#guyliner hero

[amiraneedssushi]

When i pull up to your house and say “Um…Akshually 🤓☝️Guyliner Nico and star pimple patches Will (even if he doesn’t have pimples at that moment).”

The only thing ur supposed to say is yes,amira i agree with u.

I dont wanna hear no how did u get into my hoouuuse.

Or im calling the poliiiiice.

ZIP IT

[club-cheongyang]

[scoutsonlineaccount]

i know i was born in the right generation because i LOVE guyliner

[uhzuku]

𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍’ 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑! | 𝐒. 𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: tell me that you want me, that's the shit i always hear!

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: my hero academia | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aizawa shouta/m!reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 4.00k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: t4t, transmasc aizawa, transmasc reader, switch aizawa, switch reader, daddy kink, reader and aizawa both still have pussies, age gap ( aizawa is 30 & reader is in their early 20s ), use of the word cunt a couple times?? once at least, ✨guyliner✨, public sex ( in a changing room ), BUSH! PUBES! DA WHOLE JUNGLE!, reader is a fucking freak for aizawa ngl, t-dick haver aizawa ( moans ), clits referred to as cocks ( bc yum ), scissoring, grinding, fingering, blowjobs, vibrators.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: i have no willpower when it comes to this man, so happy pride, fuckers. | 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃! — @suyacho @p-ersus @herohibiscus @cathybarn @suzuki-violin-school @choerry-picking @fyodior @satorusdivinity .

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

Tick, tick, tick, tick. 

The large clock hanging on the far wall of the fancy boutique you and your boyfriend were in echoes loudly in your ears. On your lap in front of you is a small spread of paperwork, tests you were helping him grade in between trying on new clothes  for a get-together with the other teachers that was only a couple days away. You’d already decided on a dark green sweater with a pair of dark brown pants and a matching winter jacket, but Shouta had been indecisive; he quite honestly didn’t want to go to the little event at all, but after both consistent whining from his two friends and you adding in how happy it would make them he’d eventually sighed and agreed. 

“This should be fine for the thing Nem’s throwing, right?” Comes his voice from the changing room as he flicks open the lock, and you can hear the discomfort in his voice — not from the clothes, as he’d picked those out himself with only a little input from you on the pants, but from how long today had gone on. He’d been indecisive all afternoon, uncommonly more self-conscious than usual, and was getting tired — and if you were completely honest you weren’t far behind him; it had been a long day of shopping, and you could only thank your foresight to order two new pairs of comfortable dress shoes ahead of time so the trip wouldn’t be drawn out even further. Were they really needed? No, you both had a pair at home — but why not go all out? At the very least it would make Nemuri and Hizashi happy, which was all you and Shouta ever really wanted.  

You glance up from marking Ashido’s frankly confusing essay and are startled by the large lump that settles itself comfortably in your throat. Your partner is standing there in the doorway, looking as awkward as he clearly feels, but by God his hair is pulled back in a messy bun and the black turtleneck he’d picked clings to him oh-so-well. The grey slacks you’d helped him pick out fit just as perfectly as you’d known they would, and you have to make the conscious decision to swallow the drool that had began pooling in your mouth. 

“Well?” he asks, trying and failing to hide the soft nervous edge in his voice, and you blink a few times to clear your head before nodding. This wasn’t the time to want to drop to your knees, you had to make sure he felt comfortable. 

“Oh, absolutely. Those’re the ones, if you like ‘em as much as I do. Those’re it,” you ramble, your eyes drinking him in greedily as he sends you the tiniest of fond smiles. “Get back in there ‘nd take your clothes off and we might be able to pick up food from your favorite place on the way home.” 

That’s seemingly more than enough incentive for him and, with a blatantly relieved heavy exhale, he retreats back into the changing room, which almost immediately is filled with the sound of cloth ruffling as he changes back into the dark jeans and loose navy sweater he’d come shopping in. You sit there idly, your pen tapping against your lip, before you groan and shove all of the first year class’s tests into the folder Shouta had brought them in and rush over to the door. 

You knock hard and fast, startling him judging by the slightly surprised grunt that you hear from inside, and upon Shouta opening the door a little with his hair ever so slightly messier from pulling on the shirt he’d come in you force yourself inside, locking the door behind you. His eyes are wide and startled as he takes you in, and it would almost be funny if you weren’t so god-forsakenly horny for him right now. You’d not expected that the sight of him all dressed up would get you this fucking hard and wanting, but really that was on you; your boyfriend was sexy as hell in nothing but a stained t-shirt and boxers with a line of dried drool still on his face from a deep, well-enjoyed sleep and you’d be raring to go just from the sight of him ( in any setting, really ), so you should’ve known that your paper-thin willpower would crumble and you’d pin him in the changing room like you were currently. 

“What the fuck-?” He starts, surprised as you corrall him back against one of the walls, far too focused on the way you had straddled and were subtly grinding on the thigh he’d unconsciously stuck between your legs as he’d backed up.

“Need you — take your fucking pants back off,” you whisper pleasingly, nipping at his stubbled jaw and tugging at his belt loops insistently. His rough hands find yours and squeeze, and you can hear the way his breathing picks up a little as he gets into it. 

“What?!” he asks, wide-eyed in alarm as he glances back at the locked changing room door. It may be locked, but the two of you were in public — you could be caught at any fucking second, and you could be arrested. Heat pools in his lower stomach at the thought, and for a brief moment, Shouta’s brain stutters as he begins considering what he’d just learned about himself. 

Fuck. He likes it. 

“Pants off, now!” you repeat ever-so-grumpily while he has this little revelation, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. You don’t miss the way his dark eyes follow it without missing a beat as he raises an eyebrow, his own tongue flicking out to mirror your movement. 

“Why?”

“Gotta suck your fuckin’ cock babe,” you groan, grinding low and hard against his knee. Your own hard cock is pinned perfectly between your crotch and his thigh, and you moan lowly into the empty air as a familiar twinge twists through your belly. “Need it in my mouth, please.”

His hands fumble with the buttons and zipper of his jeans for a moment before pushing them down to pool around his muscled thighs, and a soft whine bubbles up in your throat at the sight of him. He’s hard, like you knew he would be, and you moan at the very thought of getting to taste him, dropping to your knees and yanking his jeans off the rest of the way before throwing one of his legs over your shoulder. If anyone were to walk in they’d see all of him, and that just wasn’t allowed — so obviously taking him into your mouth to potentially save his modesty was the only correct course of action! You were so thoughtful.

“Stay still,” you grunt, biting at his inner thigh before licking up from his taint all the way to his swollen cock. You don’t miss the way his thighs quiver around your head, or the way his own head falls back against the wall with a slightly harsh thud as he bites his fist to keep from whimpering — which just wouldn’t do at all.

One of your hands spreads out against his soft stomach, slowly sliding down along the trail of hair that made you drool every time all the way into the thick bush of pubes surrounding his cock. He shifts against the wall, looking down at you with his brow furrowed while throwing one arm back against said wall with his own free hand splayed flat as if it would steady him when he knows that it wouldn’t once you really got your mouth on him — and it didn’t. When you take him all the way into your mouth a sharp cry is muffled only by his fist and the urge to buck up into you is almost impossible to fight off, but you were already chiding him for moving against the wall. 

“I said be still,” you growl around your mouthful, ghosting your teeth ever so gently ( torturously ) along the length of his cock as you pull off it for a brief moment before taking him back in your mouth all over again. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—!” he whispers into where he was biting his hand, tiny tears springing up in his eyes as you drop him from your mouth all over again only to replace your tongue with fingers slicked from your own juices — and hems not much better. He’s absolutely dripping, his slickness soaking his cunt and running down his inner thighs; as you jerk his aching cock with one hand you lap it all up greedily, looking up at him through your thick lashes and grinning as you bite him again. The leg you had thrown over your shoulder pulls you closer, holding you tight against him as you bury your tongue in his entrance and have a taste from the source, and you laugh like the bastard you are when a soft wail escapes his mouth and the way his teeth dig into his palm. 

“Yeah, that’s it baby, just like that,” you croon cruelly as he gets closer and closer to coming in a changing room of all places. “It’s okay, you can come for me, you have permission…”

A sharp whine is the only response you get, and you just chuckle again and swap places with your fingers, taking him back into your mouth while gently crooking first your middle finger then your index inside him, your other hand carefully lifting him so his other leg also is thrown over your shoulder, leaving him bent in half and pressed against the wall while you suck him off. 

He unclenches his teeth from around his palm and slaps it against the back of your head, curling his fingers in your hair and tugging as you curl your fingers against his sweet spot and lap cruelly at his cock and slit. “God, please-!” he moans pleasingly, and you pull off of him and laugh. 

“There’s no God here, sweet boy,” you murmur mockingly, eyes glittering as you watch him begin to fall apart. “There’s only me and the fingers I’ve shoved up your greedy cunt.”

“Fuck!” he gasps, and bucks up into your mouth with one of his hands clamped over his mouth as his eyes flutter and roll back in his head as you work him over. His cunt clenches around you, milking your fingers greedily, and shaky moans fall from between his fingers like musical notes from an instrument. You don’t let up, sucking his cock and fingering him through his orgasm as he moans and cries into his palm. At some point while you’d been teasing him tears had sprung up in his eyes and had now started running down his cheeks — not much, just three little drops, but they were a sign of a job well done, and as you helped him down from your shoulders onto shaky legs and sat back on your calves with a dirty grin, he glares at you. 

“Fuck you,” he hisses through gritted teeth, knees shaking ever so slightly, and you just gather the juices he’d left on your lips and chin with your thumb before sucking it clean, never breaking eye contact with him. You knew he’d enjoyed himself and that he was just a little embarrassed, and you weren’t offended in the slightest. After all, between getting cursed at and getting to hear the way he’d moaned so prettily for you, it was a fair exchange in your opinion. 

“What can I say? I missed lunch,” you purr, standing then pulling him down to your height to kiss him slow and deep. He moans softly into your mouth, melting into your touch like always until you reluctantly pull away, picking up the pants and shirt. 

“I should get dressed,” he mutters, and you nod with a small grin. 

“Yeah, you should,” you agree, throwing the clothes over one arm. “I’ll collect all the paperwork for your class and meet you by the register. I promised you your favorite takeout, and after that performance, you’re definitely getting it.”

You don’t have to look at him to know how hot his cheeks are burning from embarrassment, and you fight off the urge to snicker when he hisses a strained, “I hate you!” your way. 

“Didn’t sound that way a couple minutes ago!” you respond in a sing-song voice, gently closing. the door and doing exactly as you’d said you would. a minute or so after the transaction goes through, Shouta makes his appearance from the back, walking into view on still-shaky legs. He shoots you a half-hearted glare, but still sidles up to you and grabs at your hand. 

“Food now,” he grunts quietly, “Then home.” You nod. 

“Yeah, babe, food and then home.”

“Don’t forget that we have the thing Nem’s hosting tonight, hun,” you call over your shoulder without tearing your eyes from the mirror, ever so carefully drawing a line of eyeliner on your top eyelid. A groan, muffled by a pillow, is the initial response you get and you fight hard to not laugh and jostle yourself. 

“You told me this morning, then texted at lunch,” comes a voice just as muffled as the groan you’d gotten, Shouta’s voice filled with such bother that you have to take away the eyeliner stick before you either stab yourself or make it look like you were wearing face paint. Instead of risking it again, you quickly swipe some onto your bottom lid then begin to smudge it out, smiling when he starts the complaining you knew was coming. “Do we really have to go? Nemuri and Hizashi won’t be surprised if we don’t, they know we don’t like going out. We could skip it.”

“We could, yeah,” you say softly, and you practically hear his ears metaphorically perk up before you crush his hopes and dreams when you say, “But we are going. We promised her, after all.”

“Why?!” He whines, face-planting back into the pillow, and you laugh for real this time, turning and looking at him with a grin while blowing some hair out of your eyes. One of your favorite parts of dating Shouta was being trusted with the hidden parts of him, the parts where he allowed himself to be whiny and greedy instead of a grump who acted like he was unshakeable. Honestly, maybe those damn kids of his were also helping him loosen up some ( the first class he’d kept all twenty of and even added one to! apparently miracles can happen! ), and you considered it a good sign. 

“Because we’re such good friends,” you say through a smile, crossing your arms. He pulls up from the pillow to throw a half-hearted, meaningless glare your way, only for his eyes to widen a little. You raise an eyebrow, barely masking your concern as you watch how he watches you, and you’re about to ask if everything is alright when you notice just how wide his pupils have blown and suddenly quiver in the knees ever so slightly. 

That tiny bit of an opening is all it takes, and before you know it your boyfriend’s flipped off the couch and is stalking towards you, looking wholly like a god to worship ( which you would ). His hands, big and rough and strong, grab at your hips with one while the other grips your chin and tilts your face up seconds before locking lips with you in a kiss that has your head spinning. 

“Bed, now,” he murmurs into your mouth, his tongue arcing across yours moments before he bites at your bottom lip. He keeps kissing you, leading you towards the bedroom while tugging off his clothes and yours in return. 

“Shouta, baby, we’ll be late-!” you whimper, and he scoffs, yanking you into the bedroom.

“Who fuckin’ cares?” he grunts noncommittally, kicking his underwear away and tugging at your own. “Nem’ll be happy just to see us show up at all, she won’t give a damn if we’re late.”

Knowing he was right and that you couldn’t really argue with that ( And did you even want to? Hell no. ) you just let him manhandle you onto your back on the bed, tilting your head to the side so he can bite and kiss his way across your neck in the way you both like. 

You moan softly as he sucks a love bite into the side of your jaw where it just met your neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair only for him to grab both of your wrists in one hand and slam them onto the mattress above your head. One of his knees nestles itself between your legs and begins to grind against your dick, and you groan as a familiar heat makes itself known in your belly. 

“F-Fuck, Shouta, please-!” you moan, hooking a leg behind his knee to stabilize yourself as you grind down on his knee while still on your back. He laughs and takes his knee away, and you curse under your breath as he climbs onto the bed and laces his legs around yours together before yanking hard enough that your crotches slam together. In your mind you praise anyone listening for your boyfriend’s thick thighs, your nails digging into his skin as he starts rolling his hips against yours while digging around in the drawer of his nightstand for lube. 

After a minute or so he finds it and, not even bothering to stop grinding, squeezes a fair amount between the two of you. As intended, each roll of your hips becomes smoother and easier, and for a moment the two of you do nothing but pant and moan as your dicks and cunts grind together. Words aren’t easy, and you get to watch with greedy eyes and a drool-filled mouth as Shouta’s head falls back, his mouth open as he moans for you. His fingers on one hand clench at the sheets and blankets while the other reaches out for you, and you lock fingers with him and squeeze while the two of you grind. With every deep roll of your hips, Shouta’s cock dips inside for the briefest second before slowly grinding up your slit and rolling over your own smaller cock, each thrust making your thighs shake and your hole clench around nothing. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-!” Shouta groans, sitting up and grabbing one of your legs. He holds it up and grips your thigh tight, straddling your other leg before mashing your cunts together and grinding down hard.  Your eyes roll back a little and you let out loud whimpers intermingled with pants of his name. Faintly your mind registers the sound of something rattling near you, but you don’t lay it any mind until the sound and feeling of harsh vibrations pressed against your and Shouta’s cock make you shriek. Your eyes fly open and you grab at your boyfriend’s shoulders in surprise, eyes wide as you watch the way he groans and angles the vibrating wand just right and hits your cocks perfectly. 

“Oh G-God — fuck, Daddy, please!” you moan, nails digging into his back. He just moans out your name and grinds down harder, thrusting up into the bulbed head of the vibrator as well as your own cock. 

“That’s right, baby boy, call for Daddy,” he growls, pressing down hard enough to make you see stars. “Wanna feel you cum on me, baby, just like always.” His hips don’t even stutter once, and in the back of your mind you know he’s holding off from coming so he can watch you fall apart first. Typically you’d be fighting to make him come first ( because who says a little competitiveness in the bedroom is unhealthy? No one! ) but you were too close and he’d been too sexy throwing you around and manhandling you, then mounting you like the two of you were a couple of beasts in heat, and now grinding his cock and cunt against you? You never stood a chance. 

The knot that had been tying itself in your stomach with each roll of his hips starts tugging itself tighter and tighter, and sharp whines and cries punctuate the air as he kicks up the speed of the vibrator a couple of notches. “Fuck yes — More, more, so close!” You dry sob, trying not to cry when you know that your eyeliner looks so nice and you have a place to be in an hour and a half or so. 

“The fuck was that?” He snaps, pulling up to slap your cunt cruelly and make you shriek again before slamming himself and the vibrator back down on you to continue grinding. “You know fucking better, baby, try again.”

“Please, Daddy, please let me cum!” you beg, one tear running down your cheek. “Fuck, I wanna cum, please? Can I? Please?”

A sharp groan falls from his lips and his hips stutter ever so slightly, and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, baby boy, cum for Daddy — cum all over Daddy’s cock!”

Your nails dig deep into his bicep and your eyes roll back as you thrust up unto him hard, your free leg not thrown over his shoulder bracing against the mattress as the two of you race to completion while clinging to each other like one of you could possibly disappear. The knot gets tighter, then tighter, then finally snaps and the wave of euphoria you’d been chasing washes over you like a tidal wave. 

“Fuck — Fuck, cumming, cumming! Shouta, fuck!” With a shriek of your boyfriend’s name cum gushes from your hole and soaks both your boyfriend’s crotch  and the blankets beneath you both, and deep, desperate grunts from above you signal how your own boyfriend has started cumming as well. Soft murmurs and groans of your name fall from his lips as he clicks off the vibrator and tosses it to the side on the bed, but the feeling of the vibrations continue for a moment as the two of you continue to grind slowly, occasionally jerking from the overstimulation, before slowing to a stop to catch your breath. 

The two of you lay there together, chests heaving, and soak up the afterglow of your orgasms while an alarm rings in the distance, telling you it was time to leave. After a moment you groan and sit up, throwing your quivering legs over the side of the bed then staggering to the bathroom on shaky legs. “I’m going to leave you for Snipe, I swear to God,” you whine, looking at yourself in the mirror and taking in how rocked you look. Shouta laughs from the bed as he sits up and stretches, watching your reflection in the mirror from the bed. “I mean it! He’d never do this to me.”

“That’s cause he’s boring,” Shouta purrs, stalking up behind you and pressing his front to your back and fitting against you perfectly like always. “He couldn’t handle you if he tried. That’s my job.” You make a face at him in the mirror, ignoring his soft snicker and beginning fixing your hair. 

“You’re damn lucky the staff knows I smudge my eyeliner on purpose, otherwise everyone would know,” you grumble in faux annoyance, and he just chuckles and clings to your back, burying his face in the crux between your neck and shoulder. His long hair tickles against your bare skin. 

“Nem’ll know anyway,” he murmurs as the two of you clean up, occasionally flinching from touching something still oversensitive. “Zashi too, I bet.”

“Of course they will,” you groan, covering your face with one arm as Shouta wipes cum from your thighs. “They always know.” 

He just laughs again. “Let’s just go. We should get dressed again.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “…Do we have to?”

Shouta sends you a dry, deadpan look ( as if asking ‘You’re fucking kidding me, right?’ ), and you laugh. 

“Fine, fine, lets go!”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

chapter summary: when hope swan-jones learns she's going to develop superpowers, the first person she tells is her best friend, gideon gold. chapter word count: 1478 a/n: behold the highly anticipated CYGNET SCHOLAR SUPERHERO AU! I'm SO pumped to start sharing this with you guys! shoutout to the ever encouraging @accidental-spice for betaing this chapter! taglist: @accidental-spice @kanerallels @ouatnextgen @booksteaandtoomuchtv (if you'd like to be added to my cygnet scholar taglist, let me know!) also on ao3!

#1: Origin Story

 Five Years Ago…

 It's funny how quickly a day can change. All it takes to turn an ordinary Tuesday afternoon into the first day of an entirely different life, apparently, is your mom knocking on your bedroom door and saying "can I talk to you about something?"

 Little did Hope know as Emma came in and sat down on the bed next to her that this was one of those conversations.

 "What is it?" Hope asked, her mom looking at her with a bittersweet intensity she didn't understand. "Is something wrong?"

 "No." Emma smiled, shaking her head as she tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. "You're just growing up so fast."

 "Yeah." Hope shrugged.

 "And now," Emma shook her head, "you're gonna be a teenager soon, and things are gonna start changing. Your…."

 "Oh my gosh, mom." Hope interrupted. "I don't even know what 'the talk' is, but I know I'm not ready for it now."

 "Good," Emma said, "but this is a different talk. Over the course of these next few months, you're going to be developing some… powers."

 "Powers?" Hope's nose scrunched up.

 "Yeah." Her mom nodded.

 "You mean like flying and invisibility and laser eyes?" Hope asked. "Like the heroes on the news?"

 Emma laughed a little and nodded. "Exactly, like them."

 Hope had always looked up to superheroes, wanted to be like them— what kid hadn't? Now that she found out she was like them, it all sounded so great— a little too great to be true.

 "How do you know?" Hope asked.

 In lieu of an answer, Emma pointed at Hope's nightlight on the other side of the room. The nightlight turned on as if in response, casting projections of dozens of multicolored stars onto the ceiling.

 "Woah." Hope looked up, awestruck. "How did you do that?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

 She turned back to look at her mom and saw a beam of light shooting from her hand, something she'd seen before, not from her mom, but from a superhero she often saw on the news.

 "Saving Grace?" Hope asked. "Mom, you're a superhero?"

 Emma nodded.

 "Why didn't you tell me?" Hope asked.

 "Being a superhero isn't as glamorous as it sounds." Emma said. "There's a lot of responsibilities, some that you can share, and some you have to bear by yourself. Hope, no one can know about my powers, or yours. If you tell anyone…."

 "I'll put them and myself in danger, I know." Hope nodded. "I've watched enough movies to know that much."

 "Good." Emma said. "And you need to make sure to make the right choices with how you use your powers. It took me a while to realize mine were a gift instead of a burden."

 "I understand." Hope said. "What powers will I have?"

 "I can't be sure," Emma shook her head, "but supers often inherit traits from their parents."

 "Parents?" Hope asked. "Is dad a super too?"

 "Super, no." Emma said. "Hero, yes."

 Hope then remembered Saving Grace's partner in crime-fighting, Captain Guyliner, a powerless superhero with a high-tech gizmo for a hand and a clever one liner always at the ready.

 "My dad is Captain Guyliner?" Hope asked.

 "You catch on quick." Emma patted her on the back.

 Hope suddenly wished she could forget all the comments the older girls at school had made about their "heartthrob hero," Captain Guyliner, suddenly disgusted at the mere thought of their catty giggles.

🩷•⚡•💛

 The fort in the backyard had been Hope's space to think since the day her dad built it for her. From there, she'd launched all of her childhood adventures, from huge ideas like lemonade stands and sleepovers to little things like playing pirates or princesses or, ironically enough, superheroes.

 "Pink leader to Gold leader," Hope said into her walkie talkie, sitting on the fort's worn out carpet. This had always been her place to run to, and there was one friend she'd always run to it with.

 "This is Gold leader, clear."

 "We need to regroup." Hope responded. "This is a code… orange."

 There was a moment of silence before he sent back a reply.

 "Code orange? We don't have a code orange."

 Hope rolled her eyes. "That's how you know how important this is! It's something we never could've possibly planned for, at least not enough to make a code for it."

 "Wouldn't that make it code perriwinkle?"

 "Just get over here."

 "Over and out."

 Hope closed her eyes and hung her head against the wall, wondering if she'd open her eyes and find that it'd all been a dream. If it was a dream, then dream-Gideon would need to hear all about it, and if she remembered it and it didn't get too weird, she'd tell real-Gideon about it too.

 Either way, real-Gideon was gonna hear about it. She'd never kept a secret from her best friend in her life, and that wasn't gonna start now.

 It was only a few minutes before the door to the fort opened, and the boy with shaggy gold hair and a wrinkled brown flannel over his t-shirt joined Hope on the floor— their fort had more than enough chairs for the both of them, so it must be really important if they both understood that this was a conversation to be had on the floor.

 "What's so important you had to make up a whole new color?" Gideon asked.

 "I didn't make up a color." Hope said. "Orange has been a color since we were in kindergarten, but probably longer."

 "Okay," Gideon said, "but what's up?"

 Mom had told Hope not to tell anyone, but Hope had been told that lots of times before, and it never stopped her from sharing with Gideon.

 Besides, this was life changing, and Gid would notice if something this big in her life changed. It was better to tell him about it up front then have to explain it all later when he found out anyway.

 "Can you keep a secret?" Hope asked.

 "Of course." Gideon said. "And not just because you're the only friend I have to share it with."

 "And what about if we stop being friends someday?"

 "That's never gonna happen." Gideon said. "And even if it did, your secrets are still safe with me."

 "Okay." Hope said, "I… I'm developing super powers."

 "What?" Gideon asked.

 "Super powers." Hope said. "You know, like Saving Grace, or Red Wolf."

 "Really?" Gideon smiled. "Code orange isn't code for 'april fools!' right?"

 "I'm serious, Gid." Hope said.

 "Okay." He said. "What powers do you have?" 

 "I don't know yet." Hope said. "My mom said I'll start seeing them within the next few months."

 "That's awesome." He shook his head in disbelief. "My best friend, Hope Swan-Jones, a superhero! How'd your mom figure that out?"

 It was one thing to spill secrets about herself with Gideon, but it was another thing entirely to share secrets about her parents. Right now, her powers were still developing. They might not amount to much anyways, and she hadn't made any enemies yet. This was a secret she could share.

 But her parents were practically celebrities, as far as heroes go, and that comes with a lot of enemies. If any of them found out Gideon knew their identity, they could use that to hurt them, or to hurt him, and he didn't have powers to protect himself.

 "I don't know." Hope shrugged. "Moms just have a way of knowing these things, you know?"

 "I guess I'll take your word for that." Gideon looked away, scratching the back of his neck.

 "Oh, Gid," Hope said, remembering no sooner than the words were out of her mouth that her friend didn't know about that first-hand, "I'm sorry, I…."

 "Nah, I'm sorry." Gideon shook his head. "This isn't meant to be a pity party. This is exciting— you have superpowers, Hope. We could save the world, be heroes…."

 He turned to her and suddenly stopped, his words caught off track as he squinted at her.

 "Why don't you seem very excited?" 

 Hope shook her head. "All this 'great power; great responsibility' stuff. Being twelve years old is hard enough as is."

 "Yeah." Gideon said. "We're too young to drive, and too old for the McDonald's playplace."

 "And now I have this added responsibility, and…."

 "And you don't have to bear it alone." Gideon said. "I'm here to help you, and so are your parents."

 "You can't let my parents know you know." Hope said, quickly remembering her mom's warning. They said I can't tell anyone."

 "We've all heard that before." Gideon said. "And as always, your secret is safe with me." He held his hand out to her, pinky finger extended. "I promise."

 She wrapped her pinky around it as well, sealing a promise of friendship neither of them would ever dare break.

🩷•⚡•💛

[atomic-lola]

Darius Mercar: Shadow Dragon, Warrior. Hero with guyliner and beard

[astridthevalkyrie]

One of my least favorite things about The Regina Show is that all her 'ooh girlboss snarky' comments are either kinda bigoted or just unnecessarily cruel towards people who haven't wronged her.

Like 'where you come from people bathe in the river and use pinecones for money' wasn't clever or cool or funny or anything it was literally just classism. Classism directed at a man who helped her, no less, so like 'fuck you for not letting me burn my own arm off' isn't a good look either why the fuck should I like her. And she keeps doing it! All her early banter with Robin where she's so snarky and cool is actually just classism. Why would he fall in love with her

Her constant bullying of the dwarves? All ableism-based. Why are we rooting for this person why would any of us root for this person.

Everything she says to Hook either reads as 'why are you as a man wearing eyeliner you queer' or again ableism. How is that supposed to indicate someone we're meant to like.

Oh also Emma's getting mentioned twice but the way she treats Emma is so unnecessary and cruel like why would we think you like this person when all you do is tell them they're not enough for the task at hand or they're not as good a mother of Henry as you or they'd be nothing without your help like you don't care about this person at all and it's ludicrous that we're all expected to believe she does.

Plus the way she constantly mocks or undermines Emma and the Charmings like. You haven't become a good person and you haven't suddenly started caring about the people you hurt you are one hundred percent here just because you want Henry to like you and even then she still does things that make his life harder all the fucking time basically unrepentantly.

(A few other standout moments include random xenophobia in 'that's a mouthful' to the dunbroch language which is an irl gaelic language so it's shitty that the writers will crap on it to elevate her, the very specific and quite frantly fucking bizarre treatment of Sidney, the fact that every other character of color is usually in competition with her or eliminated to return the spotlight to her which isn't an in-canon flaw of hers necessarily but when combined with everything else ain't great)

Why should the show continuously praise her for contributing every now and then and bullying the rest of the team incessantly?

yeah, I've noticed that too. her classism with robin is so forced too. not that she's not classist to other people, but she's also not being like haha peasant peasant in every interaction so her digs at robin are literally just there for ✨enemies to lovers vibes✨

"handless wonder" "captain guyliner" we get it bro? you don't think men can wear eyeliner?? feminist queen ig :/

and don't get me started on sydney oh my GOD. what were the showrunners thinking when they were like let's cast this black actor to be the enslaved genie/man in the mirror to a white passing woman, and CONTINUE this treatment i.e. he's still in love with her during the curse (which regina could have done away with just like she forced graham to have feelings for her) and we find out in season 4 that she's CONTINUED TO KEEP HIM LOCKED UP FOR NO REASON????????????? HOLY SHIT WHAT????

and marian. that bitch. how dare she *checks notes* be married to robin when regina was still in love with him. but it's okay for her to see her son reject her and her husband cheat on her with the woman who executed her, because the whole time it's zelena anyways lolz

she has absolutely no right to be snarking at emma, snow or chaeming. none. and yet we're given, again and again, these godawful oneliners that are supposed to be girlboss and hashtag slay. we're given that horrible moment where she uses the dark ones dagger to tell emma to be quiet after which she smirks and says "ooh i could get used to this." and then we get henry being like "dw mom you're the bestest person ever you can be a hero too! 😁" this fucking show man.

[fangstershome4imaginaryqueers]

Tbh, I should probs talk about my characters more instead of being scared to share them here, shouldn't I?

Okay...welp. Let's start with Damian Coates, shall we?

Damian is...well, he was one of the first OCs I ever created. After I decided I wanted to be a writer, officially. I was about 10 or 11. Now, he's always been a vampire, but his appearance...used to be pretty bog standard white emo with black hair, guyliner, and looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks. He was a guitarist and lead singer for a band. Doesn't even matter what they might have been called, you just need to know they were boring af and the best pre-teen, pre-Twilight me could come up with, okay?

As I matured and started to really grapple with my writing, the world, and my own sexuality my OCs grew with me. Damian is no exception. He's been a moody, forever-young guitarist, a class clown bestie, and even just a straight-up monster for the main (usually some mary sue) to come along and defeat/tame/seduce/etc.

Now, Damian's the black, gay main character of his own story about his journey as a college drop-out, forcibly-turned vampire hero to those he loves. At least, that what I hope to show here in within the pages of Fangsters. Also, the class clown isn't completely gone, either. I like to think all of these incarnations eventually led to our boy being the considerate, smart, jokester he is. Can't wait to share more about him with all of you!

[theflopwonder]

He definitely is, but I think it takes him a second to get there.

What I’ve always found really fascinating about him is that, his suits have always been so stylish, but he’s always dressed sooooooo plain out of suit. Like the 00s really stripped everyone of cool fashion, but even in the 90s when Bart was on faucet failure levels of drippy and Tim always had on a funky little varsity jacket or a band T-shirt, the most fashionable thing Kon would be dressed in is an opened button up with like palm trees on it or some shit.

I think his civilian fits are a little plain, especially in Hawaii, for 2 main reasons

1. Fashion, at least back then for him, is more of what’s cool rather than a means of personal expression. He’s Superboy, he’s the kid! Girls love him, guys wanna be him, all things that are dependent on how cool and fly (hah!) he is. If goes out to a club or something he kinda feels like doesn’t need to dress cool, cuz he is cool and that’s his entire point!

2. He funnels everything that’s cool into Superboy (cuz DUH somebody has to be stylish wearing the S they can’t all just be out here looking like identical nesting dolls that’s lame! and when he becomes Superman for realsies he’ll probably have to wear the uniform this time so he might as well make shit fun while he can) but obviously he can’t wear the suit all day every day cuz that’s disgusting so his civvies are more so just a matter of convenience. They’re gonna get destroyed anyway when a villain crashes his coffee date n it’s expensive enough to replace his leather jacket all the time so like … what’s the point?

And when it comes to TT03 … honestly after his time in Suicide Slum falls apart, I think he’s is in such a long-term (but high functioning) depressive state (which would explain the very intense swandive into irrational self hatred after the Luthor thing) that he falls into the T-Shirt and jeans out of convenience. He doesn’t care about what’s cool, he doesn’t care that he’s a shell of himself, he is just so disillusioned in his identity, and frustrated and hurt and mad at the world but he doesn’t know what to do with any of these feelings besides internalize them. So a costume honestly becomes the last thing he’s worried about. He’s a hero, what they do often isn’t cool and isnt a game, so the only thing he should be worried about is helping people and he can do that just as well in a t-shirt and jeans as he can spandex.

When he comes back from the dead, and the worst of the depression lifts enough that he can get a little more clarity, fashion becomes one of the first things he uses to explore his identity. He stops looking at his Conner Kent persona as something to keep up in service to other people, or something meant to save him from himself, and begins to appreciate it as something that’s uniquely his to create from the ground up. It starts simple, he wears his leather jacket again, and despite his assumption, he doesn’t feel like a poser, it something that just like … feels right. And so then he begins to funnel more and more things from Superboy to Conner Kent and vice versa. Some of it works, some of it doesn’t, but it gives him the courage to try new things, things that neither Superboy, Kon-El, OR Conner Kent have tried.

Okay he likes leather jackets, what if he tried guyliner? Oh that look fucking awesome what if he tried doing graphic liner designs? It wouldn’t be guyliner anymore technically (he has … well … very genderly feelings abt this, predictably launching him into another identity crisis [plot twist: it’s all the same, he just hasn’t realized it yet])but it would be cool TTK precision practice? Oh wow that looks fucking BALLER okay okay what if he added glitter to it….. oh hey that duo chrome glitter on top of the black kinda looks like a galaxy … hey it would look pretty cool if his suit kinda had that same effect … maybe he should design another one?

Instead of thinking of coolness as a thing he steps into, he realizes that coolness is something that comes from him, and is based in personal expression. Like damn he might draw some stares in Kansas wearing this DIY crop top but if he pairs it with this funky flannel half buttoned and these high waisted but ripped to hell jeans BAM he fits in AND still looks fucking hot, AND still wearing the clothes that he wants to wear bc he thinks they look fucking cool! All of those things are allowed to coexist!

i’m writing another Big Fic (for me at least) so yk what time it is

[coleydc58]

Jensen is just... I love a man in a kilt. That is all. And all the cheeky t-shirts.

[nonegenderleftpain]

To all the new, young MCR fans out there who are just finding them during this tour - you will never know what it was like to be a fan back before and during the hiatus.

And that's a good thing.

I have been following My Chemical Romance since I was ten years old. MCR was the band that the freaks liked. The band that young queer kids were called fags and dykes for liking. Someone once called them the "poster child for suicidal depression," and they aren't wrong. We watched the band struggle with drugs and drinking and idolized how much they were able to do while blackout on tour, because if they could do something so powerful at such a disadvantage, then maybe we could, too. We watched the popularization of "guyliner," because having a term for men wearing makeup could make it an ironic fashion statement instead of a deliberate choice that would get you left bloody and unconscious on the floor of a gas station bathroom. We watched these guys destroy themselves, and we saw ourselves in them because we were destroyed, too. We wanted to believe that we could be just as important, no matter how broken we were, and we found shared experiences at concerts and cafeterias and skate parks and libraries, with other fucked up kids that wanted to listen to the guys that didn't care if people called them gay. The guys that made out on stage to the jeers of thousands of people and got bottles of piss thrown at them but kept doing it anyway. The guys that played with gender and sexuality and everything on the fringes of acceptability, in their lyrics and their performance and the way they treated each other.

This was important. It was life-saving. It provided a comparatively safe space in an unsafe cultural environment for the freaks to find comfort in. It was also hugely and dangerously unhealthy.

I've talked at length to my friends about how healing and lifechanging this tour has been for me, and I want to illuminate that for these young fans that are falling in love with MCR like I did when I was their age. When we were kids, most of our heroes were already dead. They died young, had tragic lives, and we saw ourselves in them. I fully believed MCR would end up the same way. It would have been so easy to be martyrs - to die young and beautiful. Gerard said it himself, back in the day, that MCR was destined to die young in a car crash and stay beautiful forever, and I think he truly believed that.

So they broke up. And, like a miracle, things started to change. They got clean. Got married. Had kids. Not just Gee, but the lot of them. They aged out of the 27 club, and then out of their 30s, and they only seemed to continue to thrive. Today, in 2022, Gerard Way is 45 years old. He has wrinkles. He has a daughter who is older now than I was when she was born. And they are touring again.

The cultural change from when I was a teenager to now, when you guys are, is monumental. It's insane. It's fantastic. Back in the day, Gerard made some occasional comments about playing with gender presentation (that all us trans people, including those of us that didn't even know yet, hunted down and cherished and kept in our chests for safekeeping), but the idea of doing something so flagrant as headlining Riot Fest in a dress was ludicrous. It would have gotten him booed (still did, even now). It could have gotten him killed. The fact that Gerard Way has stepped on stage three separate times this tour in a dress (so far! it's not over!) is such an incredible, monumental change from when I was a kid and I am so, so happy for you to be experiencing it as kids.

I had a cry about this at a P!ATD concert in 2018, after seeing preteens running down the halls in pride flags, and I feel even more strongly about it now than I did then. That you're able to talk openly about Gerard's gender performance without fear, that you're able to hear them go by he/they pronouns, that you're able to interact with other young fans in the wake of MCR's revival in a safe environment and take in the messages that are at the core of what they stand for? These are beautiful fucking things.

You can't know what it was like, growing up with MCR back in the day. But you get to know what it's like to grow up with them now. Cherish that. In Detroit, Gerard told us to take our meds, and reminded us that we made it. They made it. They fought through the hard parts, fought the demons, and came out the other side better for it. As you watch them put those demons to rest from concert to concert, know that there are older fans cheering you on, so fucking happy to see you sharing this experience with us, and so excited to see what way this changes you. We know it changed us.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

chapter summary: Hope and Gideon have a conversation. chapter word count: 1440  a/n: Here's today's chapter, since the one I posted earlier today was really last week's chapter! taglist:@accidental-spice@kanerallels@ouatnextgen@booksteaandtoomuchtv (if you'd like to be added to my cygnet scholar taglist, let me know!) also on ao3!

#7: No More Secrets

 "You've been keeping secrets?"

 "Just one." Hope said. "I thought it was for your own good, but after you told me about your dad…."

 "What is it?" Gideon asked, staring at her so intently neither of them may as well have been wearing masks.

 "My parents." She said. "They're heroes."

 "What kind of heroes?"

 "The same as me." Hope shook her head.

 "Saving Grace and Captain Guyliner?" Gideon asked, and when she nodded in response, he threw his head back in frustration.

 "I'm sorry." Hope said. "I've been lying to you for years, and I thought it was protecting you, but nothing has hurt me more than knowing I hurt you. I never wanted you to get hurt."

 "I'm not the one you should be worried about." Gideon said. "Your parents are."

 "What?"

"I heard my dad mention it this morning, while I was doing a little recon…."

 Hope smiled at the rebellious streak he was showing. "You were spying on your dad?"

 "I knew he was planning something." Gideon said. "Can you blame me for wanting to know if you were the target? I thought it was fortunate that the only supers left on his list were Saving Grace and Captain Guyliner, but now…."

 Hope shook her head again. "I have to go. I have to save them."

 Before she got a chance to take off, Gideon grabbed her arm. She looked down at his hand, and then back up at his face.

 "We have to save them." Gideon said.

 "No way." Hope said. She'd watched enough movies to know that bringing her powerless best friend into battle might as well be signing his death sentence. "You're not coming with me."

 His expression hardened. "I thought you said you still trust me."

 "I do." Hope said. "I trust you to always have my back, and I trust you not to steer me wrong, and I trust you to do whatever it takes to help me."

 "So let me come with you."

 "No." Hope said.

 "Why not?" Gideon asked. 

 "My parents will find out you know my secret identity."

 "And what's so wrong with that?" Gideon asked. "Hope, aren't you tired of this? Of all the lies, all the pretending, all the sneaking around behind their backs?"

 "Of course I'm tired of it!"

 "Then let me help you." He grabbed her hand, adding emphasis to his words. "Let me go out there and fight alongside you. Who cares about code orange? Let your parents find out. You don't know how they'll react. Who knows, maybe they'll even recommend me to the League as well, and we can save the world together, Hope. Don't you want that?"

 For a moment, she considered it, but then she shook her head.

 "No."

 "Why not?" Gideon asked, letting go of her hand, and she would've flown off while she still had the chance if he hadn't shaken his head gently and said, "No more secrets, Hope."

 "Fine." Hope said. "You wanna know why I don't want you going out there with me?"

 "Yes!"

 "It's scary out there, Gid." She said, and the rest of a conversation that was years in the making tumbled out of it. "I know I put on a brave face, but sometimes it's almost too much for me— me, Gideon. Me with my flying and my clever quips and my right hook and my self healing abilities. There are fights out there that I almost don't win, days when, if I'm being perfectly honest, I don't know if I'll make it back to the lair for a victory cocoa and chamomile tea. I have all these incredible powers, and I'm barely strong enough."

 The concern in his eyes told her to continue.

 "So what happens when you're out there? And you've got no powers, and no computer screen to hide behind, no backups or fail safes or algorithms for when you're up against something too big for you? If I can't even guarantee my own safety, what kind of hero would I be if I let you out there with me?"

 She looked down at the ground between them, and added, in a mumbled whisper.

 "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

 "And why do you think I want to be out there with you?"

 Hope shrugged, her head still pointed down low.

 "Trust me," Gideon continued, "the idea of going head-to-head with another henchman like the dragoness is terrifying. Sure, maybe I'd be safer if I was in an underground bunker, tapping away at a screen and giving you the best advice I can while optimizing your playlists from a safe distance. I'd be so safe if I spent my entire life in the chair— but I wouldn't be any less scared."

 Hope looked up at him in surprise. "What do you have to be scared of?"

 Gideon sighed, then smiled, then took her hand again.

 "Every time you go into battle," Gideon shook his head, "when the little red light beeps in the lair, and you jump into action like it doesn't even faze you, and go out there and risk your life to save the world, I'm just as scared as," he paused, and gave a silent laugh, "well, I suppose as scared as you are. I guess I just know that someday there'll be a fight you can't walk away from, and every time you go out there, I'm afraid it's gonna be the one."

 "Gideon, I…."

 "You're not invincible, Hope." Gideon said. "Powers or not, you're still human. You're still just a kid— we're still just kids, Hope. I don't know, the thought of you going out there, dying alone in the streets at the hands of some villain of the week, and me, a million miles away, and more powerless than ever. A piece of me dies whenever you go out there and risk that."

 "Gee," Hope said, and though his words were genuine and beautiful, she could only push out the most genuine, "I didn't know you cared, Gid," she could muster.

 His eyes met hers. "I care about you more than you know."

 Hope nodded. "I know."

 For a moment, they studied each other's expressions, with more fervor than either of them had put into studying anything in their lives.

 "I know you want to keep me safe," Gideon said, "but if you care about me at all, don't put me through this anymore. Let me come with you."

 Hope nodded. "Okay."

 His smile was worth all the risk of losing him. "Thanks."

 "We've wasted enough time talking." Hope said.

 "Right." Gideon nodded, as though suddenly realizing that all that time spent begging to come to battle was in preparation for this very moment.

 But he wasted one more second on talk.

 "Thank you for trusting me," he said, "even if it took a little while." He took the risk of planting a precious kiss on her cheek.

 Hope tucked a hair behind her ear and smiled.

 "Thank you for making it easy." She replied, stealing a moment's gaze into his eyes, planning out a long and beautiful conversation that would need to be had when all was said and done.

 "And I trust you too." Gideon smiled. "Always have, always will."

 "Good," Hope's hand still in his, she gripped it tighter, "because you're really gonna need to."

 Keeping a firm grip on Gideon, making sure she'd never lose him again, Hope jumped in the air and began flying, despite Gideon's screams as they soared above treetops and buildings.

 "I didn't realize you were still such a baby about heights." Hope said, judging by the amplitude of Gideon's screams and how tight his grip was on her soon-to-be-broken knuckles that he did not enjoy flying as much as she did.

 "Not about heights," Gideon screamed, "about falling from them!"

 "You know," Hope said, "Lois Lane never complained like this."

 "That's because Superman had an almost limitless amount of strength," Gideon yelled, "and may I remind you, they're in a comic book!"

 "Chill out, Gid." Hope said. With one barely-supercharged pull of her arm, she lifted Gideon a little higher, then slipped both of her arms underneath him, carrying him like Superman would've on all the covers of all the aforementioned comic books.

 "That better for ya, Smallville?"

She expected him to still cling to her for dear life, to practically strangle her as he screamed and they'd both start to plummet. But instead, the way he held onto her, much like the way his eyes now held her in their gaze, was something gentle.

 "Yeah." He smiled. "A lot."

🩷•⚡•💛

[uhzuku]

♡┊ 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐚 𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

— 𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐀𝐔. | ( shou-nya.♡ ). | 〚 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰. | 𝟏𝟓.𝟖𝐤+. | 𝐀𝐎𝟑. 〛.

𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫: adoption. bite. couch. prosthetic. kiss. 3-2=1. thirsty. bubbles. clouds. oral. abandoned. sick. mornings. needy. heat. vacation. nemuri. pillow. kittens. shinsou. thunderstorm. cuddle. hizashi. three. away. kacchan. | reverse!

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 | 𝐟𝐭. 𝐬. 𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚. 〚 𝐬𝐟𝐰. | 𝟎.𝟔𝐤. 〛

𝐭𝐰: gn reader, cursing, previously established relationship.

𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? | 𝐟𝐭. 𝐬. 𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚. 〚 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰. | 𝟏.𝟖𝟑𝐤. 〛

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬— she’d not expected him to whip out his cellphone, but she was honestly in such bliss being used like a cheap whore she didn’t really feel like stopping him.

𝐭𝐰: maledom, bondage, dacryphilia, fingering, daddy kink, oral creampie, squirting??, facials, blowjobs, face fucking, degradation, humiliation, hard dom, cellphone recording.

𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒! | 𝐟𝐭. 𝐬. 𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚. 〚 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰. | 𝟗.𝟑𝟎𝐤. 〛

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬— “If I see that stupid bitch touch you again, I’ll kill her,” you growl, then yelp when he suddenly flips you, your chest and cheek against brick and his chest to your back. // “If she ever pulls that shit again, I’ll let you.”

𝐭𝐰: age gap, previously established relationship, jealousy, canon typical harrassment, heavy miss joke bashing, death threats, fem reader, villain reader, possessive reader, reader is just a bad person chat idk what else u want me to say, discussions of trauma ( but aizawa refuses to call it that ), morally ambiguous aizawa, ngl he’s also not a great person but he’s hot so it’s okay, villain/hero, femdom, maledom, teasing, biting, nipple sucking, oral sex, slight choking, switch reader, switch aizawa, dacryphilia, fingering, pussy slapping, tit slapping, spitting, creampies, daddy kink, marking, hickeys, also a cat, tko = tofu knockout, class 1-a are little shits.

𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 (𝐂𝐀𝐓)𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋! | 𝐟𝐭. 𝐬. 𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚. 〚 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰. | 𝟐.𝟒𝟓𝐤. 〛

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬— “That’s a good kitty,” Shouta groans as you scratch at the bed in front of you, “Yeah, cry for Daddy—!”

𝐭𝐰: hybrids, hybrid au, no quirks, catgirl reader, fem reader, shou-nya uno reverse ( ur the kitty now besties ! ), misunderstandings, aizawa is a big dumb dumb n didn’t research *all* cat hybrid behaviors so u get a lil pissy ngl, night shift security guard aizawa, rut cycles/in heat, creampies, biting, breeding kink, daddy & master kinks, use of ‘kitty’ as a pet name.

𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍’ 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑! | 𝐟𝐭. 𝐬. 𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚. 〚 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰. | 𝟒.𝟎𝟎𝐤. 〛

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬— tell me that you want me, that’s the shit i always hear!

𝐭𝐰: t4t, transmasc aizawa, transmasc reader, switch aizawa, switch reader, daddy kink, reader and aizawa both still have pussies, age gap ( aizawa is 30 & reader is in their early 20s ), use of the word cunt a couple times?? once at least, ✨guyliner✨, public sex ( in a changing room ), BUSH! PUBES! DA WHOLE JUNGLE!, reader is a fucking freak for aizawa ngl, t-dick haver aizawa ( moans ), clits referred to as cocks ( bc yum ), scissoring, grinding, fingering, blowjobs, vibrators.

[foryouwereinmysong]

that johns face in light and shadow post has made me come to the realization that he would’ve absolutely killed the 2000s guyliner look

oh yes... he would have! this reminded me of that weird but lovely promo photoshoot from 1962, photographer unknown but my personal hero.

[sister-pianist-chan]

No, Jere!!!! Don't do this to me!!!!! This is what I've been wanting!!!!!! I've been wanting to have him on his knees, in winged eyeliner, his ass facing me, fakkkkkkkkk

I want him so bad...

This week has killed me. The Jance photoshoot, Jan looking sexy af in his individual pictures, Nace looking gorgeous in his (I'm a Nace girlie too, as you can tell) and now Jere on a fucking leash?! Faaaaakkkkkkkkk

神様、助けくれて！イェレちゃんはこれにとてもセクシーよ！今���はいい週だった。まず、ヤンちゃんとナツェちゃんの写真、そしてイェレちゃんの動画？！ああああああ！😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

できない、できない、できない！

jere via tiktok

🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

IT SOUNDS SO GOOD????

[wispstalk]

I don't know if you're wanting specific prompt requests from that list but if you are... I'd love to see number 5 or 19

much delayed but here is prompt #5 - a visit to their favorite city. a followup to this piece

-----

From her forge Ghorza sees every visitor to Understone Keep. Few things can pull her focus from her work, but the legionary in her still takes note of every silhouette that passes.

Of late, the corners of her eyes are out for one figure in particular: a dragonbone warhammer strapped to a broad back, an oilcloth overcoat so grimy that its color has no name. Whenever the Dragonborn visits the Jarl, Ghorza knows her forge is next.

This time the woman comes bearing a sack of orichalcum ore, mined in Dushnihk by the look of it. The foretold hero earns her bread this way, in mines and mills and fields and forests. Ghorza wonders if old Garol knows her day-laborer was a dragonslayer. “That all? You need anything sharpened?”

“Not today,” Abi says, revealing the flawless edge of her game knife.

“Good. Knives never pick a good time to break.” She hates to picture Abi out hunting the Druadachs and unable to dress her kills or cut a guyline. “Take care of your knives and you won’t be forced to stick around the city while I work.”

Abi cocks her head, nothing legible in her expression. “You think that I hate Markarth?”

Ghorza arches an eyebrow and leans against the workbench, arms folded.

“All right,” says Abi, “it’s true that I hadn’t made it two steps inside the gates before someone was murdered in front of me. It’s true that the city is a pit of corruption and slavery and Daedra-traffickers. It’s true that there are more damn steps than High Hrothgar and not a hand-railing in sight.”

Ghorza waits. “But?”

Abi flashes a grin then, foxlike, a rare slippage of the mask of the Dragonborn. “No ‘but.’ All that is why I come here last. When I see your work, I leave in better spirits than I came.”

Ghorza tips her head in surprise, blinks, works her mouth open then closed. “Zarga,” she manages; her Cyrodiilic won’t suffice for such praise. “From one smith to another. But damn you, will you ever let me get a look at something you’ve made?”

Abi’s face goes blank as worn stone once more. She reaches to unhook the hammer from her back— a smooth mechanical motion, muscle moving on a grooved track, speaking of all the times she must have unleashed that beast of a weapon.

But the hand stops, and falls to her side, and again the mask slips.

“I’m sure I could bear a night at the Silver-Blood,” she says, grinning, “if you joined me for dinner. Come at sundown and I’ll tell you how this hammer came to be.”