him.

Another silence. And then, ever so softly he spoke again. “You saw something”

You swallowed hard fidgeting with your fingers as you felt your heart speed up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lied.

He huffed a breath through his nose. Not angry. More... resigned.

“I’m not a mind-reader,” he said, voice gentle. “But I’ve been alive long enough to know when someone looks at me like they're afraid of falling.”

Your breath caught for a moment. You hated that he could still make you feel seen, still speak with that calm that cut deeper than any demand or any shouting.

“I didn’t mean to see anything,” you whispered. “You touched me. That was all.”

“And now you’re afraid of me?”

“No,” you said too quickly. “Not afraid. Just...” you looked him in the eye before turning your face away from him leaving the sentence hanging.

You stared out into the open absentmindedly toying with your fingers. “I wasn’t ready for that kind of truth,” you finally continued.

Rayleigh didn’t move nor did he reach for you. Just let the sea lap gently beneath your feet as the silence wrapped around you like a tide.

“You weren’t supposed to be,” he muttered after some time.

You looked back, startled by his words.

“I’m not a saint,” he continued. “And I’ve done more wrong than I can name. But I’ve spent the last decade trying to live quietly. Peacefully. Maybe selfishly. Maybe cowardly.”

His gaze met yours and you were surprised because there was no fire in it, it looked more like some tired warmth.

“When I saw you, I thought... maybe I’d like to share that quiet with someone again. I didn’t think it would be returned. I wasn’t planning to do anything about it. I still won’t. Not unless you want me to.”

That undid you.

The others - the pirates, the warlords, the men drunk on power - when they touched you, their desire surged like a storm. Want. Take. Claim.

You had become a prize, a secret fantasy, a weapon, nothing more.

But Rayleigh? His desire asked nothing of you.

It just existed quietly and warmly. A space in his life where you fit, if you wanted to step inside.

“I didn’t know men like you existed,” you murmured.

“They don’t. I’m retired,” he replied smiling softly.

A laugh slipped from your lips, shaky and half-wet with tears. You brushed at your eyes with the back of your hand. “You know this makes everything more complicated.”

“It always is with power like yours.”

“I hate it.”

“I would too.”

Another pause while you wiped hastily at your eyes.

“Can I touch you again?” He suddenly asked his voice barely louder than the waves.

You swallowed, heart picking up again and you started to fidget with your fingers again. “If you do... I’ll see it again. I’ll feel everything, the desire you have buried deep inside you.”

“I know.” He stepped closer not forcing, just offering.

Your fingers twitched and your heart was now hammering against your ribs.

You took a deep breath and then slowly, ever so slowly, you reached out, letting your hand slide into his.

Not even a second later it hit you again.

The same sunlit life. The warm embrace. The way he looked at you like you were the only part of his world still worth protecting. The ache in his chest whenever you smiled. The slow-burning desire that wasn’t just lust, it was wanting. Wanting to be worthy. To be chosen.

Your breath shook and his fingers curled gently around yours.

When the vision faded, you stayed where you were anchored in the warmth of his palm. Soft eyes looking at you.

“I saw it,” you said. “Again.”

“I know.”

You looked up. “Do you really want that?”

“More than anything,” he said his deep voice barely above a whisper

Your heart ached hearing those words. “Then why haven’t you kissed me?”

He smiled, and this time, there was something rougher behind it. “Because I’m trying not to be the kind of man you have to run from.”

You didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, pressed your lips to his, softly, like a question, like an answer, like a promise.

When you pulled back, your heart was racing and your hands were shaking slightly.

“You’re the only one I don’t want to run from,” you said voice trembling.

He didn’t kiss you again. Not yet.

But he touched your face like you were something breakable and sacred, and when he pulled you into his chest, your powers didn’t show you anything.

There was nothing deeper to reveal. You already knew all of it.

And for the first time since you ate that cursed fruit, you felt safe and you didn’t hate that power because Rayleigh made you feel like you were worth more than a pretty face with a rare Devil Fruit, because he saw you for you and wanted you just the way you were.

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Beckman

You had been maneuvering through the crowded meeting hall of one of the Grand Line’s more neutral territories, if neutrality could be bought with enough favors, blood, and rare alcohol. The alliance summit between rival powers had descended into low murmurs and whiskey-fueled tolerance, and the last thing you needed was to fall flat on your face.

But someone bumped your shoulder. A wine glass wobbled in your hand. And then you felt a hand at your waist right where your shirt had ridden up.

Beckman’s hand – steady, firm and warm.

It took exactly one second and the vision set in.

You saw yourself, bathed in golden afternoon light, seated between his knees on the deck of the Red Force. His hand lazily playing with your hair, your body pressed against his, legs folded together like you'd done it a thousand times. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear. Not in lust. In peace. In want. In comfort.

You snapped back to reality with a gasp.

Beckman’s hand was already gone, retracted like the brief touch had burned him too. His gaze was unreadable, all shadows and cigarette smoke. You knew better than to stare too long but you couldn’t stop your voice from catching as you straightened.

“Thanks.”

He gave a small nod. That was all. He didn’t say another word. Didn’t smile. Just turned and walked away.

Later that night you stood on the outer balcony alone. You needed the air. You needed the sea wind to clear your head.

Because what you had felt when Beckman touched you, that wasn't just attraction. It wasn’t a fleeting crush or a one-night fantasy. It was quiet. Heavy. Dangerous in its simplicity.

He wanted you and more importantly he wanted to keep you.

You gripped the edge of the railing too tightly when a voice startled you.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You didn’t turn. “No, I haven’t.”

“Don’t lie. Not to me,” he scoffed softly. “I didn’t mean to touch you,” he said, tone unreadable. “But the way you reacted...”

You swallowed, heart racing.

“…You felt something,” he continued. “Didn’t you?”

You stayed quiet. Not because you didn’t have answers but because if you opened your mouth, you might say something you couldn’t take back.

Beckman moved to stand beside you, arms crossed. He didn’t look at you. Just gazed out over the ocean like it might offer clarity.

“You’re not normal,” he said at last and you flinched.

“I’ve seen a lot of Devil Fruit users. Most of them wear their power like a blade. Loud. Obvious. But you…” He glanced sideways at you now, eyes sharp as glass. “You’re hiding something.”

You turned finally, meeting his gaze. The wind caught your hair, whipping it around your shoulders. His eyes were a storm.

“What do you think I’m hiding?” you asked softly.

He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, then stepped just a little closer.

“You looked at me like I had undressed you. Like I had taken something.” His voice dropped. “So tell me. What did I do?”

“I saw what you want”, you wanted to say. You saw him alone in his quarters, thinking of you. Not touching himself. Just… thinking. A man who could have anyone, imagining sitting beside you in silence. Smoking in bed while you read. His lips on your skin not in hunger, but reverence.

You weren’t sure if that made it worse. That he didn’t want you like the others did that he needed you.

“I can’t tell you,” you said instead.

“Why not?” he asked with a frown.

“Because if I do… everything changes.”

A beat passed then Beckman reached slowly out and held his hand palm-up between you, hovering inches from yours.

“If it’s already changed,” he said, “then let me see how far.”

Your throat dried. “Don’t,” you whispered.

“You’re scared of me?” he asked.

“No. I’m scared of what I want when I’m around you.”

That made him pause but he didn’t lower his hand.

“I won’t touch you again. Not unless you ask me to,” he finally said, stepping back and dropping his hand.

“Good night,” he murmured, and turned to leave.

You didn’t stop him though, you just stood there long after he was gone, heart hammering against your ribs.

The next day you had wandered just a few minutes on the docks to breathe, to feel air without tension. But then a pirate you didn’t recognize grabbed your bare arm and the vision was nasty, it was hurtful, nothing like what you saw when Beckman had touched you.

“You from that emperor crew?” he slurred, breath sour with cheap sake. “Pretty little thing… bet even Benn Beckman’d share ya for tha right—” a loud crack and the man dropped before the sentence was finished.

Your ears rang from the shot. A kneecap gone, shattered. Screams followed, echoing off the stone dock. Blood soaked the boards. The man writhed, crying out for mercy.

And then you felt it - a hand on your shoulder.

Not rough, not pulling, no it was steady and very familiar.

“You alright?” came Beckman’s voice behind you.

You turned to see that he still held the rifle one-handed, barrel faintly smoking, calm as ever. He looked past you at the man screaming on the ground like he wasn’t worth finishing off.

“I’m fine,” you managed, voice tight. “You didn’t have to—”

“I did.”

His jaw flexed.

“I saw the way he touched you,” Beckman muttered. “I saw your face.”

And you knew what he meant. He didn’t know what your power was at least not fully but he could tell by the way you reacted when the pirate touched you, how you flinched and paled, that it hurt and unsettled you.

“Come on,” he said. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not—”

But he was already guiding you away and back to your room. His hand hovered just short over the small of your back but never touching.

Once you reached your room Beckman shut the door behind you with a soft click.

You stood there, heart still pounding not from the pirate, but from him. From the way he had pulled the trigger without blinking. From the look in his eyes as he checked you over for injuries in the dim light of your quarters.

“You didn’t hesitate,” you said quietly.

He leaned against the closed door, cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Didn’t need to.”

You looked away. “You shouldn’t have shot him.”

“He’s still breathing.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is to me.”

That shut you up.

“You can’t just shoot everyone who touches me,” you whispered.

“Try me.”

You turned sharply.

“Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not.” His eyes were unreadable. “I’m serious.”

And he was. That was the most terrifying part. Beckman didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

You tried to steady your breath, but your voice cracked anyway. “You don’t know what it feels like. When someone touches me and I feel everything they want. Everything they bury and that pirate…..he didn’t just simply want to hurt me.”

Beckman raised a brow.

“He wanted to… own me,” you muttered. “To show me off. To parade me like a trophy. Like I was a prize he won in a bet.”

“And me?” he asked after a long pause.

You froze, unable to look at him and Beckman pushed off the door and crossed the room only to stop inches from you.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low, “what you saw.”

You shook your head.

“I want to hear it,” he pressed. “I want to know what you felt when I touched you.”

You bit your lip. “You don’t want that.”

“I do.”

You met his eyes and gave in.

“You want me,” you said, quiet and raw. “But not like the others. You don’t want to use me. You want to hold me. To keep me safe. You want late mornings. You want to teach me how to play cards. You want me to wear your shirt and steal your bed and never leave. And that scares the hell out of me.”

Beckman didn’t move, his face was unreadable but something in his eyes shifted.

“Is that really so terrifying?” he asked, almost gently.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Because I could want that too.”

Could was an understatement though because you already did want it.

He stepped forward just slightly. Enough that your fingers brushed.

Just enough contact to flood you with that vision again but this time it felt even deeper.

You saw yourself curled under a blanket on the Red Force, rain pounding outside. Beckman beside you, reading. One arm draped across your shoulders. A quiet promise in every breath. And this time you felt that this wasn’t just a desire anymore it was something he believed could really be.

And when the image faded you realized you were crying.

Beckman looked stricken. “What—?”

“I can’t keep seeing this,” you breathed. “I can’t keep feeling things that aren’t mine.”

He reached for you but then stopped himself.

“I want them to be yours,” he said, raw. “All of them.”

You just stared at him.

He exhaled slowly. “Every thought I’ve had of you, every thing I’ve wanted it’s not just in passing. It’s not just in the dark. It’s there in the daylight. Every time you laugh. Every time you hold your damn cup with both hands like it’s sacred. Every time you walk into a room and pretend like nobody’s watching you. I am.”

Tears blurred your vision.

“I didn’t want to know,” you choked. “I didn’t want to know what you wanted because I knew the moment I did…..I’d want it too.”

“Then let yourself have it,” he said voice cracking slightly.

You stepped forward and rested your head against his chest. Letting him wrap his arms around you without shame. Letting yourself feel the weight of it, the warmth of someone who wanted not just your body, but your presence.

And he held you like he had waited years for it.

Like he wouldn’t dare let go unless you told him to.

Which obviously you didn’t.

[like-a-clock]

-Spoiler One Piece 1154-

...

"Even when he was only a few months old, Loki has given up on love"

Seriously, Oda?

My heart full of rainbows is break, now.

[like-a-clock]

Need way more picture of them. They're so cute.

🌱 a memory to hold on to 🌿

haven't done a scenery drawing in a while and wanted to it for mental health. ref photo under under cut.

(i didn't add the text, it was already part of the image, but i agree with it wholeheartedly)

[like-a-clock]

Ehi, if you are a minor, please, don't read this!

..anyway, this is amazing! Someone helps doctor Harvey, please.

Sumer Daze

Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Harvey/Farmer Rating: Explicit, 18+ Word Count: 3728 Tags and Content Warnings: masturbation, desperate pining, explicit imagery, Harvey's midlife crisis (affectionate)

Summary: An innocent crush on the new farmer turns into a very big problem for Harvey when she comes in nearly having given herself heatstroke.

🚫 18+ ONLY 🚫 This fic is rated Explicit and is not intended for minors. Please do not interact if you're under 18.

The doorbell above the clinic chimed causing Harvey to look up from his notes—blood pressure trends in summer, most of them old men with pride too thick for hydration. He could hear that it was the farmer talking to Maru at the front. It was only moments before she strode into his office.

“Good morning, Doctor.” Her cheeks were flushed beyond belief, her collarbone damp, and her hair pulled back with a handkerchief. Her shirt was tied at her waist, most of her stomach uncharacteristically bare above her denim shorts, making him nearly short circuit. She held a basket, as usual.

“Oh—hello there,” His voice cracked halfway through. He cleared his throat. “What, uh. What brings you in?”

She lifted the basket slightly. “Pickled peppers. Told Maru I’d drop some off when the new batch finished. Hope you don’t mind me barging in.”

“No, not at all. That’s… very thoughtful.” He stood too fast and bumped the edge of his desk. “Are you doing alright?”

Her smile faltered a little and she swayed as she set the basket down. “It’s just hot out there. I know Summer’s just started but I’m already done with it.”

“Have you had any water today?”

“I had a glass with breakfast.”.

“Sit down, you’re redder than a tomato,” he said. 

“I’m okay,” she said, even as she did as he asked.

“You’ve been out doing chores all morning?” He took her temperature.

She nodded, more sheepish now. “I fed the ladies, the chickens I mean, weeded the south plot, foraged a little near the mountain pass— then I walked here.”

“You’re overheated,” he said firmly, removing the thermometer. “You’re lucky you made it in. You're on the verge of heat stroke!”

“I just thought I’d swing by—”

“You need to cool down, slowly. I’ll get you something with electrolytes—” He did his utmost not to look at the way her shirt clung to her, or the small droplet of sweat that had just trailed from the hollow of her throat down to the swell of her chest, nor at the line of her thighs where the denim rode high. He took a breath. Professional. Be professional.

“Alright,” he said. “Stay seated. I’ll be right back.”

She gave him a grateful look, her eyelids heavy from the heat, lips parted as she sighed, and he had to physically turn himself around before she noticed how hard he swallowed. It wasn’t the first time she’d brought something by. She baked for the whole town, as far as he could tell. Left preserves at the library. Biscuits on the blacksmith’s workbench. Brought sweet rolls to Caroline even after being told no sugar. She always brought peppers and flowers for him and Maru.

He opened the mini fridge with a little too much force, pressed the cold bottle to the back of his neck before turning around again to make his way down the hall.

She was swinging her legs a little off the table. Looking around the clinic like she might rearrange the place if he gave her a weekend and a paintbrush, but her gaze was a little far away.

He cleared his throat. “Sip slowly. Please.”

She took the bottle and took a few gulps, and he attempted to ignore how her throat moved as she drank. When she lowered it, she sighed again. 

He nodded. “Good. Thank you. You’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you’ve cooled off.”

Then she tilted her head at him, still a little dazed. “Maybe I shouldn’t’ve come all the way into town,” she mumbled. “I just got excited about the peppers... Thanks for taking care of me.”

He forgot how to speak for a moment until he could at least say, “That’s… that’s what I’m here for. And I’m glad. For the peppers,” he clarified. 

She took another drink, trying not to chug and upset her stomach. This time he watched the line of her throat shift and the way her fingers curled around the bottle, noticing the dirt under her nails. He was from a small town not unlike this one, but had spent much of his adult life up until about eight years ago in the city working at a hospital. She was even more of a city girl, but the moment she slipped on those work gloves she had acclimated like a fish to water. She was a farmer now. 

“How’s your vision?” he asked, softer now.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were a little  glassy, but focused. “Mmhmm.” A beat. “You’re very sharp.”

He blinked.

“I mean—you’re very in focus. Not that you’re sharp. I mean—well, you are. Sharp. Smart. Just—my vision’s fine. But also, like your sense of dress. It’s good to know that some guys still know where their waist is supposed to be.

He nodded, trying not to let anything show on his face. “Good. I think.”

Her smile broke through again, loose and sheepish, more than a little punch-drunk from the heat. He’d never seen her this flustered before. “Sorry,” she murmured, rubbing the back of her neck. “I think my brain’s still cooking. I might need to lie down when I get home.”

“You’re allowed,” he said. “It’s dangerously hot today. I would recommend you spend the rest of the day horizontal.”

“Robin told me to take a nap after breakfast,” she admitted. “Should’ve listened.”

“You should always listen to Robin,” he said. “Town policy.” He glanced at her legs again, then immediately regretted it. She had thick, strong thighs and shapely, well-used calves. He cleared his throat and turned to the sink, ran the water, filled a basin, and let his hands work while he focused on the sound. He soaked a cloth and wrung it out with more force than necessary. The cool water against his skin helped, barely. Maybe he needed a cold, wet rag of his own. He inhaled through his nose and let it out slowly.

“Lie down for me,” he said, already reaching for the basin, deeply regretting his phrasing.

She did so with a groan, clambering onto the table, bare legs sticking faintly to the vinyl as she shifted, the thin parchment paper crinkled loudly. The sound made something in his stomach tighten. Her neck stretched long and open. Her hair, damp with sweat, had started to come loose from its twist. She was pink and soft around the edges, almost—

Stop that.

Harvey turned back with a professional detachment that was starting to feel increasingly fragile. Her shirt had ridden up slightly—just a sliver of her stomach visible where it curved, soft and pink, against the paper. Her eyes were closed now, lips parted, the rise and fall of her chest still a little too fast. He held out the cloth.

“Here. Just lay it across your forehead.”

She reached up and took it from him, their fingers brushing briefly. Then she pressed the cloth to her forehead and let out a sound and her eyes closed in relief. “Oh god,” she moaned, “that feels so good.” Oh god, that feels so good, Harvey–

Absolutely not. Get a grip.

She didn’t mean anything by it. She was just hot. And tired. She made another breathy little noise of relief that made his fingers curl against the counter. His body locked up but he forced himself to move to the little freezer where his lunch sat untouched. He grabbed the two little ice packs and wrapped them in paper towels. “Put these under your armpits.” 

“My armpits?”

He gave her a hard look, one he kept in his back pocket for stubborn patients. Mostly George. 

She made an expression he couldn’t pin, and she shifted a little on the paper or shivered, maybe from the thought of the cold, he assumed. She sighed and took them, putting them where he asked. “Happy?”

“I’ll be happier when you’re not in danger of having a stroke.” He turned sharply and walked to the far end of the room under the pretense of checking the intake notes. There were no notes.

“How much is this going to cost me?” she prodded. 

“We’ll call this even. For the peppers.” He braced his palms on the countertop, eyes fixed on a paperweight.

She murmured something about needing a cold shower and “not in the fun way,” he decided—gently, silently, professionally—to leave the room.

“Rest here a bit,” he said, voice steadier than he felt. “I’m going to… file something.”

She gave him a lazy thumbs-up.

He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He stood on the other side of the door for a full five minutes, staring at the wall. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, trying to remember the breathing techniques he taught patients during anxiety attacks. It was the heat. That’s all. A hot day, a flustered farmer, and an overactive imagination fueled by too many quiet mornings and too few outlets. Still, the image wouldn’t leave him. The slow rise and fall of her chest. The curve of her waist where her shirt had ridden up. The sound she made when the cool cloth touched her skin. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Counted backwards from ten. Then again.

You are a physician. You are an adult. You cannot get a hard-on because a nice young woman brought you peppers and almost fainted from near heat stroke. He exhaled slowly. Then turned and walked back into the exam room. She was still lying back on the table, the cloth draped lightly across her forehead, her knees bent just enough to make his brain short-circuit again from the sight of the undersides of her thighs. “I didn’t fall asleep, did I?”

He shook his head. “No. But it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

She shifted slightly, grimaced. “My legs are sticking to the vinyl.”

He made a noise that might’ve been sympathy. Or perhaps desperation.

“Hydration’s helping,” she added. “I don’t feel so spinny anymore.”

“That’s good.” He moved slowly, deliberately keeping his eyes on her face. 

She smiled—drowsy, content, still pink from the heat. “You’re always so nice to me.”

He paused. Not long. Just enough that he hoped she didn’t notice. “I try to be nice to everyone.”

“I know,” she sighed, sounding disappointed. 

He swallowed hard. Nodded once. “I’ll… just be over here, then.”

She closed her eyes again. Let her hand drop lazily to the side, knuckles brushing the edge of the exam table.

He sat at his desk and opened a blank chart and wrote absolutely nothing.

That evening Harvey lay on top of the sheets stripped down to only his boxers, his skin tacky with sweat. The fans had been running in his apartment since he closed the clinic for the day, and still, the heat clung to everything. It was nine o'clock at night, but dusk still clung to the world, refusing to let night come in full just yet. The window was cracked, but there was no breeze—just the distant hum of crickets and the occasional bark of a dog in the distance and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was Farmer’s dog, Bunny. He stared at the ceiling and kept very, very still.

Desire had become something he’d made peace with having passed him by. A muscle gone unused, atrophied beyond use. Something young people had the luxury of indulging. Not forty-year-old country doctors with cholesterol lectures to give even older men. Apparently that was no longer the case. Whatever desire he had assumed would remain dormant was now very much awake, and very, very hungry. What had started as a small crush he assumed would pass with time was clearly evolving. He could still see her, cheeks flushed, legs sticking to the vinyl, collarbone damp with sweat, her voice breathy from the heat as she moaned over a wet cloth on her forehead. He shifted and pressed a hand to his stomach and tried to will away the sensation with sheer stillness and force of will, but it was no help.

His cock had been hard off and on all evening, but he hadn’t let himself so much as look at it. He’d eaten a flavorless dinner standing up and washed dishes with cold water up to his elbows. He had sat by the open fridge for fifteen minutes, pretending he was checking for old food to toss. Now he lay in the dark, hard and aching and utterly alone. He let his hand drift lower cautiously, as if someone might walk in. As if touching himself might make it real. The pads of his fingers brushed over the front of his boxers,and he groaned. His other hand came up to cover his eyes, breath already uneven. Get a grip. She hadn’t done anything on purpose. She hadn’t known what it would do to him. His cock pushed against the fabric. He shifted, grimaced, and pressed his palm flat over it through the cotton, making his whole body jerk. He dragged his hand away to run it up through his hair, then rested it against his forehead. He had gone years without this. Not simple arousal, but real desire for someone else. He enjoyed Farmer’s company. He enjoyed it very much. But this was a new level, new territory. He wanted Farmer. 

This wasn’t real. This was exhaustion and loneliness and a very pretty woman with flushed cheeks and sticky thighs who needed his help. His professional help. His hand drifted down again. He wasn’t thinking about her on the exam table anymore. He was thinking about her on her back in his bed, her shirt open and sweat-slicked, her hair finally out of that tight french twist and splayed out across a crisp white pillow. He was thinking about her chest rising too fast, her lips parted, her thighs spread wide around his hips, heels at the base of his spine. The noise she’d made in the clinic haunted him, pouring kerosine over tinder in his imagination. 

He shoved his boxers down and swore under his breath, wrapping a hand around it, just to still it—but the contact made his breath catch. It had been so long. Not since he’d masterbated, necessarily, it was a natural thing to do like shaving or bathing or even doing laundry. But still, this was the first time there was any real want behind it. Want for someone else. His hips flexed into his fist. He dragged his hand again, slower this time, his thumb catching at the head, smearing the slick over it. His chest hitched and his eyes squeezed shut. He imagined her under him, chest flushed, lips bitten pink, sweat pooled in the dip of her collarbone.

Oh god, that feels so good. Harvey.

He moaned, low and strained, and bit his forearm to muffle it. His hips lifted again, shallow and instinctive, chasing the heat of his own hand. He kept his eyes closed and tried not to think too hard, but her voice wouldn’t leave him. That soft, dazed way she’d moaned. The way her thighs had parted just slightly as she shifted on the table. The sound the vinyl made when she stuck to it and tried to shift again. His hand moved faster. He didn’t mean for it to. Just—god, it felt good. He hadn’t let himself imagine this kind of softness in years. Not for himself. Not from someone like her—young and alive and wide open in ways he wasn’t sure he even remembered how to be.

But she’d smiled at him. She’d teased him about his fashion sense. 

I want to make you feel good too, he thought suddenly, fiercely. The kind of thought he would never have said aloud. I want to take care of you. I want you to fall apart for me. His cock twitched hard in his grip, and he groaned again—lower now, desperate. His wrist bumped his stomach, sweat slick beneath it, and it made everything worse. He stroked again. And again. Her mouth on his shoulder, whispering his name. Panting it.

The ache broke open and he came with a shudder that lifted him off the bed, teeth sinking into his forearm as his hips jerked through it. It hit harder than he expected, wet and hot and so sharp it hurt. His breath stuttered, dragged out in one long exhale that sounded like something dying.

The sound of the fan came back to him, then shame crept up his spine. He let go slowly. His stomach was tacky with sweat and cum, and the sheets were a mess beneath him, but he didn’t move yet. He just lay there with one hand on his chest, the other resting limp at his side, heart still thudding against his ribs, searching for a means of escape.

It happened again three nights later.

She’d brought over a jar of spicy pickled green beans, left them with a bright, “Don’t eat them all at once!” and waved goodbye with one hand still stained from whatever berries she’d been foraging. Her nails were dirty again and her calves were scratched from the brambles. Her hair had that wild, windswept look that meant she’d been outside since dawn. She had smiled at him like he was an old friend. She’d leaned on the clinic counter while they talked. 

That night, he didn’t even pretend to wait. He washed the dishes and turned on the fan, and by the time he was in bed, the ache had already started. He touched himself thinking about her voice again. The way she said his name. The way she looked when she was too warm, too tired to filter herself. The way her lips parted when she was thinking, or surprised, or pleased.

He came fast embarrassingly fast. 

The second time, it’s only three nights later. She’d come by in the afternoon with small blackberry tarts. Said they didn’t set right but she couldn’t bear to throw them out. They were perfect. He ate three before dinner and hated himself a little for it.

That night, he didn’t even make it to the bed. He’d stepped out of the shower, reached for his towel, and remembered the smudge of flour still clinging to her shirt, how she’d smiled and rambled on about how hard it was getting to balance tending to the crops and finding things to do with the produce. 

He came into his fist with his other hand braced against the sink, his hair still wet and chest heaving.

After that, it only got worse.

Every time she stopped by. Every time she laughed and tilted her head and asked about his day. Every time she leaned close to point something out in a book or touched his sleeve to get his attention or mentioned, offhand, that she’d been thought of him while reading. By the time summer was half over, he dreads her coming to the clinic, knowing he’ll be useless afterward. He’ll make notes he won’t remember writing. Lock the door early. Lie back on his office cot and touch himself while the room still smells faintly of whatever pie she left behind.

Sometimes she hugged him before she left. Just a quick, friendly press of her arms around his middle. He would stand there stiff and helpless, heart racing, trying not to breathe her in too obviously. That night, he fucks his hand like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. He wants to stop. He tells himself he will stop.

But then she comes in wearing a new sundress and her hair down, cheeks pink from the sun, and says she saw some wild plums up by the railroad tracks if he wants to go picking sometime.

And he just— He doesn’t make it to sunset.

By the last week of July, Harvey had stopped trusting himself.

He still saw patients. He still watered his houseplants, still swept the clinic floor every morning, still restocked bandages in alphabetical order. But it was all muscle memory now—performed at arm’s length, like watching someone else do it through fogged glass. Farmer had been in three times that week. The last visit was to bring him a jar of tomato jam that she insisted “tastes better than it sounds, I promise.” He’d thanked her with a smile and kept his hands on the counter.

That night he came twice.

The first time was quick, frantic, face pressed into his pillow to muffle the sounds. The second was worse—slow and helpless, hips twitching up into the air, his hand wet and aching. He came with her name half-swallowed in the dark, then lay there afterward staring at the ceiling like it owed him an apology.

He told himself it wasn’t about her. Not really. It was loneliness. Biology. Proximity. He hadn’t been touched in years. The mind did strange things when you let it go too long without warmth.

But then he’d see her again.

And she’d say something like “My Hero,” or “You’re always so calm, I need more of that in my life,” or “Be honest, have you ever worn a bad shirt in your life?”

And he’d want to fall through the floor. Sometimes he’d be in the middle of his rounds, taking blood pressure or checking a child’s ear canal, and a thought would ambush him: Her thighs on either side of my head. His hands would tighten. He’d excuse himself. Wash them again. Stand over the sink and mutter something sharp to himself under his breath.

He wasn’t proud of it. He knew what it looked like. A middle-aged man pining after a woman ten years younger, letting his brain slip into the same patterns he’d condemned in others. He hated it; and yet every night, his hands betrayed him.

Sometimes, he’d come just from the thought of holding her. From the image of her curling up in his lap at the end of the day, skin warm from the sun, fingers absentmindedly tracing his wrist while she told him about the color of the eggs this morning or the weird shape of the zucchini harvest. And then he’d lie in bed with his chest aching and wonder if something in him had broken for good.

[like-a-clock]

I wanna try so bad to drawing him, but I'm so stuck in my art block..

g-g-g-guysssss...tsukauchi

[like-a-clock]

I find Spinner so sweet. He made errors, sure, but I really find him sweet.

₊˚⊹ 𝗠𝘆 𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗼 𝗔𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 ⊹˚₊

Featuring: Dabi ✧ Shigaraki Tomura ✧ Kurogiri ✧ Overhaul (Kai Chisaki) ✧ Twice ✧ Stain ✧ Mr. Compress ✧ Spinner

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Reminder! These head-canons are all about keeping it realistic—flaws and all. So let’s Step into the unpredictable world of the LOV and find out how each one might love… or destroy.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Dabi

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Dabi is emotionally unavailable, distant, and self-destructive—not exactly the kind of guy who showers you with love. If you expect softness, don’t. He keeps things casual at first and doesn’t do labels. You might not even know if you’re actually dating until he starts getting jealous over stupid things, like you talking to Twice for too long.

His way of showing “affection” is dark humor, teasing, and physical closeness, but he won’t open up emotionally. If you push for anything deeper, he’ll push back—hard. He’s reckless and doesn’t care if he gets hurt, so seeing someone care about him makes him uncomfortable. But deep down? It scares him even more that he wants to care about you.

Dabi’s biggest red flag? Disappearing for days without warning and expecting you to be fine with it. His biggest green flag? Once he’s actually attached, he’d burn the world for you.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone who can keep up with his dark humor and cynicism but isn’t naive enough to think they can “fix” him. He likes people with bite, someone who calls him out on his BS but won’t get overly emotional about it. He might say he prefers someone detached, but the truth? He will fall for who make him feel something, even when he doesn’t want to.

⸻

Shigaraki Tomura

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Shigaraki is possessive, emotionally intense, and socially awkward. He doesn’t trust easily, and even if he likes you, he’ll push you away at first—partially because he doesn’t want to be dependent on anyone, partially because he’s scared of literally decaying you.

He’s territorial as hell but not in the traditional way. He won’t be the type to glare at people for looking at you, but if someone disrespects you? They’re dead. No hesitation. He doesn’t believe in showing off love publicly, but privately? He’s clingy, needy, and desperate for validation.

His biggest struggle? Controlling his emotions. If he’s angry, he needs space—otherwise, he might say something he regrets. If he’s hurt, he’ll shut down completely. You need patience to be with him, but if you stick around? He’ll worship the ground you walk on.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone patient and understanding, but not weak. He hates being pitied, so he’s drawn to people who see him for who he is and accept him without trying to change him. If you’re overly emotional or clingy, he’ll get overwhelmed, but he also can’t handle people who are too distant. He needs a middle ground—someone who gives him space but never actually leaves.

⸻

Kurogiri

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Kurogiri is calm, composed, and weirdly protective. He acts like a caretaker, making sure you’re safe, fed, and taken care of—but in a way that feels more paternal than romantic at times. He doesn’t show love in words, but through actions. He always remembers the little things, like your favorite drink or when you need rest.

He’s insanely loyal, and once he considers you his, nothing will shake that. He’s also the least toxic of the bunch, but that doesn’t mean he’s harmless. If anyone threatens you? They disappear. No questions asked.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone intelligent, mature, and emotionally stable. He doesn’t do chaos—he already has to deal with Shigaraki’s tantrums. He prefers someone composed but not lifeless, someone who understands when to push him and when to back off. If you’re reckless or impulsive, he’ll spend most of his time cleaning up your messes.

⸻

Overhaul (Kai Chisaki)

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Overhaul is controlling, distant, and obsessive—but in a cold, calculating way rather than a passionate one. You don’t date Overhaul. He chooses you. And if he does? You belong to him. He doesn’t do casual relationships, and he doesn’t tolerate disobedience.

He doesn’t show affection traditionally—he shows it by protecting you, providing for you, and keeping you “safe” (aka isolating you from anything he deems a “threat”). He expects complete loyalty, and if you betray him? There’s no forgiveness.

His biggest red flag? Treating you like an extension of himself rather than an individual. His biggest green flag? He’d do anything to keep you safe—no matter what it takes.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone obedient, disciplined, and composed. He doesn’t do messy, chaotic people—he sees them as weak. If you’re too independent or rebellious, he won’t waste time on you. But if you’re someone who follows his rules? He’ll protect and care for you with unwavering devotion.

⸻

Twice

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Twice is chaotic, affectionate, and emotionally all over the place. He falls fast and hard, and once he loves you, you’re his world. He craves constant reassurance and hates being alone, so he’ll cling to you like a lost puppy.

He’s funny, playful, and makes you laugh constantly, but his mental instability makes things unpredictable. One second he’s showering you with affection, the next he’s spiraling into self-doubt.

His biggest struggle? His identity crisis. Sometimes he questions if he’s real—and he’ll need you to ground him when that happens.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone patient, fun, and good at handling emotions. He needs stability in his life, but he’s drawn to kindness and warmth. If you can’t handle his highs and lows, it won’t work.

⸻

Stain

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Stain is intense, ideological, and hard to get close to. He doesn’t do casual relationships—if he’s with you, it’s because he sees you as worthy. He respects strength and doesn’t tolerate weakness, so he’s more likely to be your mentor before your lover.

Affection? Extremely rare. But if he does love you, he shows it by guiding you, protecting you, and believing in you.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone strong-willed, independent, and unshakable. If you’re weak, he won’t respect you. If you’re shallow, he won’t even look at you.

⸻

Mr. Compress

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Mr. Compress is charming, theatrical, and deeply intelligent—he’s the kind of guy who always knows the right thing to say at the right time. His relationship style is playful and flirtatious, but not shallow. He enjoys keeping you on your toes, teasing you with smooth one-liners, and making you feel like you’re in a storybook romance.

Despite his playful nature, he’s calculating and highly perceptive—he knows exactly what makes you tick, and he uses that to his advantage. He’s not controlling, but he is manipulative in subtle ways. If he wants you to do something, he won’t demand it—he’ll persuade you so smoothly that you think it was your idea all along.

Affection with him is grand yet personal—he loves dramatic gestures, deep conversations, and making you feel like the protagonist in his performance. But underneath the showmanship, he’s guarded. You might feel like you know him, but in reality? He only lets you see what he wants you to see.

His biggest red flag? Keeping secrets and only revealing what benefits him. His biggest green flag? He will always keep things interesting, and he deeply values intelligence and emotional depth in a partner.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone quick-witted, playful, and not easily fooled. He loves a good verbal sparring match, and he needs a partner who can challenge him intellectually. He’s drawn to people who have a strong sense of self, because as much as he enjoys the game of persuasion, he respects someone who can’t be easily swayed.

If you’re too naive or gullible, he’ll find it boring. But if you’re too closed off, he’ll get frustrated trying to figure you out. The perfect balance? Someone just as clever as him, but who keeps their cards close to their chest.

⸻

Spinner

Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Spinner is loyal, nerdy, and awkwardly devoted. Out of all the LOV members, he’s the most “normal” boyfriend, meaning he actually tries to have a healthy relationship—but his insecurities hold him back.

He’s used to being overlooked and underestimated, so if you show genuine interest in him? He attaches quickly. He’s not the best at flirting, and he might even doubt that you actually like him at first. He’ll need a lot of reassurance, but once he trusts you, he’s ride-or-die loyal.

He’s a dork at heart, so expect gaming dates, deep talks about hero society, and late-night rants about Stain’s ideology. He wants someone to believe in him, and if you do? He’ll worship you.

His biggest red flag? Low self-esteem, which can lead to him being overly dependent on you for validation. His biggest green flag? He genuinely wants to be better for you.

Who He’s Drawn To: Someone supportive, patient, and willing to see past his flaws. He doesn’t expect perfection, but he needs to feel respected. If you belittle him or make him feel like he’s “lesser” than other villains, he’ll shut down.

He’s most compatible with someone who makes him feel strong and valued, but also someone who won’t let him obsess over his inferiority complex. He needs a grounded, steady presence in his life.

« So, you went for the bad boys, huh? But what if you had a hero instead? If you’re curious about the softer, more righteous side of love, check out the Heroes x Reader version. »

Let me know if you have any feedback or if there’s any warnings I need to put on my post, I also take any requests from all fandoms that I know of. I hope you enjoyed reading this!

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Oh God. This is so hot.

you're so pretty and soft and tight that all might cums the second you rubs your pussy against his cock

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Hi, I read your “making out with Dabi headcanons” and I just wanted to ask if it would be possible to do one for Spinner?

Headcanon: Making Out With Spinner

A/N: Sorry if this took awhile 😔 college is kicking my ass right now

Making out with Spinner would be an intense yet surprisingly tender experience. His rough, reptilian features, covered in scales, give his skin a unique texture, adding a distinct physical sensation to every touch. Despite his tough exterior and the prejudice he’s faced, Spinner would be a bit shy and awkward at first. He’s not used to close intimacy, so there’s a sense of hesitance, like he’s unsure how to handle the situation. But once he lets his guard down, he becomes deeply passionate, fully immersing himself in the moment.

His kisses would be slow, deliberate, and slightly rough around the edges. You’d feel the contrast between his sharp, pointed teeth and the warmth of his lips. There’s a sense of vulnerability as he tries to control his instincts, careful not to accidentally hurt you. Spinner's large hands would be surprisingly gentle, cradling your face or resting on your waist, as though he’s scared to hold on too tightly. You’d sense his devotion and the unspoken emotions he doesn’t quite know how to express in words.

He might not be the most experienced or graceful, but there’s something undeniably sweet and earnest about Spinner when he’s with someone he trusts. Making out with him would feel like peeling away layers of his guarded nature, revealing a soft side he rarely shows to anyone else.

Making out with Spinner would be an experience filled with raw emotion and intensity, but also a level of care that he rarely shows. At first, he’d be stiff, unsure of how to approach something so intimate. His awkwardness would be endearing, his sharp eyes darting between you and the space around, trying to figure out what to do without fumbling too much. He’s not used to feeling desired, so every touch, every graze of your lips, would be met with a sense of awe and uncertainty. But the moment he realizes you’re as into it as he is, he lets go a little.

His kisses would be deep, almost desperate—like he’s making up for lost time, or trying to make the moment last forever. His scaled skin, cool to the touch, contrasts with the warmth and passion he brings into every kiss. There’s a roughness in the way he holds you, his hands firm on your body, but they’re not careless. His grip would tighten as his confidence grows, pulling you closer, but he’s constantly checking himself to make sure he’s not being too forceful. Spinner is all about balance; he’s never had someone like this before, and he doesn’t want to mess it up.

He’d be unpracticed, maybe a little messy, but there’s something thrilling about it—how raw and unfiltered his emotions are. Spinner’s sharp teeth might graze your lips occasionally, sending little shocks through your body, but he’s careful not to hurt you. You can feel the tension in him, the way he holds back just enough to stay in control, but there’s an animalistic edge to him, a wildness that makes every kiss unpredictable.

There’s a sense of devotion in the way he leans into you, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into the kiss. His breath would grow heavy, and you’d feel the weight of his body pressing against you more as his desire overtakes his hesitation. Spinner’s tail, something he’s usually self-conscious about, might curl around your leg or rest against your side, adding to the closeness of the moment. It’s his way of showing how much he trusts you, allowing you to see all of him, even the parts he usually hides or feels insecure about.

And when you pull back, the way Spinner looks at you is full of unspoken emotion—gratitude, disbelief, and something deeper, like he’s found something in you he didn’t think he deserved. There would be a sense of quiet intensity, a lingering connection that stays even after the kissing stops, making every moment with Spinner feel more special and intimate than he ever thought possible.

.

.

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Masterlist

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I really think he's a soft one, deeply inside.

A softer moment for my favorite crusty neighbor (and an excuse to draw jellies!)

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am i really making fanart of a doctor if i don't make an apple joke. it just so happens that that one apple made him sick, and now he's questioning everything

apples and doctors are some kind of folk tale or something in this universe guys. some ppl actually believe it, like how parents tell their kids santa puts them on the nice or naughty list depending on how they act. i think that's funny

or maybe it's just not that serious and i should stop trying to make this work in the canon lmaooo

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Look at the chicken of Shane. Hidin' in his coat. So cute!

So... I started playing stardew and got to the winter....

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My Hero Academia: Vigilantes Episode 1 - All Might appreciation post

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Mh.

wet cat,,,,,

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"We got this, ladies!"

...he's so cute.

I LOVE that harvey does aerobics 😭😭 Hes so cute in his outfit i cannnt💚💚

(zoom in for better quality :])

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I enjoy the doodles so much! I swear, I love them!

And I swear that I knew that Akio was a doctor with wife and kid. He's got this good doctor vibe, totally!

Hiroto was a surfer? So cool! Now I can totally image him going givin' lesson at Gang Orca's aquarium. Love it.

And Kenta...love him so much. So cozy and shy! So cute.

And now, the grandpa. What a man. Love him so much 🥹❤️

He's so cool and strong.

Totally see Hizashi training with him.

Love the fact that he helped her daughter (totally a sweet woman, I can swear) with her children. True man, with the heart in the right place.

Thanks for using your time for answering my question! 🌻 a sunflower for you.

P.s.: Heisuke's costume...chef kiss!

Hi! How are you?

I kind of fell in love with your take on the Yamada family! Can you give us some headcanons on them? I'm so curious!

Please, be safe! 🫶🏻

hey!! so here’s a little chart with the bros’ quirks and basic info :3

hiroto and mic are closest, they always played together and match each other’s energy quite well. they grew up getting into trouble together and doing a lot together in general.

as for mics grandpa, his dad wasn’t around so grandpa heisuke was like,,, his father figure growing up. heisuke has the same quirk as his grandson so he did a lot of training mic himself. as an old man, hizashi saw his grandpa as a hardass who was unnecessarily strict. which in some ways was true. in heisuke’s youth he definitely was described as an…ehem…lady killer…and matched his glam rockstar look.

he took care of his daughter and her children till he passed away when mic was in college, taking care of five children alone was something he wasn’t going to leave his daughter to do.

he also has a natural tolerance to mics volume! (as i like to hc mic does as well) so a wailing baby zashi was never too much for him :3

anyways there’s what i have for now!! enjoy the little doodles ^^ i’m so happy y’all like them so much <3

— michi

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This is so cute ❤️ got rainbow in my heart, now.

Have this art I made of them I don't rlly like it because I realised I forgot that it's snowing RIGHT AFTER I FINISHED

(they're my fave trope of father and daughter)