#Dusky Sound

[loustravels]

In December 2023, my family and I embarked on a cruise around the south island of New Zealand. We celebrated both Christmas and New Year's Eve aboad the Royal Carribean ship 'Ovation of the Seas'.

Our first NZ port of call was scenic cruising through the Fiordland National Park:

Milford Sound

Doubtful Sound

Dusky Sound

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Aerial view of Dusky Sound near the southwestern tip of South Island in New Zealand, September 1971.Photograph by Gordon Gahan, National Geographic

* * * *

Thank you my lifelong afternoon late in this season of no age thank you for my windows above the rivers thank you for the true love you brought me to when it was time at last and for words that come out of silence and take me by surprise and have carried me through the clear day without once turning to look at me

[…]

thank you whole body and hand and eye thank you for sights and moments known only to me who will not see them again except in my mind’s eye where they have not changed thank you for showing me the morning stars

W.S. Merwin, from “Variation on a Theme,” in The Moon Before Morning (Copper Canyon Press, 2014)

[strangenewcontra]

mountains in the fiord fog

[cryptid-quest]

Cryptid of the Day: Dusky Sound Monster

Description: In 1831, two sailors off the coast of Dusky Sound in Fiordland, New Zealand reported seeing a giant kangaroo eating foliage, estimated to be 30ft tall. Due to its size, some have suggested it was a ground sloth, thou no evidence of either has ever been found in New Zealand.  

[cultivating-wildflowers]

kicked myself outdoors to see the redwing blackbirds and also saw chickadees, a wood duck, and sandhill cranes (at a distance, properly identified by a professional birder I met on the trail)

[mrsoharaa]

i just had this beautiful perfect cozy dream (i just woke up like half an hour ago lmao) of me and miggy going on a casual/comfy (long sweatshirts x baggy sweatpants) pier date :((

[minty-bubblegum]

WHOOOOOWAAAAAAWHOOOOOWAAAAAAA

FELLOW SOUTHERNER SPOTTED

YEAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHEEEEAH!!!

[listenonrepeat88]

In a dusky sepia-toned room where shadows dance and pulse like the beat of a deep house track, the air is thick with warmth, inviting you to lose yourself in the hypnotic rhythm. Wisps of golden light cascade from a vintage chandelier, mingling with the silky textures of deep blue and burgundy fabrics that wrap around plush cushions, creating a sanctuary of sound and sensation. Vibrant visual patterns swirl and throb around the edges, resembling the fluttering enthusiasm of souls caught in the groove, while ethereal notes shimmer like stars in a velvet sky, connecting the heartbeats of all who come to feel the music. This is a realm where each beat reverberates like a heartbeat, wrapping you in an embrace of solace and euphoria, a digital dreamscape ignited by the pulse of the night.

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

"Husband" yandere x Brainwashed Reader

"Are you okay, my love?"

You turned at the sound of your husband's voice, your tense expression softening.

"It's nothing. Just a strange feeling of déjà vu."

His smile faltered briefly before returning. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pressed a kiss to your neck.

"It's probably nothing. Let's focus on the apartment. Do you like it?"

You glanced around the kitchen—brand-new tiles, sleek cabinets, a pristine stove. It was perfect. Almost too perfect.

"Won't this be too expensive?" you asked, casting a glance over your shoulder.

He shook his head, resting his cheek against you. "We can afford it," he assured you, smirking. "You never have to worry about that, darling."

You laughed as he spun you around to face him.

"And aren't you just the most stunning thing to ever exist?" He peppered kisses across your cheeks. "I'd do anything for you."

You pressed your hands against his chest, trying to gently push him away. "The realtor will be back any second."

He groaned, tossing his head back, though a playful grin remained on his lips. "Let her wait," he murmured, his grip tightening just slightly.

You smiled, but there was an odd flutter in your chest. A shiver ran down your spine, though the room was warm. The feeling lingered as you walked through the rest of the apartment. Every room was pristine, untouched—like something out of a dream. Or a memory.

"Are you sure we haven't been here before?" you asked, running your fingers along the edge of a sleek marble counter. His expression didn’t change, but his fingers twitched at his side.

"Of course not. It just has the kind of charm that feels... familiar."

You frowned. That wasn’t quite what you meant.

Still, as he pulled you from room to room, as he laughed and traced circles on the small of your back, the feeling only grew.

Something was wrong.

By the time you returned to the bedroom, the sun had set. Floor to ceiling windows framed the dusky sky, the city lights blinking to life. You stepped toward the glass, pressing your hand against it, staring at the world below. Your husband wrapped his arms around you from behind, his warmth seeping through your clothes.

"I love you," he whispered into your ear, his voice soft, reverent.

Something flickered in the glass—your reflection. His reflection.

For a second, you swore you saw something else. A glimpse of... what?

Pain? Darkness? A void, deep and endless?

Your husband rested his chin on your shoulder. "You're gorgeous," he whispered, so quietly you barely heard it.

You shivered.

"I... I don't like this apartment."

He paused, eyes scanning you.

"Is there something wrong?"

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. The words stuck for a moment before you forced them out. "I don't know," you admitted, gripping the edge of the windowpane. "It just feels... off."

Your husband sighed softly, his breath warm against your neck.

"It's just nerves. Moving is stressful."

"Maybe."

But that wasn’t it. The déjà vu had turned into something heavier, something more suffocating. You felt it in the air—thick and cloying.

You stepped away from the glass and turned to face him. He watched you carefully, his smile still in place.

"Are you sure we haven’t been here before?" you asked again.

His smile didn’t falter, but his fingers twitched again.

"You’re overthinking," he murmured, cupping your face. "You always do that, love. That brilliant mind of yours, always running."

You tried to laugh, but it felt forced. He kissed your forehead, lingering for just a second too long.

A sharp knock at the door made you jump.

Your husband sighed. "The realtor," he said, stepping away. "I’ll handle it."

As soon as he left the room, the air felt lighter. You exhaled and turned back to the window. Your reflection stared back at you.

But something was wrong.

The person in the glass—they weren’t quite you.

Their eyes were wide, lips parted in a silent plea.

And behind them—behind you—

A shadow loomed.

A hand reached for your shoulder.

Your stomach turned to ice.

The door clicked shut behind you.

"Everything’s fine," your husband said.

But you weren’t so sure anymore.

Masterlist

AN: Sorry! This is really rushed!

[prof-marvolius]

Críptido del día: Monstruo de Dusky Sound

Descripción: En 1831, dos marineros informaron haber visto un canguro gigante en una cala en Dusky Sound en Fiordland, Nueva Zelanda; lo observaron desde una pequeña embarcación, viéndolo comer el follaje hasta que los notó. Saltó al agua y se alejó nadando, dejando una estela que se extendía de un extremo al otro del estrecho. Debido a su tamaño, algunos han sugerido que era un perezoso terrestre, pero nunca se ha encontrado evidencia de ninguno de los dos en Nueva Zelanda.

[iannmin]

Pound Town | c.sc 최승철

tags + warnings: cowboy!highsexdrive!seungcheol x fem!reader, breeding kink, creampie, praise kink, riding, public sex (?), mdni 18+

synopsis: “save a horse, ride a cowboy”

a/n: we all NEED a man like cheol ughh, anywayss enjoy my first svt fic <3 love you mwahh

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you weren't exactly sure how long you'd been riding. a horse? no. in fact, you were riding the hottest cowboy you’d just met in the west town. the man, who hastily introduced himself as "cheol," had offered you a ride when your poor Dodge Charger broke down, but it seemed the two of you interpreted "ride" in entirely different ways. so now, instead of heading to your appointment, there you were, straddling him in a deserted parking lot beside the western pub, his vintage car creaking beneath you.

the soaring heat of the day was long gone and mellowed into a dusky twilight, casting long shadows across the deserted lot, and yet,, cheol wasn’t finished. the foggy windows and the ring of white cum forming at the base of his shaft might have been a good indication of how long the both of you might have been doing the deed but nobody seemed to be paying attention anyways.

“hah….fuck…s’good” cheol was propped up on the backseat of the car, old-fashioned belt and jeans pooling around his knees, a sheen of sweat trickling down on both sides of his forehead, but amidst the sweltering heat in the car, his eyes never left yours. while you, on the other hand, were barely keeping up with the pounding. he had both of his huge hands wrapped around the sides of your waist, guiding you up and down his dick repeatedly, simultaneously bucking up his hips rhythmically to press sweet kisses on your cervix. of course, you were a moaning and whimpering mess, blabbering incoherently, tears forming at the brim of your eyes. “nnngh…cheol…can’t” you whine weakly. “slow down, please…hah..” yet despite your protest, cheol seemed to be driving you close to your umpteenth orgasm. but this time, he was finally close too.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s it, attagirl, gonna fill you up to the brim, you’re all fuckin mine.” cheol pants, snapping his hip harder into yours, the squeaky sounds from the leather of the vintage car’s seats and your skin-to-skin slapping intensifying “hnng,,can’t!” you wail, high crashing down as you tremble in his grip, sobs wracking your body as your cunt clenches down on his cock, white ring of cum thickening around the base of his cock as he rams into your pussy, swears profusely escaping his lips.

“so… fuck… going to breed you” cheol groans, gripping your waist tightly and painfully as his high hits shortly after, slamming his cock deep as hot cum fills you to the brim, warmth spreading as you wail with the overstimulation, so full already of his release, but you felt euphoric. “s’full….feels s’good” you whimpered

cheol chuckled at your fucked out state, “next time you need a ride, ride me instead, because cowboys ride harder and stay on longer.”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

A single shaft of sunlight breaks leaden clouds on New Zealand’s Dusky Sound

National Geographic | September 1971

* * * *

Master Lu Tzu said : That which exists through itself is called Meaning (Tao). Meaning has neither name nor force. It is the one essence, the one primordial spirit. Essence and life cannot be seen. It is contained in the Light of Heaven. The Light of Heaven cannot be seen. It is contained in the two eyes.

The Secret Of The Golden Flower By Richard Wilhelm And Carl Jung

[ i-will-talk-fish]

[marvelstoriesepic]

Five days, Five bouquets

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: talk of a fake marriage for the sake of a mission; fluffff

Author’s Note: This is written for the writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I wasn’t planning on writing something so soon because I’ve still got a project going on right now, but your prompts and everything were just so alluring, I couldn’t help myself. I hope you enjoy this, my dearest. And I am almost entirely certain that this won’t be my only entry to your writing challenge, because I've got some more ideas lol. Here is a small continuation to this story: A Home for Now

Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡

Masterlist

“Again, Bucky?”

You don’t even try to mask your breathless laughter, the warmth of it slipping through as you rise from your seat.

The front door clicks shut behind Bucky and he scuffs off his boots half-heartedly on the door mat. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. And an even larger grin on his face.

The table before you is still cluttered with the remnants of your cover - documents, notes, a meticulously crafted facade of a life together.

A life that isn’t real, except for moments like these, when the borders become smudged just enough to make you wonder.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” he says, still smiling so wide, but his tone does not hold a trace of irony. “What kinda guy d’you think I am? Four days in a row and I just stop?” He scoffs as if the mere thought offends him. His voice is honeyed.

He stalks over to you standing at the table and holds the bouquet out for you. It is an understatedly beautiful arrangement of dusky pink roses, fluffy ruffled carnations, ivory lilies with petals curling slightly at the edges. Wisps of silvery foliage peek through, adding a breath of frost to the warmth. And then there are the deep inky leaves interwoven among the blooms, like something divine pulled from the shadows.

You take them with fingers that begin to tremble just slightly. His hand brushes over yours. A blush makes its way up your face just like every time.

You have been undercover for five days, posing as a married couple by orders from Nick Fury. And every day, even though it’s not at all necessary for you both to keep your cover, Bucky brings you a bouquet when he gets ‘home’ from his fake job.

He is embedded in a high-profile consulting firm, shadowing a suspect deeply tangled in covert operations, while you take a closer look at his wife. She’s not at all innocent. She manages high-stakes charity galas, the kind that funnel money into places they shouldn’t be. You play the devoted wife, hosting brunches, attending yoga classes she goes to, letting cautious friendships lead you to the information you need.

Five days. Five bouquets.

Each one different, but all of them hold some unspoken thing. Something that makes you shiver.

The choking in your throat is disguised with a roll of your eyes. “You do know we’re supposed to be laying low, right? Kinda hard when you’re single-handedly funding the local florist,” you tease rather lightly.

Bucky chuckles, low but bright, and you swear you feel the sound more than you hear it. “Oh c’mon, doll. Long as we’re playin’ house, I gotta keep my wife happy.”

This is a joke. It is all a joke. But your pulse is not laughing, only speeding up, tripping at the way he puts emphasis on wife. As if the word fits too well in his mouth, as if he could get used to it.

Bucky has always been a gentleman to you. Even outside of missions. But since you started this one, moving into the same house on the outskirts of town for the sake of your cover, the grumpiness and stoicism that usually surround his aura at the compound are completely lost here with you. You’ve never seen him smile as much as you have in the last five days.

You clutch the bouquet a little tighter, take a closer look, and take in the many appealing colors and scents. “Thank you, Bucky. I love those,” you say warmly.

His expression falters just a fraction like it does every time, not quite knowing what to do with genuine gratitude when it’s meant for him. Although you show it to him all the time. A flicker of something unguarded passes over his features before he covers it with a scoff that only makes it out halfway. He looks off to the side, shifting his weight. “Well, can’t have my wife thinkin’ I'm slipping already now, can I?” he laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, the tips of his ears just the slightest bit of pink.

You turn with a huffed laugh and perform the task of putting away the flowers. Shaking your head, you start to get highly aware of the wedding band around your finger, a piece of fiction Tony gave you to wear. It looks so real, yet it is a lie. And you hate it.

“Do I need to remind you that we’re not actually married?” The words fall with amusement but they sit heavier in the air than they should.

The ring fits perfectly, Tony made sure of that. But it still somehow presses against your skin. As if to remind you that Bucky is not truly yours.

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat. You see him tilting his head from your peripherals as you reach for a vase. His smile is softened. “Don’t matter, sweetheart. Might as well treat you like my wife.” His voice is quieter now, less teasing. But sure.

The kitchen and living room are already brimming with the past four days of his affections.

One arrangement graces the coffee table, another stands by the window, and two more are carefully nestled between books on the shelf at the wall to your left. A home suffused with color, with life, with something neither of you dares to call by name.

You feel the warmth of his gaze on you. He doesn’t say anything, standing there relaxed, still with that proud and fond smile on his face, watching you as if he is engraving in his memory the way you fuss over where to place this latest offering.

And maybe you take just a little longer than necessary because if you turn too soon, you’ll have to meet his eyes.

And you don’t know if you can right now.

You’re not sure if you’d be able to look away.

But you know you should. Because this is not real.

But maybe - and this is the hope speaking - it could be someday.

“Imagine someone thinking of you and buying you flowers.”

- sleepyurl

[beloveds-embrace]

Wingless!Reader and Harpy!Gaz MY BELOVEDS!!!! She thinks she’s lost this thing that’s so crucial to her identity, so she must be unlovable now, and all he can think of is how amazing she is. Does she take a while to realize he’s hitting on her, or does he make it obvious immediately?

Short answer: it’d take her a while to accept that he is actually hitting on her! Thank you to @lostintransist, @sexc-snail, @ms-sasa, and @cod-z’s conversation for giving me inspiration for the long answer:

You hadn’t noticed him at first- not really.

It wasn’t like you expected to see another harpy in your small, isolated town. Not here, where the skies seemed too vast and empty, and you could pretend your feet had always been meant to kiss the earth instead of the wind. You liked it that way- liked the absence of feathers and sharp eyes that might rake over empty span of your back. You liked the illusion of anonymity.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But the illusion shattered the moment Kyle “Gaz” Garrick walked into your life.

You’d seen him before, of course- him and the rest of his team. They were hard to miss, their sheer presence enough to bend the air around them, predatory in a way that set all your instincts on edge. That aside, it was hard not to notice newcomers immediately, and it was your neighbors that told you about them first. Anout him.

Gaz, though… He wasn’t sharp edges and thunder like the others. He was soft winds and dusky skies, his gaze steady but warm. Even so, you hadn’t lingered long enough to catch the subtle flutter of wings beneath his jacket, hadn’t realized what he was until it was too late to pretend not to see him.

Now, standing in the market square with the autumn breeze tugging at his dark curls, Kyle was unmistakable.

A harpy.

His eyes found yours almost immediately. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

You did. You dropped your gaze and turned away, pulse pounding and pretending like what harpy left in you didn’t want to chirp and seek him out to meet him proper.

The social instincts were easier to curb with no other harpies around.

It took days for you to stop feeling the weight of that look- curious, searching, too focused for comfort. It was worse when you saw him again, and again after that, his paths seeming to cross yours no matter how you tried to avoid him. Always the same glance, steady and unreadable. Always the same tug low in your stomach that you hated yourself for feeling.

You didn’t want his attention.

You didn’t want to see the moment his eyes shifted, when recognition would bloom into pity or horror or, worse, disgust.

And yet he never looked away, even when you knew he must have understood by now that you are wingless.

You were restocking shelves in the little general store you worked at when he finally cornered you- not literally, but it certainly felt like it. The bell above the door had chimed, and you’d looked up instinctively, only to freeze when you saw him there.

“Hey.” His voice was warm and crooning. Friendly. But there was a weight behind it too, something that made your feathers- what was left of them- prickle beneath your skin.

You murmured a polite greeting and turned back to your task. Maybe he’d take the hint. Hopefully.

He didn’t.

“Not many of us around here,” he said, like it was casual conversation. Like it didn’t make your stomach twist into tight knots, ash coating the back of your throat where there should’ve been excited tweets and chirps.

You swallowed hard, and yet the taste lingered. “No.”

The silence stretched; not offensive, not choking. Simply there.

“I’m Kyle.” He tried again, gentler this time though you still didn’t look at him.

“I know who you are.” Your voice came out rougher than you meant, but you didn’t soften it. You couldn’t afford to.

Please go away.

He didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he simply chuckled, and the sound was so nice. “Small town things, huh? And you are?”

“Busy.”

That, finally, gave him pause. You felt his gaze sweep over you, not sharp this time, but careful. Calculating. Like a hawk.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” he said after a moment, and there was no offense in it, just understanding. “But I’d like it if you did.”

You didn’t know why that made something in your chest ache.

You wanted to snap at him, tell him to leave you alone, but the words died before you could force them out. Instead, you turned and met his gaze properly for the first time.

You braced for it- for his eyes to drop, for his expression to change.

It didn’t.

He just looked at you, steady as ever, and then he smiled.

He kept showing up after that encounter.

He was persistent in a way that wasn’t quite pushy, but left you no room for retreat. He showed up everywhere, always lingering at the edges of your space like he was waiting for an invitation you never gave. Sometimes he bought things from the store where you worked, even when it was obvious he didn’t need them. Other times he just passed by, pausing long enough to offer a nod or a smile, feathers fluffing out ever so slightly, before continuing on his way.

He never asked about your lack of wings.

He didn’t need to.

You caught him watching you sometimes, his gaze lingering just a moment too long before he looked away. But there was no pity in it, no revulsion. Just… interest. Curiosity. Like he was trying to figure you out.

You hated how much it made your heart race.

The first gift appeared on your doorstep after a bad storm.

It was a feather- deep brown with pale golden tips, sleek and perfect. A molted primary. Harpy wings didn’t shed often, and when they did, the feathers were treasured. Given, and never discarded.

You stared at it for a long time before picking it up, your fingers trembling. No. Was this a cruel joke? A mockery?

But harpies didn’t gift feathers lightly. It wasn’t just a token, it would never be used for a joke. It was a claim. A courtship.

You told yourself it couldn’t be from him, even if he was the only other harpy in town.

But when you saw Gaz later that day, his eyes flicked briefly to your hand where you still clutched the feather like it might disappear if you let it go. His mouth curved in the faintest of smug smiles before he turned and walked away, wings lax and fluffy; happy.

(Un)surprisingly, it didn’t stop there.

A polished stone one day, smooth and dark and heavy in your palm, made its home on your windowsill proudly. A sprig of rosemary the next, tucked into a small bundle of herbs tied with twine left with a basket of hunted game. Little things, carefully chosen, left where you’d be sure to find them.

You should have given them back. Should have told him to stop.

But you didn’t. Couldn’t, didn’t want him to.

You kept them, every single one. And still denied anything related to the idea of courting.

The first time he touched you, it was an accident. Or so you led yourself to believe.

You’d been hauling a heavy crate in the back room of the store when you slipped, hissing as pain flared along your shoulder. Before you could steady yourself, his hands were on you- gentle but firm, catching you before you could fall.

“Careful, love.” He murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You froze.

It wasn’t just his touch; it was the way he leaned in, close enough that his wings brushed your arm, soft feathers ghosting over your skin. Harpies didn’t touch wings lightly. It was intimate, deliberate.

You stepped back quickly, your pulse hammering like a hummingbird. “I’m fine, Kyle.”

He didn’t move, dark eyes searching yours and wings still brushing over your skin like the calls of a siren. “Are you?”

You hated how much you wanted to lean back into him, when you finally pull yourself away with the excuse of having work to do. His eyes followed you regardless, and you pretended not to hear his pleased croon.

The first time you let him close, it wasn’t an accident.

You were walking home after sunset, shadows long and creeping. The streets felt too empty, too quiet. You told yourself you were imagining things- the prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling of being watched. But harpy senses were never wrong, even ones wingless-

Then you saw them.

Three men leaning against the alley wall, eyes sharp and predatory. Not hybrids- just humans- but that didn’t make them any less dangerous.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t look at them. But they stepped into your path anyway, smiles sharp as knives.

“Not in the mood,” you kept your voice steady, sighing in the quiet confines of your mind.

They didn’t move.

Before you could react, a shadow loomed behind you, cutting through the dim light; Kyle, wings spread wide and threating behind him.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.

The men took one look at him- the sharp line of his jaw, the broad set of his shoulders, the feathers flaring at his back- and decided they wanted no part of him. They melted away into the night, quick and silent, and in no time they were simple specks of forgotten dust.

You let out a shaky breath, wrapping your arms around yourself as you turned to look at him. Despite the unpleasant encounter, he looed handsome like this, lip curled in disgust, jaw tight, brows furrowed.

Stupid thoughts.

“You okay?” Kyle asked, voice low. He kept looking around, on the look out in case anyone else tried their luck with you, and he hummed when he saw you nod.

You hadn’t realized it until now, but his hands were on your waist, tight but not enough to cause you any pain. You.. couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to let go, and so his hands lingered there.

Not too long- just enough for the heat of his touch to settle beneath your skin, warm and steady. Just enough for his thumbs to brush once, barely there, before he let go at last.

He didn’t step back, though.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer now, one wing open around you back like a shield. “I’ll walk you home, love.”

You didn’t argue. Couldn’t, not when the memory of sharp eyes and sharper smiles still clung to the edges of your thoughts. You nodded again, and when his wing brushed your arm- closer than any harpy should have dared- you didn’t flinch away.

Not this time.

You tell yourself you should have stopped it there.

Should have put some distance between you and Kyle before you let yourself sink any deeper than you’ve already allowed, but you didn’t.

You let him linger, let him watch you, let him keep leaving those little gifts like offerings. You let him walk you home when the streets grew dark and the wind grew cold, his wings always flaring slightly- protective, claiming. You invite him in, sometimes, longing for company yet unable to admit it to yourself.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because some part of you- some buried, broken part that still ached for the wind and the skies- wanted to be claimed. Wanted the safety and warmth he offered so freely, even when you didn’t think you deserved it.

Especially then.

The next gift was the one that broke you.

You’d thought you’d grown used to them by now- the feathers, the stones, the herbs tied with twine. Small things. Careful things.

But this time, it wasn’t small.

It was a cloak.

Dark and soft, lined with feathers- harpy feathers. His feathers. Feathers that gleamed gold and brown, sleek and perfect. Feathers meant for flight; the same feathers that protected you, that stayed with you.

He’d given them to you.

His feathers.

The thought kept looping in your mind, loud and clear.

Your hands trembled as you touched the edge of the cloak, and you barely noticed when the door creaked open.

Kyle stepped inside, and his eyes softened the moment they landed on you. “Fits you, darling.” He said, low and warm as a setting sun.

“I can’t take this, Kyle.” You whispered, a deep ache attempting to burrow its way into the soft, vulnerable space between your ribs.

“Yes, you can.”

You looked up, and his gaze caught you, steady and unyielding. The ache melted away.

“Kyle-”

“It’s yours, honey.” He stepped closer, his wings shifting. “You’re mine.”

The words hit like a blow, but before you could retreat, he kept going.

“You think I don’t see it?” Kyle’s voice dropped, something raw and aching curling beneath it. “You think I don’t know? I don’t care about your wings, love. Never did. They do not make me think any less of you.”

You flinched, but he didn’t stop there.

He reached out, pulling you into the cocoon of his arms and wing. “You’re still a harpy. Still strong. Still you. Still the loveliest birdie I’ve ever seen.” His grip tightened, just slightly, and he hooked his chin over your head. “You’re not broken.”

Your throat closed.

He must have noticed, because his voice softened further, almost pleading.

“Let me keep you safe. Let me stay.”

You couldn’t breathe.

And yet, when his hand slipped down to tangle with yours, you didn’t pull away.

[cei1ne]

—MHA men reactions to you accidentally calling them ‘husband’

°˚°◦☙Summary: How the Bakusquad reacts to you calling them ‘husband’ by accident and catching them and yourself off guard!

༓･*˚⁺‧͙:Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader ; Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader ; Denki Kaminari x f!reader ; Sero Hanta x f!reader

♡.•♬✧⁽⁽Tags: Fluff ; Cute ; Slip up ; Time skip; MHA ; Dating ; In love

+:•*∴Word-count: 5k

•*:｡✩A/N: Hey guys I actually thought that I would be so active in the holidays but… here we are. Well whatever lately I haven’t been able to stay up past 1am so I forced myself to stay awake to create this. Maybe I’ll make next part who knows! Love you!

Part 2!

Bakugou Katsuki

The sun had already started its descent, painting the city skyline in shades of gold and pink as you made your way to the Ground Zero Hero Agency. The streets bustled with chatter and traffic, but your focus stayed locked on the bag of katsudon in your hand. You knew how Bakugou got when he was overworked — sharp, irritable, and always forgetting to eat. You had half a mind to scold him, but you knew better than to lecture Katsuki Bakugou. The man was stubborn, a walking explosion with the softest, rarest underbelly you’d ever seen.

His receptionist, Mina, flashed you a grin when you walked in. “Brave soul, coming in during one of those days.”

You gave a breathless laugh, shifting the bag in your grip. “He’s not that bad.”

“Mm-hmm. You keep telling yourself that, Mrs. Ground Zero,” she teased.

Your face burned. You waved her off and made your way down the hall.

You barely knocked once before nudging the door open. His office smelled like smoke and worn leather. The curtains were half-drawn, letting streaks of dusky light spill across the room. Papers were scattered on his desk, his gauntlets tossed haphazardly onto a shelf. And there he was — hunched over his laptop, brows furrowed, eyes locked onto whatever report had his attention.

You couldn’t help but soften. The world knew Ground Zero, the relentless, ruthless hero who decimated villains and barked orders like cannon fire. But you? You knew Katsuki. The man who stubbornly refused to admit he liked when you held his hand. Who complained about vegetables but always stole bites from your plate. Who grumbled and scowled but looked at you like you hung the stars every time he thought you weren’t looking.

“Oi,” he grunted, not looking up. “What’re you doin’ here?”

You set the bag down on his desk, letting the smell drift between you. “Lunch delivery, husband.”

Silence.

It was immediate, electric — the way the room seemed to still.

Your stomach dropped, realizing what you’d just said.

Oh my god.

Oh no.

Abort. ABORT.

Bakugou’s gaze finally lifted. Red eyes wide, mouth slightly open like he was trying to process if you really said what he thought you did.

“…The hell did you just call me?”

His voice was low, rough around the edges. But not angry — no, if anything, there was a spark of something teasing, something dangerous in his expression. His ears betrayed him though, already flushed a deep crimson.

“I—uh—I meant—Katsuki. I meant Katsuki.” You wanted to crawl under the desk.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, lips pulling into a cocky smirk. “Nah. Don’t walk that back. You called me husband.”

“I-it was an accident!”

“Was it?” His tone dipped, voice softer but no less intense.

Your face burned. “I mean — not that I wouldn’t… it’s not like I… it’s just — shut up and eat your damn katsudon.”

You shoved the bag toward him, avoiding his gaze. He laughed — a rare, genuine sound that made your chest ache.

“Damn, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

He grabbed the container, peeling it open with a grin still tugging at his lips. He took a bite, eyes fluttering shut for a second in appreciation. You loved how his roughness softened just a little in moments like this.

“I ain’t mad, y’know,” he murmured, mouth half-full. “Kinda liked it.”

You dared to glance at him. “Yeah?”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Call me that again sometime.”

Your heart tripped over itself, the tension in the room now a warm, hazy thing.

“Maybe I will,” you said softly.

He tugged you down, pulling you into a quick, rough kiss that stole your breath. It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t shy — it was Katsuki through and through.

When he pulled back, his voice was gruff. “Better get used to it, babe. Gonna make it official one day.”

Your face split into a grin. Yeah… maybe you could get used to it too.

Eijirou Kirishima

The Hero Gala was in full swing by the time you arrived. Glittering lights reflected off the towering glass windows of the event hall, a string quartet playing soft, elegant music in the background. Everywhere you looked, there were famous pro heroes in tailored suits and glamorous dresses, mingling with politicians, sponsors, and media figures.

But you weren’t here for them.

You were here for one hero in particular.

“Eijiro!” you called softly, weaving your way through the crowd.

And there he was.

Pro Hero Red Riot — standing near a decorative fountain, bright red hair slicked back just enough to keep its wild shape. He looked painfully good in a deep crimson suit that hugged his broad shoulders and made his sharp grin stand out even more. A couple of other heroes were chatting with him, laughing at something he’d just said.

When his eyes met yours, his whole face lit up like a sunrise.

“Babe!” he beamed, waving you over eagerly like a puppy who just spotted his favorite person. He immediately excused himself and met you halfway, arms outstretched.

You fell right into his embrace, feeling all the tension of the stuffy event ease away. “You look so good, Eiji,” you murmured, pulling back to admire him properly

He chuckled, his cheeks already dusted pink. “You clean up pretty damn amazing yourself. I’ve been lookin’ for you all night.”

You gave a soft laugh, standing on your toes to fix his slightly crooked tie. “Can’t have my husband looking messy in front of all these cameras.”

It took a full second for the words to register.

Your fingers stilled against his chest.

His crimson eyes widened — not in shock, not in embarrassment, but in pure, unfiltered joy. Like you’d just handed him the world.

“Wait… wh-what did you just call me?” His voice cracked a little, disbelieving and giddy.

You could feel your heart pounding in your ears. “I… I meant boyfriend. I meant boyfriend. I swear. I—”

But before you could spiral, his face broke into the widest grin you’d ever seen.

“No, no, no — you called me husband. Aw man, that’s… that’s awesome.”

You blinked. “You… you’re not weirded out?”

“Are you kidding?!” He grabbed both of your hands, eyes sparkling like a kid at a candy shop. “Babe, I — I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. Kinda… a lot, actually.”

Your heart squeezed.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. “I’ve… y’know, imagined it. Us, married. A cool little place together. Maybe a dog. You wearin’ my last name. Stuff like that.”

You could barely breathe. “Eijiro…”

“I just didn’t wanna freak you out by bringing it up,” he laughed sheepishly. “But hearing you call me that — man, that makes me so damn happy.”

The ballroom seemed to melt away. All you could see was him — his bright grin, flushed cheeks, those big, strong hands gently holding yours like you were something precious.

You gave a shy smile. “Well… I guess it kinda suits you.”

“Yeah?” He grinned wider. “Guess you’ll have to get used to it then. ‘Cause if you’ll let me, I’d love to make it official someday.”

You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing the rough stubble starting to form there. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He leaned into your touch. “You love it.”

“I do,” you whispered.

Then, right there in the middle of the crowded ballroom, with cameras flashing and people all around, he dipped down and kissed you — warm, firm, and steady, like he was anchoring himself to you.

And honestly? You didn’t need a marriage certificate to know you belonged to him already.

Denki Kaminari

It had started as a quiet night in.

You and Denki had this tradition — one night a week, no hero business, no agency calls, no saving the world. Just the two of you, junk food, video games, and whatever movie you randomly picked together. Tonight was no different.

Your shared apartment still smelled like popcorn and pizza. The lights were low, a soft glow coming from the TV screen and the neon sign he insisted on hanging up in the living room that said “Shockingly Good Vibes.”

Denki was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against your legs, a controller in hand, brow furrowed in fierce concentration.

“No way — no way, no way, NO WAY!” he shouted, mashing the buttons like his life depended on it.

You laughed, tossing a pillow at him. “Denki, it’s just a game.”

“Just a game? Babe, we are one level away from beating this, and if we win, you owe me ice cream.”

“You already ate half a tub of it earlier,” you teased, nudging him with your foot.

“Doesn’t count,” he grinned without looking back. “Electric boys need fuel.”

The match ended with a dramatic win on your side. You threw your hands up with a triumphant cheer. “Ha! Take that, husband!”

The words slipped out before you even realized it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Denki’s hands dropped the controller, his head whipping around so fast you thought he might pull something. His golden eyes were huge, his mouth forming a little “o” of pure shock.

“Wait… wait, wait, wait — did you just call me… husband?”

You blinked, panicked. “I — no, I mean, not like— okay maybe I— it just— it was a slip, I swear—”

He practically beamed, practically vibrating in place. “No way, that’s… that’s so freaking cute.”

Your face felt hot. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind,” he cut you off, scrambling to turn around on his knees to face you, his grin impossibly bright. “If that’s, like… where this is going. One day. Maybe.”

You stared at him, your pulse pounding, warmth spreading all the way to your fingertips.

Denki gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it, y’know? Us. Married. You being all adorable, stealin’ my hoodies, makin’ fun of my hair in the mornings. Me zapping the toaster by accident and you pretending to be mad but secretly thinking it’s hilarious.”

Your heart squeezed so tight it hurt.

“I just…” He shrugged, a little shy now, his voice softer. “I really, really love you. And… you accidentally callin’ me that? Kinda made my whole night.”

You felt yourself smiling — big, stupid, helpless.

“I love you too, Denks,” you whispered, reaching out to brush his wild blond bangs out of his face. “And maybe I’m not so mad about the idea either.

He grinned, leaning into your hand. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

In a blink, he tackled you back onto the couch, showering your face with playful kisses, making you laugh breathlessly.

“Gonna make you say it for real someday,” he grinned against your skin, “and when you do — oh man — you’re never gonna hear the end of it.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close. “I’ll look forward to it, husband.”

“Ohhh shiiit!” he howled, dramatically clutching his heart. “Marry me now.”

You both burst into laughter, the world outside forgotten, wrapped up in the glow of neon lights and the warmth of what might just be forever.

Sero Hanta

The two of you had always been a little… unconventional.

Late-night food runs, rooftop hangouts after patrol, movie marathons that turned into ridiculous bets. You loved how easy it was to be around Hanta. He was chill, funny, and the kind of guy who could make even the most stressful day feel light.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You’d both gotten off patrol around midnight, grabbed takeout from a sketchy late-night place you probably shouldn’t trust, and ended up sprawled out on the living room floor of his apartment, eating noodles straight from the carton.

“I swear to god, if I have to deal with one more petty shoplifter pulling the ‘I didn’t know stealing was illegal’ routine, I’m gonna lose it,” you groaned, flopping onto your back.

Sero laughed around a mouthful of noodles. “C’mon babe, you gotta admire the creativity sometimes. Last week, I caught a guy trying to stuff a whole watermelon down his pants.”

You burst out laughing. “Okay, okay — I’ll give him points for effort.”

He grinned, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Hey, speaking of effort, check this out.”

He reached for his phone and started showing you memes — the dumbest, weirdest, most chaotic pro hero memes you’d ever seen. You snorted so hard you nearly choked on your drink.

“Okay, okay, you win this round, husband,” you laughed, nudging him with your foot.

You didn’t realize what you’d said until the room went totally still.

You felt his gaze snap up to meet yours, a teasing smirk already playing on his lips.

“Oh?” he grinned. “Husband, huh?”

You groaned, covering your face. “Oh my god — no — no no no — I didn’t mean to say that.”

He set his carton down, crawling over so he was leaning over you, his grin wide and downright smug. “You sure? ‘Cause honestly… kinda liked the sound of it.”

Your face burned. “It was a slip, Sero.”

He chuckled, tapping a finger against your nose. “Yeah, but like… not the worst one you could’ve made, y’know? In fact… might even be my favorite.”

You peeked up at him, heart pounding. “You’re not weirded out?”

“Why would I be?” He shrugged, settling down beside you. “I mean, not like I haven’t thought about it. Me, you, weird late-night noodle dates forever. Waking up next to you, pulling dumb pranks, maybe a house with a killer rooftop view.”

You bit your lip, smiling. “That’s a pretty specific picture.”

He smiled back, and for a second — just a second — all the teasing faded from his face, replaced by something softer, more honest.

“I’m serious, babe. I’m in this for the long haul.”

Your heart gave a traitorous flutter.

“I… I kinda like the sound of that too,” you admitted.

“Yeah?” he grinned, scooting closer. “Guess you’ll have to start practicing. Say it again.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Not happening, tape boy.”

“Aww, c’mon — for your favorite husband?”

You swatted at him, but he caught your hand, pressing a quick, feather-light kiss to your knuckles.

“One day,” he murmured. “When you’re ready.”

The teasing was still there, but underneath it… something real.

And honestly?

You could definitely see forever with this idiot.

[chrissssssmut]

goddess of death karina x god of love (male reader )

WHERE DEATH TAKES HER TIME

goddess!Karina x god!male reader

tags: goddess x god, divine seduction, possessiveness, teasing, hot smut, overstimulation, domination (Karina leaning), altar sex

The halls of the divine realm never echoed like this.

Not until she entered.

Karina—the Goddess of Death—walked with a silence that demanded attention. Her bare feet made no sound against obsidian marble, her silver crown glinting under a sky perpetually painted in eclipse hues. She didn’t come here often. The Palace of Passion wasn’t her domain. It belonged to you.

The God of Love.

You sensed her presence before she said anything. The air grew cold, like she dragged the underworld behind her cloak.

“Unexpected of you to visit my temple, Karina,” you said without turning, seated lazily on your throne of rose-gold and velvet, chalice in hand. “Shouldn’t you be busy reaping souls or weaving sorrow?”

Her voice was a velvet dagger. “They can wait. I’m in the mood to feel something different tonight.”

You turned, finally. And your breath caught—not that a god needed to breathe. But you still felt it.

Karina wore a black gown that dripped like ink, sheer in places where it shouldn’t be. Her pale skin glowed like bone beneath moonlight, and her eyes—icy, bottomless—landed on yours with intent.

“I should warn you,” you said, stepping down the steps of your throne slowly, “playing with me comes with… side effects.”

She tilted her head, a cruel smirk dancing across her lips. “I’m Death, Love. Do you think I fear consequence?”

She stopped inches away from you.

And dragged one black-painted nail down your chest.

“I’ve come to claim something,” she whispered.

Your eyes narrowed. “A soul?”

“No.” She leaned closer, her breath like frost against your neck. “You.”

Your back hit the altar of your temple. Gilded with ivory and surrounded by floating petals, it was a place meant for union—offerings to you were usually gentle, sweet, romantic.

But Karina made it something else entirely.

You groaned as she straddled you, her thighs squeezing your hips as she pinned you down. Her lips crashed onto yours—ravenous, devouring—and your hands instinctively gripped her waist. You could feel the cold aura of her realm radiating from her skin, but she was burning with want.

“You pretend to resist,” she purred, grinding her hips into your clothed cock, “but this—” she rolled again, slower this time, “—has been waiting for me.”

You groaned into her mouth as she bit your lower lip. “You’re not what I’m used to.”

“Good,” she hissed, unfastening her gown and letting it slide down her shoulders. Her breasts were perfect—full, pale, tipped with dusky pink nipples already hardened. She grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“God of Love, reduced to prey?” she teased.

You arched into her. “Only for you.”

Karina laughed darkly—then slid down, lips dragging over your neck, chest, stomach, until she met the waistband of your pants. “I want to see how loud a god can beg,” she murmured, undoing the clasp with agonizing slowness.

And when she finally freed you, her eyes lit up.

“So beautiful…” she whispered, wrapping her cold fingers around your cock, slowly stroking. “So full of life.”

“Karina—” you gasped, “don’t tease—”

“Shhh…” She licked the head, soft and slow, swirling her tongue around it before taking you in fully. The contrast of her cold lips and hot mouth had you gasping, hips bucking helplessly.

Her eyes locked onto yours as she bobbed her head, letting drool drip onto your length. Her pace was slow. Cruel. She wanted you to suffer.

You tried to move your hands, but she grinned around your cock. “Still mine,” she said, voice muffled, tightening her grip.

You couldn’t hold back.

“K-Karina—I’m gonna—!”

But she pulled off with a pop, lips shiny and wicked.

“Not yet,” she smirked, crawling back up to straddle you again. “The God of Love doesn’t get to cum without Death’s permission.”

You were panting now, shaking under her as she lined herself up and sank down on your cock in one slow, devastating motion. Your hands were finally freed, and they flew to her hips, digging in as she ground against you, tight and pulsing around you.

“Fuck—you’re tight,” you groaned.

“I’ve waited eons to feel you,” Karina moaned, leaning back to ride you deeper. “You were mine the moment you touched my altar with that rose.”

“You left that in my realm.”

“I always get what I want.”

Her hips slammed into yours, over and over, until the sound of skin against skin echoed through your temple. You could feel the heat building in your core, your vision blurred by how hard she fucked you. Her hands slid into your hair, gripping tight, riding you with godlike rhythm.

Karina leaned down, breathless, her lips brushing your ear. “Cum for me,” she whispered. “Fill Death. Mark me.”

You didn’t stand a chance.

Your orgasm hit you like divine thunder, cock twitching inside her as you spilled deep, your moan nearly a growl. Karina clenched, gasping, hips jerking as she milked every last drop from you.

But she didn’t stop.

“Oh, we’re far from finished,” she purred, rolling her hips again, even as your body trembled. “I’m immortal, my love. Let’s see how much of me you can take.”

Your vision blurred as Karina moved again, your cock still buried inside her tight, wet heat. Every thrust made your body jolt—overstimulated, hypersensitive, but utterly helpless to resist her.

“Fuck, Karina—” you groaned, jaw slack. “I just came—”

“And you’ll do it again,” she whispered, rolling her hips slowly in a deep grind that had your eyes fluttering. “You’re a god, aren’t you? Act like it.”

Your hands gripped her thighs as she rode you—slower now, more deliberate. She took you to the hilt each time, grinding down and making you feel every pulsing inch of her. Her body moved like death itself: graceful, inevitable, inescapable.

You tried to keep eye contact, but her eyes burned into yours with such intensity it felt like she could strip your soul bare.

“You love this, don’t you?” she asked, dragging her nails down your chest. “Being fucked dumb by Death. Look at you…”

She leaned down and kissed you again, lips soft, tongue possessive. When she pulled back, a strand of spit clung between you. She grinned as she started to bounce harder.

Your head fell back against the altar. “Shit—Karina—I can’t—”

“You can,” she hissed, tightening around you with each slam of her hips. “You will. Cum again. Fill me until you’re shaking.”

Her hands pushed your arms down beside your head, her pace turning brutal. The divine marble beneath your back shook with every thrust, her wetness clinging to your cock, slick and obscene. Her moans grew louder, more ragged—pure need dripping from her voice as she rode you harder, faster, relentlessly.

“I want you to fucking ruin me,” she growled in your ear. “Make me drip with you. Mark Death so no one else touches her.”

You barely managed a groan. She was devouring you—your stamina, your will, your control. Your cock was throbbing inside her, ready to explode again, but she suddenly slowed… and stopped.

“What—” you gasped.

She smirked and leaned back, sliding off your cock with a sinful, wet sound. Your body twitched from the loss of contact, cock flushed and twitching with need.

Then she dropped to her knees before you.

“I’m not done,” she said, stroking your length slowly with one cold, slick hand. “You’re going to cum again. And this time…”

She stuck her tongue out.

“…you’ll do it on my face.”

That alone nearly made you explode. She tilted her head, stroking faster, twisting her wrist just right. Her other hand cradled your balls, fingers teasing them gently as her icy breath hit your tip.

“Let go for me,” Karina whispered. “Cover Death. Give me all of it.”

You barely had time to warn her. With a loud groan, you came hard—ropes of hot cum streaking across her cheeks, nose, and lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she took it, painting her divine features in white. Some dripped onto her chest. You twitched with every pulse, her hand milking every drop until you collapsed back against the altar, gasping for air.

Karina slowly opened her eyes.

And smiled.

Using two fingers, she gathered the cum dripping from her cheek and licked them clean. Then another finger. Then her palm.

“Mm…” she purred, eyes locked with yours. “You taste like devotion.”

She dragged one finger across her bottom lip—still coated in your cum—and sucked on it slowly, deliberately, like it was dessert.

Later, the altar was a mess of gold, blood-red petals, and stained silk. You lay there, panting, staring at the ceiling.

Karina sat beside you, licking her fingers with a satisfied sigh.

“You’re mine now,” she said.

You turned to her, dazed and grinning. “I was always yours.”

She leaned in and kissed you—this time, slow. Deep.

Like the grave.