#i can’t see it even if it’s spelled out for me

[fiastomatocheek]

SNOOPY’S BIGGEST FAN

pair: dad!luke hughes x f!reader

genre: fluff, family, romance.

warnings: none, just an overload of fluff and wholesome family moments.

summary: you and luke are cherishing life as parents to your lively three-year-old daughter, lucy. out of the blue, lucy’s switched from calling luke ‘dada’ to ‘snoopy,’ a nickname that’s leaving you both laughing and guessing at its origin. after a thrilling devils game, lucy’s determination to stick by her dad’s side leads to her tagging along for a post-game interview. her unexpected shout of ‘dada snoopy’ during the interview steals the spotlight, melting hearts and showcasing luke’s endlessly sweet fatherhood.

fia’s notes: okay, i seriously don’t see nearly enough dad!luke content on here, so i had to take matters into my own hands and make one myself for all the luke lovers out there who, like me, crave that soft, playful, dad energy this one’s for us. my heart can’t take it. so here’s to giving dad!luke the love and attention he clearly deserves.

tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka

“So,” Luke starts, voice teasing. “You think Lucy’s gonna drop the Snoopy thing anytime soon?”

He stretches an arm across the couch, fingers grazing your shoulder.

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Not a chance. She’s locked in. Those Peanuts nights with you? She’s basically married to the idea that you’re Snoopy reincarnated.”

He groans, but it’s playful, his eyes crinkling.

“All I wanted was some quality dad-daughter time, you know? Put on Peanuts, watch Snoopy do his thing, make her laugh. Now I’m stuck as a cartoon dog.”

You grin, leaning into his side.

“You brought this on yourself. She drags you to the TV every chance she gets for ‘Snoopy time.’ And honestly? She’s not wrong, you’ve got that same goofy, huggy vibe.”

“Hey,” he protests, poking your side, “I’m an elite athlete. I don’t do ‘goofy.’ I’m… charmingly relaxed.”

“Sure, Snoopy,”

You tease, and he laughs, pulling you closer until your legs tangle with his.

The Snoopy nickname started a few months ago, during a stretch of rare off-days for Luke. He’d dug up Peanuts on a whim, thinking Lucy would love the colorful characters. He wasn’t wrong, yes, she fell head over heels for Snoopy, giggling at his doghouse daydreams and clapping when he danced with Woodstock.

It became their ritual, Luke scooping her up after dinner, settling on the couch, and playing ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ or ‘Snoopy vs. the Red Baron.’ Lucy would snuggle into his chest, pointing at the screen and saying, ‘You, Dada!’ At first, you both thought it was a phase, but then she started calling Luke Snoopy everywhere, every playdates, bedtime, even during your grocery runs. You tried to crack her logic, but her answer was always the same ‘Snoopy’s fun, hugs, like Dada.’ And just like that, Luke became ‘Snoopy’.

“Seriously, though,” Luke says, “it’s kinda cute, right? How she gets all excited calling me that?”

“Beyond cute,”

You agree, your heart squeezing at the memory of Lucy’s voice.

“Last night, she was waving at the TV during your game, yelling, ‘Go, Snoopy, go!’ I nearly cried laughing.”

Luke’s grin is pure pride, his eyes glowing.

“She’s my number-one fan. Sorry, you’re second place now.”

“Rude,” you say, swatting his chest, but your smile betrays you.

Lucy bounds in, curls bouncing, a stuffed giraffe under her arm.

“Snoopy!” she squeals, launching herself at Luke.

“Whoa, Luce!” he laughs, catching her and hoisting her up.

“Gonna spill my coffee, kiddo.”

“Snoopy play?”

She asks, grabbing his face with both hands, her eyes sparkling with mischief. You laugh at how she’s got him completely under her spell.

Luke glances at you, mock-exasperated.

“See? No respect for my coffee time.”

“Play, play, play!” Lucy chants, bouncing on his knees.

“Alright, alright,” he says, setting his mug down and tickling her until she’s giggling uncontrollably.

“But you gotta tell Dada why I’m Snoopy.”

She pauses, tilting her head like she’s solving a puzzle.

“’Cause… you’re Snoopy!” she says, then collapses into giggles as he pretends to chomp her nose.

Luke’s the dad who’d do anything for Lucy, skate with her in his arms, read her favorite book ten times, or embrace being called a beagle because she sees his heart in her favorite character. The way he looks at her, it’s like she’s his whole world.

“Game day,” you say, breaking the moment.

“Ready to light up the arena?”

Luke winks, still wrestling with Lucy.

“Always, babe. Gotta make my girls proud.”

The Prudential Center pulses with energy as you navigate the post-game crowd, Lucy’s hand tight in yours. Her Devils jersey, Luke’s number 43, oversized and adorable sways as she skips, her cap slightly crooked.

“Mommy, where’s Snoopy?”

Lucy asks, her voice cutting through the noise. A few fans nearby chuckle, probably picturing the cartoon dog instead of your towering defenseman husband.

“He’s with the team, Luce,” you say, crouching to fix her cap.

“Dada will be out soon. Wanna wait in the family area?”

“Nooo,” she whines, stomping her sneaker.

“Want see Snoopy now!”

Her pout is theatrical, and you grin. She’s got Luke’s stubbornness and your dramatic streak, a wild combo.

Before you can offer a snack as a bribe, you spot Luke striding out of the tunnel, his eyes find you instantly, and that grin spreads across his face, still making your heart skip after all these years.

“Snoopy!”

Lucy shrieks, yanking free and sprinting toward him, Luke’s drops to his knees, arms open, catching her as she crashes straight into him.

“There’s my girl!”

He says, swinging her onto his hip and kissing her cheek. She giggles, grabbing his face like she’s claiming him.

“Snoopy, win?” she asks, all business, like she’s his personal coach.

Luke laughs, smoothing a curl from her eyes.

“Yeah, Luce, we won. Two-one. You proud of Dada?”

“Proud proud!” she yells, flinging her arms around his neck.

“Hey, you,” he says, leaning over to kiss you, soft and quick but enough to warm you through.

“Good game?”

“Great game,” you say, squeezing his arm.

“You were a beast out there.”

He grins, but a team staffer interrupts, looking apologetic.

“Luke, post-game interview. They need you, like, now.”

Luke glances at Lucy, who’s glued to him like a koala, then at you.

“This little one not letting go, is she?”

“Nope,” you say, smirking. Lucy’s already muttering about ‘helping Snoopy talk.’

Luke sighs, but it’s fond, his eyes crinkling.

“Alright, Luce, wanna come with me? Be Dada co-star?”

“Yay!” she cheers, bouncing in his arms. He looks to you, and you shrug.

“Go for it. Just don’t let her steal the mic.”

He winks. “No promises.”

All the reporter was already there. You stand off to the side, arms crossed, biting your lip to keep from laughing. The reporters seem startled of a toddler wasn’t in their playbook but Lucy’s serious little face wins them over instantly.

“Luke, great game,” the first reporter says.

“That defensive play in the third, reading the forward like a book. Walk us through it.”

Luke shifts into hockey mode, but his hand’s gently rubbing Lucy’s back, keeping her settled.

“Thanks. I saw him hesitate with the puck, so I closed the gap fast. Got lucky with the poke check, and—”

“Snoopy!”

Lucy cuts in, twisting to stare up at him. The reporters freeze, and you stifle a laugh as Luke’s lips twitch.

“Yeah, Luce?” he says, voice steady, like this is just another day.

“You skate fast!”

She declares, throwing her hands up. The room chuckles, and Luke’s cheeks tint pink, but he’s beaming.

“Thanks, Luce,” he says, kissing her head.

“Fastest Snoopy in the NHL, right?”

The second reporter, clearly charmed, leans in.

“Luke, you’ve got a big fan here. What’s it like having your daughter cheering you on?”

Luke’s smile softens, and he looks at Lucy, who’s now fiddling with his cufflinks, oblivious to the cameras.

“It’s everything. Coming off the ice and seeing her and my wife waiting? Nothing beats it. She keeps me grounded. Win or lose, I’m her—” He pauses, grinning.

“Her Snoopy, apparently.”

The room erupts in laughter, and Lucy, sensing her moment, sits up, grabs Luke’s chin, and announces,

“Dada Snoopy!”

“Dada Snoopy, huh? That’s new, Luce.”

You’re doubled over, hand over your mouth, as the reporters scramble to recover. One, still grinning, says,

“Okay, Lucy, why’s your dad Snoopy?”

She tilts her head, like it’s obvious.

“’Cause he’s funny and huggy, like Snoopy!”

Luke’s face is pure adoration, he pulls her close, nuzzling her cheek.

“I’ll take it,” he says. “Funny and good at hugs? I’m retiring as Snoopy.”

The interview wraps soon after, Lucy waving at the cameras while Luke fields a few more questions, juggling her wiggles. As you head to the family lounge, he’s still chuckling, Lucy half-asleep on his shoulder.

“Dada Snoopy,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

“All because of those Peanuts nights.”

“Told you,” you say, looping your arm through his.

“You and your Snoopy bonding sessions created a legend.”

He looks at you, eyes soft. “Think SportsCenter’s running ‘Luke Hughes, aka Dada Snoopy’?”

“Guaranteed,” you tease.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss you, careful not to jostle Lucy.

“Love you,” he whispers. “Both my girls.”

“Love you too, Snoopy,” you whisper back, and his grin outshines the arena lights.

[mattslutt]

WORSHIP YOU - m.sturniolo

Matt x You

Gymrat Matt x Curvy Reader

teasing, pet names, worshipping, compliments, fluff.

summary: your boyfriend matt is obsessed with your thighs and always makes sure you feel worshipped and loved.

note: don’t like it, don’t read it.

word count: 877

____________________________________________

Matt’s voice is muffled through the bathroom, something about making dinner together, but you barely process it. You’re sprawled across the bed, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling—a dangerous habit, you know. But today, the algorithm is relentless, shoving image after image of toned bodies, lean legs, impossible proportions right in your face.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, and then you catch your reflection in the black mirror of your phone—a frown, a furrowed brow. Without thinking, your hand moves to your thigh, fingers pressing into the softness, feeling that familiar twist in your stomach. You hate how easy it is for the doubt to creep in.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice Matt until the bed dips beneath his weight, and suddenly, warm hands are gripping your legs, dragging them over his shoulders as he all but buries himself between them. His cheek presses against the plush of your thigh, and you feel his lips—soft, barely-there kisses—trailing across your skin.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice low, a little muffled. He squeezes your thighs, almost like he’s testing the feeling of them in his hands, and there’s a hint of a groan in his voice, like he can’t help himself. “God, I missed these.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, the spell of self-critique cracking just slightly. “You saw me like an hour ago, Matt.”

“Yeah, and it was too long.” His grip tightens, and his eyes—half-lidded, a little dazed—flicker up to yours. “You know, you could suffocate me with these, and I’d say thank you.”

Your cheeks burn. “Matt—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, the playful tone slipping just a bit, replaced by something softer, almost reverent. His fingers trace slow, lazy circles over your thighs, his touch feather-light, but enough to leave a trail of warmth in its wake. “I don’t think you get it. I’m obsessed. These legs, these thighs—” He presses another kiss, this time lingering, his lips hot against your skin. “I love them. I love you.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and you instinctively try to pull your legs away, but his hands are already gripping tighter. “Nope. Not going anywhere,” he insists, his lips still brushing against you with every word. “You can keep thinking whatever you want, but just know I’m gonna keep doing this. Forever. Okay?”

Your heart stutters, the familiar doubt flickering weakly before fading under his touch, his words, his devotion. You reach down, your fingers slipping into his messy hair, and he hums, leaning into your touch like a cat starved for attention.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice a little shaky, a little overwhelmed. “Forever sounds good.”

“Good,” he mumbles, already pressing another kiss to your thigh, his voice going softer, almost sleepy. “Because I’m not letting go. Ever.”

Matt’s lips are still against your thigh, the warmth of his breath spreading across your skin, and his voice drops to a low, almost sleepy murmur. “Softest thighs I’ve ever touched,” he whispers, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles. “Could live right here. Your skin’s perfect. So warm, so soft.”

“Matt—” you try to protest, a nervous laugh bubbling up, but his hands just tighten, pulling your legs even closer around his shoulders.

“No, I mean it,” he continues, voice edging on desperate, like he needs you to understand. “You don’t get it, do you? You could wear anything—shorts, dresses, those leggings I love—and I’d just lose my mind. Sometimes I see you and forget how to talk. I just wanna touch you, kiss you—”

Your face burns, your fingers instinctively tugging at his hair, trying to distract him. “Matt, stop—”

“Not a chance,” he breathes, pressing another kiss, this one wetter, his lips lingering. “I’d spend hours here if you let me. I love the way you feel, love the way you look. I love how soft you are. How perfect.” His voice is a low, steady rhythm, each word sinking into your skin, carving away every ounce of doubt.

“Matt—” you try again, but he looks up, his blue eyes dark and serious, and your voice falters.

“I wish you could see what I see,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into something almost vulnerable. “How gorgeous you are. I watch you walk around, and I just—” He lets out a low, breathless laugh. “I can’t believe you’re mine. Can’t believe I get to touch you. I’m so obsessed, baby. So, so obsessed.”

You feel the heat crawling down your neck, spreading across your chest, and you try to squirm away, embarrassment making you lightheaded. “Matt, please—”

“Please, what?” he teases, but there’s a gentleness to it. “Please keep going? Please keep kissing you?” His lips find a new spot on your thigh, his stubble grazing against your skin, sending a shiver through you. “I will. I’ll never stop. Not until you believe me. Not until you understand how much I love every single part of you.”

Your heart is racing, the mixture of embarrassment and something warmer, something more addictive, flooding through you. You try to cover your face, but Matt’s hand catches your wrist, pulling it gently away.

“No hiding, pretty girl,” he whispers, his voice a low promise. “Not from me. Never from me.”

____________________________________________

as a curvy girly myself, im very insecure and have been feeling way more insecure recently so i wrote this to feed my delusions but also make myself feel better LMAO.

[cinder-stella]

Cater 2 u w/ Kento 18+ NSFW

(fluff, domestic, they have a baby, reader has a dumptruck)

You’ve been planning this for a week—not a grand gesture, not something loud. Just something quiet. Something that feels just like him.

Nanami’s birthday hasn’t been at the top of your to-do list lately. Not because you didn’t care. Because there just hasn’t been enough hours during the day. Between feedings and crying spells and diaper blowouts and your own recovery, there hasn’t been room for romance.

But tonight? You made room.

The candles flicker on the patio table, their glow soft and golden against the darkening sky. The baby monitor rests beside the wine bottle. You double check it—again—and smile when it stays silent. She’s finally asleep.

You’re wearing the silk robe he bought you before the baby came. It fits differently now—your hips wider, your chest fuller, the shape of your body softer. You’re still getting used to it, and he’s been nothing but kind with gentle praise in passing and affectionate touches when he’s home.

You wanted him to feel like your man again.

And you also wanted to feel like you again.

The door opens, and he steps in—suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie undone around his neck. He stops when he sees the setup.

“What’s all this?” he asks, voice warm but touched with surprise.

You try to play it off. “Surprise?”

His eyes flick down your body and back up again. “You planned this for me?”

You smile. “Happy birthday, Kento.”

Nanami’s lips twitch in a rare, soft smile. He walks over and kisses your cheek—lingering, almost shy—and sits down. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

~~~

Dinner is quiet. Intimate. You talk about work. The baby. Other little things that happened during the week. But there’s something simmering underneath. The way his eyes trace the neckline of your robe. The way your legs brush beneath the table. It’s been months since you last made time for this kind of intimacy. And you could feel it stretching between you now.

His hand finds your thigh beneath the tablecloth.

You look up. His eyes are darker now, slow with heat.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs.

You glance away instinctively. You’ve been wearing nothing but nursing bras and old T-shirts. Your hips have widened. Your chest is fuller. Everything about you feels different. Not bad—just not familiar yet.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it for you,” he replies. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

His fingers trace a reverent line along your thigh. “Do you even know how stunning you are like this? After everything your body’s been through?”

You flush. Your skin prickles. And suddenly, you can’t quite breathe.

~~~

Ten minutes later, you’re both in the jacuzzi.

You lean back against the edge while he settles beside you, his arms resting along the rim behind your shoulders.

The stars twinkle above the soft steam rising around you. It’s the first time in months you’ve been able to breathe without a baby monitor or a list in your head.

Nanami shifts beside you, head tilted slightly toward the sky.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says.

“I wanted to,” you reply, reaching out to touch his wrist under the water. “You’ve been working so hard. I’ve barely seen you.”

His fingers turn to lace with yours.

“I know I’ve been tired lately,” he says. “Distant.”

“You’ve also been present,” you reply. “And trying. And mine.”

“You’ve been working harder,” he murmurs. “With less sleep.”

You smile. “Let’s not compare exhaustion. I just want you to enjoy this.”

His eyes close. A soft exhale. “I am.”

~~~

Later, in your shared bedroom, it’s quiet.

The dim light from the patio filters in through the sheer curtains. You sit on the edge of the bed, toweling off your legs, robe slightly open at the front—and you feel him watching you.

You look up. He’s standing near the doorway, his gaze heavy on your figure.

You freeze.

“…Kento?”

He moves forward slowly, as if afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

“I can’t keep my eyes off of you,” he says, voice low.

Your breath catches and you feel heat flooding your face.

He kneels in front of you. Hands on your thighs.

“Your hips, your chest…” His thumbs trace upward. “Your ass.”

You giggle slightly. “I’m glad you noticed.”

“I always notice,” he says with a slight smirk. “It drives me crazy. You drive me crazy.”

You bite your lip. “Kento…”

He looks up. “Lie back.”

~~~

He kisses slowly at first—down your chest, across your stomach, groaning into every new inch of skin. His hands are hungry, worshipful, gripping the fullness of your hips like he’s trying to memorize the shape.

When he finally sinks between your thighs, he moans against you, one hand fisting the sheet. He skillfully drags his tongue over you again and again until your legs are trembling and your hand grips his hair tight.

And when he finally presses inside you, slow, deep and trembling, he doesn’t even try to hold back the sound he makes.

“Oh my god…” His voice is low, cracked open with need. “You’re so—fuck, you’re perfect. You feel even better.”

It steals the breath from your lungs. Not just because of the stretch but the feeling of being filled by someone who knows your body, who’s memorized it, who loves it not in spite of how it’s changed but because it’s changed. Because it carried his daughter. Because it’s yours.

Your nails press into the sheets as he moves, slowly at first, like he’s trying not to come undone too quickly. Your body welcomes him greedily, walls clenching around him in a needy, involuntary rhythm. The heat builds fast. There’s tension coiled low in your belly, and each deep thrust pushes you closer to unraveling.

But what stuns you more than the pleasure is how seen you feel.

He touches you like he’s never been more in awe of you. Like this moment—this shared breath, this union of sweat and skin and moans—is the most sacred thing in the world. His hands stay on your hips, your back, your thighs—feeling everything, grounding both of you in the now. You can feel the need in him, the desperation to get closer, to bury himself deeper like he wants to fuse into you.

And you want that too.

To your surprise, Kento flips you onto your stomach. And when he catches sight of your ass—soft, full, arched for him—he loses all sense of restraint.

He slides back in with a low growl, one hand splayed over your lower back to keep you steady, the other gripping your waist. You gasp when he adjusts the angle, hitting a spot inside you that makes your whole body tremble. Your moans turn needy, near frantic. You glance over your shoulder, catching the slack-jawed look on his face as he rocks into you from behind—eyes half-lidded, flushed and utterly wrecked.

You feel him twitch deep inside you, feel his rhythm falter ever so slightly as he gets close. The way he grips your hips tightens, like he’s holding himself back. Still trying to be gentle, to savor.

Then you hear it—his voice, low and desperate,“You’re gonna ruin me…”

“Don’t hold back,” you whisper, breath catching on a moan. “It’s okay—Kento, I want it.”

His name falls from your lips, and he groans, loud and raw, like he’s barely holding on.

You push back into him, needy and shameless, and the sound of your soaked skin meeting echoes in the bedroom.

“Come on, baby,” you murmur, voice thick with heat. “You’ve been so good—just let go for me.”

His thrusts turn messy, desperate, and you can feel the way he gives in, every inch of him trembling. His breath stutters, low in his throat, and his pace grows ragged—his composure unraveling right in your hands.

Then, with a deep groan pressed against your shoulder, he buries himself to the hilt and spills inside you.

“Ah—fuck,” he chokes out, hips stuttering. “I’m—God—inside… I’m—”

You feel the rush of warmth fill you, his body jerking with every pulse, and you sigh—satisfied, breathless, clenching around him to draw it out.

“That’s it,” you whisper, dazed and sweet. “That’s it, love… just like that.”

He holds you through the aftershocks, his forehead resting between your shoulder blades, his chest heaving against your back. The weight of him above you, still inside you, makes you feel full in a way that has nothing to do with sex.

You feel cherished.

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

Geum Song Je X Reader | MDNI 18 + Smut, Dark Themes, Red flag (obviously, its Seong Je) Reader used to be Na Baek Jin's girl. Now he's dead. But fortunately for her Geum Seong Je is taking up his abandoned responsibilities. Including you. idk what else.

The end of Na Baek Jin would have always spelled doom for you. 

Once upon a time, you had hoped that you’d have the opportunity to go back to a better life – your previous life – but that was just a pipe dream. Your previous life held a previous girl. One that didn’t exist anymore. 

It had been a cold, wet day that you’d caught the eye of the young delinquent. Not particularly good at school or at sport, best at keeping your head down and managing your own affairs, he’d caught you trying to scurry past him and his gang that evening, after you’d finished up cram school; your head bowed, trying in vain to fend off the worsening drizzle. He – recognising the uniform – signalled one of his underlings to bring you to him. 

Worried that he would beat you up, you had stammered out a “P-please I just want to go home. I have no money.” 

The statement made the guys around you laugh. 

“Money?” Na Baek Jin had asked. This upper lip twisted into a cruel smile that would send shivers down your spine. “I have—” He stopped mid way. Thought for a moment and then started again. “Well, if you can’t give me money, then I think it’s best you give me your company.” He held your chin in his hand, lifting your head blowing gently into your face. 

After that, Na Baek Jin kept you by his side. He helped you with school work, resulting in your grades getting better. You left the cram school and spent every evening with him. But when it wasn’t school work – there were other things…

Baek Jin always treated you with a gentle hand. You had seen how badly those fingers could hurt and yet, they knew the other too. Soft lingering touches at your waist. Burning trails left on your sin that remained long after the two of you had parted for the day. And worst of all, a need for him that, somehow, would never be satisfied. 

For Baek Jin, pleasuring you was as much of a delight as his math solutions. He’d work you for hours, slowly pumping his fingers in and out – deliberate drawn out movements – till you were no more than a dripping wet mess. Your sweet  begging, calling out his name, tears dampening your lashes – it never failed to spur him on. His cold calculated moves stood out in contrast to your scorching body; leaving you gasping when he suddenly died…

***

Na Baek Jin was gone. The Union was in disarray, and the two boys, once his closest stooges, were laughing with no care for who might see. 

Geum Seong Je entered the funeral room alone. Everyone else had already left, even Baku, dragged away by his friends – who tried to comfort your weeping figure but quickly gave up seeing your lack of response. Seong Je called out to your hunched over form, and kneeled down to meet your eye. You didn’t look up. 

He placed a finger under your chin, lifting your head to his. His thumb brushed against your lower lip. Such a gentle touch, so much like Baek Jin.  He wasn't wearing his glasses and you could see the little mole under his eye clearly.  

“You’re not alone.” 

You nodded your head. 

“I’ll be taking over the Union. And I’m taking you with me. I know Baek Jin would have wanted the same.” 

Something about the certainty in the tone of his voice made you wonder if he had orchestrated the whole thing. The fight with Eunjang, the heightening pressure. A thought crossed your mind. What if he had done it all to make sure he got that coveted spot at the top…  

Seong Je lifted you off the cold floor with ease. You were carried out in his arms while wide eyed glances were ignored. The bright fluorescent lighting hurt your eyes and he encouraged your head to seek refuge in the crook of his neck. He smelled sweet. Sweat, men's deodorant, and an undercurrent of iron. You took a deep shuddering breath.

“Where are you taking me? Seong Je?”

“Home.” 

The cab driver waiting outside barely spared you a second glance. Perhaps visions like this were commonplace at the exits of funeral homes. The man wouldn’t have stopped to wonder whose funeral you had been attending. Perhaps he thought Seong Je was a kind friend, or an elder brother. Someone with thoughts that were pure and wholesome. But the iron grip on your wrist as he pulled you into the makeshift bed at Daesung Motorcycles spoke differently. His chest was hot.

Hotter than Baek Jin.

Immediately you felt a pang of guilt and pulled yourself away. Seong Je’s eyes bore into you watching you fight him. 

“Tsk — what, what is it? Not soft enough? Need more pillows?” 

You shook your head. “Seong Je… I love Baek Jin. I– I–” 

He clicked his tongue again. “Whatever you need darling. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little more.”

You felt your heart pounding against your rib cage. “What do you mean, you’ve waited? You know I was with Baek Jin. Did you know he would die? Did you– did you–”

The man cut you off with a searing kiss. The shackle on your wrist tightened. You gasped for air but he climbed on top of you with ease. Suddenly you were all too aware of how short your skirt was, and how easy it would be for a person like him to pull off your underwear. 

“Baek Jin—” 

“Stop!” The sharp order overpowered your whimpers. “He’s dead! He’s not here anymore… I am.” His voice was so steady, almost reinforcing the idea in your head about the manner of your lover's death. But underneath it all you knew, there was more to it than what was visible. 

Seong Je smirked and got up. "I'm not going to force you. You're gonna want me. You're gonna crave me. You're gonna beg for me." He cocked his head to the side. Almost adorably. "That'll be so much more fun."

Your eyes followed his figure as he walked to the doorway to the adjoining warehouse, and suddenly you couldn’t help yourself. “Why?”

He half turned. The lights from the street painted him in dark gold. “I’ve always imagined what you’d sound like.” 

You lifted yourself off the mattress, shooting him a quizzical look. 

“What you’d sound like, moaning my name.” 

He left the room, you heard the click of the lock.

Sleep came to you easily, but it wasn’t restful. Your night was plagued with visions of Baek Jin’s body, lying beaten and bloodied. Alone. His black eyes seemed to be asking you for something. Help? An explanation? Revenge? You couldn’t tell… 

[rust-4-life]

MY FRIEND BOUGHT ME YOUR BOOK! He originally was going to ship me his copy after he read it because he insisted I would love it (he was right) but he saw it would be cheaper to just buy me my own copy. I finished it last night, it made me cry (compliment) and idk if you will see this but here are my thoughts:

-I absolutely love the trippy way you draw the ancestors. How they fade in and out of each other and are made up of designs. 10/10 will be opening those pages up again next time I take shrooms or drop acid.

-Every time Seth was on page or even mentioned I had the uncomfortable sinking feeling in my tummy I have not had since my abusive ex of eight years, but it was a feeling I felt for that entire eight years. I hadn’t realized how it had been so long since I stopped feeling that way that it was just… startling. Excellent characterization/writing. This isn’t a bad thing btw I love when books make me actually feel feelings. (idk if that is normal to say, but I am diagnosed with autism lol).

-Low-key I was expecting the ending as it approached to be that Corinth breaks up with Seth of her own volition and that still “counts” for the spell somehow. So I was very surprised and enjoyed it when that wasn’t what happened at all! I also like how it’s open ended. It can be continued or it can just end there. 🫶🏻

-Lastly I LOVE your merfolk designs. I have a thing for flat chested/masc chested ladies so Skylla and her sisters oh boy they’re gorgeous babes. BUT THEIR MOM??? 🥵 And omg… what a lucky woman to have so many husbands!!! (spouses? partners? the daddies!!!) I love the tiny daddies and I love that they do what they can to help their daughter.

Anyway I really enjoyed it and was searching the tag on Tumblr to see if anyone made edits or posts about it and wasn’t expecting to find the author ! If someone is reading this post and you like sapphic romance/friendship/bonding or variations on The Little Mermaid of any kind I can’t recommend this enough. It’s also a quick read!

I wrote a lot so I will be sure to put this all in an amazon review for you as well.

I think you would like my mermaid graphic novel if you check it out 💕🧜‍♀️🧜‍♂️🧜

The Sea in You

[scribbledlovenotes]

distracted. p.t.r

mdni. professor tom riddle. good grades. bad distractions. age-gap sex.

Months. For months you’ve trapped within the flickering candlelight of the libraries restricted section, parchment and quill in hand as you scribble down notes, pretending to care about the intricacies of advanced magical theory. It’s a ridiculous assignment for a stupid class and the only reason you’re even committed to finishing it is him. Your obsession. The one thing that causes your heart to race and forces your thighs to clench uncomfortably beneath your desk. Him. Professor Riddle. Potentially the one and only reason you returned back for your seventh year. You can’t get enough. Come to notice it; either can the other female students around you from the whispers you’ve heard them speak.

He’s forever tailored to perfection, the robes which drape over his lean frame as intoxicating as the silken menace of his voice as he discusses topics such as the ‘seduction of power linked to dark arts’ or your personal favourite, the ‘elegance of a well cast spell’, as if the words were a spell themselves. You’re hooked; lustful. He knows it, surely. Those dark, melted chocolate eyes of his catch yours just a little too often. Lingering with a heat that feels like what you presume legilimency would as he peels back the subtle layers of your restraint.

It was last Tuesday, after a lecture on the morality of the dark arts that left your head spinning that he stopped you as you gathered your textbooks and piled them neatly into your arms. His presence standing before you was polished yet predatory. Almost like a knifes blade wrapped in velvet. The curve of his smirk; stealing your breath.

 “I’d like to discuss a recent essay you submitted”, Professor Riddle explained, taking his time to fold a piece of parchment between his fingertips tat you couldn’t for the life of you, pull your gaze from. The simple movement almost ritualistic in practice. “Come to my office tomorrow evening. Any time after 6.”

Your heart lurched at the proposal; frantically thudding against the inside of your chest as you felt the back of your neck warm up with a scarlet style fever you’d potentially have to see a nurse about. Every sensible part of you knows that this is just a student-professor discussion. Nothing more, nothing less. However you can’t help but wonder. Should you agree, should you tell anyone, should you brag, should you mention something to your absolutely oblivious Hufflepuff boyfriend who you loved dearly but ugh – god, he was fucking useless when it came to feelings. Your wants. Desires. Needs.

“Of course, Professor”, you responded with a small smile; innocently tucking some hair behind your ear which you flicked up on and over the back of your shoulder. “Um, should I bring my boyfriend? He did help me with the paper. Perhaps he could learn something.”

The question came out as pure innocence whispered from between your gloss coated lips as you’re waiting, patiently to try and catch any look or expression that might give away a little more than what Professor Riddle already has; but the shadow in his eyes that transpires like a storm is gone in a blink, as his smile sharpens. A chuckle, rumbling just at the back of his throat. “Just you will suffice. I prefer… focused discussions.”

And with that; the air crackled as if there had been some kind of sudden declaration of a silent challenge.

This evening; the castle is as quiet as the fields of Scotland midwinter as you climb, step by step the stone staircase to Professor Riddle’s office. The air surrounding you on the way thickened by the scent of burning ensconces and a shimmer of magic which leads the way. You knock against the hard wood door before his voice commands you to enter. As the door creaks open, he’s revealed to be sitting behind a desk – quill in hand, grading papers as the roar of the fireplace lights up the office almost.. romantically.

Professor Riddle’s features are sharp. More so now than when you see him during class. He looks absolutely devastating in what he’s wearing; robes hooked up on a wall behind him, the crisp white shirt he’s wearing pulls to sit exactly as it should on his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms twilled with a quiet strength. You swallow harshly, eyes tracing up one particular vein that you notice beneath his skin almost poetically and he gestures to the chair across from him as you hesitate before taking a seat. The office’s intimacy – shelves of tomes, trinkets and artefacts on display in a curated yet chaotic fashion closing in like a charm you might just become.

“Your essay”, he begins, picking up the work almost delicately off a pile of others before he hands it to you, “…is bold. I’ll give you that. Yet your research clearly lacks precision.”

You gaze down at the essay; eyes taking in the corrections and question marks scattered over it in a dull, red ink – the grade scribbled into the top corner something you’re vaguely satisfied with but Professor Riddle is clearly not. You attempt to stammer out some kind of response; some knitted reply as an excuse for work you were actually content with, yet you notice from the corner of your eye the way he rises from his seat. His critique a pretence to a game you know you both shouldn’t be playing, yet as he circles around the desk, coming around to where you start, you can’t help but note that each step seems deliberate. Like a wolf closing in on a lamb or in this case, a snake on a mouse which is desperate to feast.

“You have potential”, he murmurs as his steps stop behind you. he’s standing close enough that you can feel his breath graze the back of your neck. “…but clearly you’re distracted.”

Your pulse hammers; skin beginning to gleam with a soft sweat that coats your brow and a thin line down the nape of your neck. You’re suddenly grateful that you never told your boyfriend about coming here; about this little meeting – just that you’d see him tonight, as always for a little alone time and well…

“I’m not”, you manage as a response. Words clear. “Distracted – that is.”

Professor Riddle’s hands find your shoulders as he scoffs a chuckle; running down to the small of your back, burning through your robes. He leans in; lips to your ear, his voice sounding like that of a velvet hex. As his fingers trace along the curve of your skin; slow – possessive, you feel a slick heat that you want to curse away blooming between the chaffing of your thighs.

“Aren’t you? Well..”, he gently guides you up onto your feet, pushing you forward so that you’re pressing against the edge of his desk as he cages you in, body warm pressed up against you. “I still think I’m right. You see that’s a perk to teaching. With a little experience, you begin to learn to read a classroom and see through masks that students prevail while hoping to fool you… and you dear, most definitely, are, distracted.”

A hand slips up beneath your skirt, finding the dampness of your underwear which his fingers push aside with ease and before you know it, both skilled and merciless; he parts your folds, a slick drag up towards your clit that rather quickly swells with need. It’s a blend of a gasp and a choke that escapes you. You lean forward; hands clawing at the wood of his desk and as his fingers continue to circle exactly where you need them, your body trembles; like a wanton secret of his to please.

What follows? That’s a blur. Professor Riddle twists you around; his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that’s bruising. One that tastes like a rich red wine. He manages to muffle your gasps with a firm hand as he undoes his belt with the other and before you know what you’re doing yourself, you shift back and lift onto his desk – lips parted; eyes glued to that wicked smirk he wears before they drop down to his waist, taking in full view of his cock; thick, glistening, that he pumps twice before pressing against your entrance with a friction and tease.

You shouldn’t have. You’re not meant to. Either way, you whisper a desperate ‘please’, and without any patience as what he’s known for, Professor Riddle shifts your thighs further apart to wrap lets around his waist as he fills you with a single deep thrust that takes your breath away. The office falls into silence. You fall back onto the desk. A bottle of ink is spilled. Papers go flying. You hear a quill crack beneath you but couldn’t care less. His thrusts are both torture and bliss. Each movement a revelation. It’s forbidden; it’s fucking perfect. Your thighs split further as he grasps at the soft flesh and you bite down on a knuckle to try and keep yourself quite; relishing the fact that he’s thorough and rough, satisfying. Not quite like your boyfriend.

You hear him spit; saliva hitting your clit which he draws out a series of wand motions you – you know them, they’re the unforgivables and yet you couldn’t care. Your cunt begins to clench around him. You claw a little further at his desk. The desk lamp gets knocked over; you hear the bulb shatter as you cry out a moan through gritted teeth and your back arches up as he spills out inside of you. A warmth flooding in but also dripping down your legs as he withdraws – the both of you breathless.

“Much improved”, he mutters, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear almost tenderly before he taps a teasing slap against your clit as a reminder of what’s just happened. It’s about a minute before you can stand. A minute before you make yourself look a little more decent that you just had been. A minute for your cheeks to swell down from a harsh red to a soft peachy pink and by this time, Professor Riddle has already returned to his seat.

“Same time next week. We can discuss any course work you might be struggling with.”

Is that an offer, or a request? You fix your hair; running your hands through it before you lick your lips and nod. Unable to shake the feeling of what’s just happened.

“You’re an exceptional student. Just – don’t get distracted.  Wouldn’t want you being dissatisfied; it’s a shame about the boyfriend.”

Ugh – that prick. He’d been inside your head the whole time.

“Yes Professor”, you respond as you make your way towards the door to exit; making a mental note to keep this little rendezvous to yourself forever and ever and e—

“Tom.” He corrects you. “Professor Riddle is merely a formality we must maintain within the classroom.”

Fuck. Why’d he have to wait until seventh year.

[loves-n-kisses]

Yes, I ment mind control and yes the reader sorry for not being specific, I suck at spelling and stuff, I love your work (btw I asked about the shinso one

Okay, thanks for specifying! I really enjoyed writing this one. 

Mind's Misstep: Shinsou x GN!Reader

A story where Hitoshi Shinsou accidentally brainwashes you, causing an unexpected loss of control.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The common room of the UA dorms was buzzing with its usual low-key chaos. Kirishima was sprawled on one couch, scrolling through his phone, while Kaminari tried (and failed) to balance a pencil on his nose. You and Shinsou had claimed a corner table, surrounded by scattered textbooks and half-empty coffee mugs. Study sessions with him were a regular thing now—his dry humor and surprising patience made cramming for exams almost bearable.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I swear, if I have to memorize one more hero law, my brain’s gonna melt.”

Shinsou smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You’d make a terrible villain. Too lazy to memorize the loopholes.”

“Rude,” you shot back, tossing a crumpled sticky note at him. He dodged it with a lazy tilt of his head, his purple hair falling messily over his eyes. “You’re one to talk, Mr. ‘I’ll Just Brainwash the Teacher.’”

He snorted, but his expression softened. “You’re lucky I don’t use my quirk to make you study harder.”

“Ha, I’d like to see you try,” you teased, not thinking much of it. You reached for your coffee, expecting him to fire back with another quip.

Instead, his voice dropped, smooth and laced with that subtle, dangerous edge. “Why don’t you read the next chapter?”

Your hand froze mid-air, the mug slipping from your fingers. It hit the table with a soft clink, coffee sloshing over the rim. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, flipping open the textbook and scanning the page like it was the most important thing in the world. A faint fog clouded your thoughts, your own voice silent despite the scream building in your chest.

Shinsou’s eyes widened. “Wait—shit, no, stop!” His chair scraped against the floor as he shot to his feet, hands outstretched. “I didn’t mean—stop reading, now!”

The fog lifted, your hands dropping the book like it burned. You blinked, heart racing, the world snapping back into focus. The common room was quiet now, Kirishima and Kaminari staring from the couch. You shook your head, trying to shake off the lingering daze. “Whoa… did you just…?”

Shinsou’s face was ghost-white, his breathing quick and shallow. He stumbled back, hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the table. “I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—fuck, I didn’t mean to use it.” His voice cracked, barely audible. “You weren’t supposed to answer.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said, pushing your chair back to stand. Your legs felt a little wobbly, but you ignored it, focusing on him. His eyes were wide, darting between you and the floor, like he was afraid to meet your gaze.

“No, it’s not okay,” he snapped, though the anger was aimed at himself. “I just controlled you. In the middle of the damn dorms, over nothing. What if I’d told you to do something worse? I’m—” He cut himself off, pressing a hand to his chest, his breaths coming in sharp gasps. “I’m a fucking danger.”

You stepped closer, careful not to startle him. “Shinsou, breathe. I’m fine, see? Just a little spooked, that’s all.” You kept your voice steady, even as your own pulse still raced.

He shook his head, turning away, his shoulders hunched. “You don’t get it. I can’t just… slip like that. I could’ve hurt you. I’m not—” His voice broke, and he dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard. “I’m not safe.”

Your heart twisted at the raw fear in his voice. You’d seen Shinsou doubt himself before, but this was different—he looked like he was unraveling. Without hesitating, you reached out, gently touching his arm. He flinched but didn’t pull away.

“Shinsou, look at me,” you said softly. When he didn’t move, you stepped in front of him, your hand still on his arm. “You didn’t hurt me. You stopped it, fast. You realized what happened, and you fixed it. That’s what matters.”

His eyes flicked to yours, glossy and uncertain. “I shouldn’t have let it happen at all,” he muttered. “What kind of hero just… loses it like that?”

“One who’s human,” you said firmly. “You’re still figuring out your quirk. Mistakes happen. But you didn’t let it go too far, and I trust you to keep that from happening again.”

He let out a shaky breath, his jaw tight. “You’re too damn trusting, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, offering a small smile. “But I mean it. You’re not a danger. You’re someone I feel safe around, quirk and all.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he was searching for a catch. Slowly, the tension in his frame eased, his breathing steadying. “You’re ridiculous,” he mumbled, but there was a faint warmth in his tone, the panic starting to fade.

“Ridiculous enough to keep studying with you,” you said, nudging his arm lightly before stepping back. “So, what’s it gonna be? Back to hero laws, or do we take a break and clean up this coffee mess?”

He glanced at the spilled mug, then back at you, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Break,” he said quietly. “But… thanks. For, you know. Not freaking out.”

“Anytime,” you said, grabbing a napkin to start cleaning. As you worked, you caught him watching you, his expression softer than usual. And despite the scare, you couldn’t help but feel a little closer to him, like you’d both just crossed some invisible line together.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

note: I like how kirishima and denki have no purpose in this fic. they're just there. two extras. adore them tho <3

Drink water, sleep good, be productive my pookies!

-made with loves n' kisses!

[n0rmal-cat]

Siren singer x taxi driver reader- part 2

[for harpy person, are we talking like a night bird? Like an owl or crow? Or just any]

Reader sat in their boss's office, "I’m sorry, Reader, but it looks like we have to let you go.”

“You're firing me?! For what? I couldn’t have possibly done anything that bad!” they ask confused.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have to explain why we fire people,” the boss replied, avoiding eye contact.

“Yes, you do! This is so unprofessional!” Reader slammed their hands down on the table.

The boss stood up hastily. “Now listen here, Reader, we don’t want to call security.”

Grumbling under their breath, Reader left the room. They had suspected this would happen all along, all because of that insufferable man. But why had they been offered $1,000 in compensation? Asshole.

Reader didn’t believe their job application had been that bad. Surely they could find a position at a fast-food restaurant or something similar, but that hadn’t happened. No one seemed willing to hire them.

They slumped down on their couch. "I guess I could talk to my parents?" They really didn't want to, though...

The ring of their doorbell startled them and made them jump, "Jeez!"

"Don't be the landlord, don't be the landlord,"  they whispered, crossing their fingers as they made their way to the door.

As they opened it, they collided with the chest of a man. “At least take me on a date first, dear,” he joked, a cocky grin spread across his face.

They recognized that voice anywhere, "you!" They stumbled back, "you got me fired!"

His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, and he had sunglasses on

“Oh, gasp! You got fired? How terrible,” he pouted playfully.

"Yes, I got-...did you just say gasp?"

"Enough about me, let's talk about you," he stepped into the apartment . “So, it’s come to my attention that you don’t have a job, yes?”

Reader blocks him “You can’t just waltz into my home like this. And yes, I do have a job!”

“Ooooh, delightful! I was thinking about what you said, and you’re absolutely right I should get a personal driver, you” 

“Excuse me? Wait, are you actually some rich guy?” Reader eyed him warily.

“Yes, and apparently an asshole as well,”

Reader paused for a moment, momentarily caught off guard before snapping back to reality. “No, you?!”

“Yes, you see, you intrigue me. I’ve never met ‘anyone’ who doesn’t like my voice,” he said, the last part sounding almost like a growl, made even more apparent when he bared his teeth slightly.

"i highly doubt that, and no i refuse, you're the one that got me fired and for a petty ass reason nonetheless"

“Oh, okay, I see how it is. But…” He lifted Reader’s chin, forcing them to meet his intense gaze. As he spoke, a mesmerizing mixture of blue and green mist escaped his lips, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose to reveal his striking blue-green eyes.

“Did you vape before coming in here?” Reader blurted out.

"W-What?" He looked genuinely shocked. Suddenly, he squeezed Reader’s face in his hands, frustration flaring in his eyes. “What is wrong with you, human?” he glared at them, fully showing his teeth now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Reader struggled against his hold.

“Unless you, gasp!” He opened Reader's eyelids with his fingers to peer inside them.

“Let go of me, you idiot!” Reader shouted, mortified.

“I swear to God, if you try to take my turf… oh, okay, good not a siren,” he said with a smile, finally releasing them.

Reader pushed him away, breathing heavily. “I’m going to call the cops on you!”

“Fat chance they’ll do anything, sugar. Now, let’s get straight to the point, you're my new driver. There’s no room for argument unless you’d prefer to stay unemployed.”

Rubbing their temples in frustration, Reader groaned, “What are you talking about? I can find a new job!”

"No you can't i made sure of that. i did say I was a siren that's why I need to have you, why don't you fall under my spell dear tell me."

"Siren?" That did sort of make sense, his fanbase was a mindless mob, wasn't it? "Really?" they asked, confused.

"Yes, really, I mean what human could have a name like mine?" he said smugly.

"yeah 'silver midnight' is a shit name"

"No, it's not!" he composed himself.

"So tell me, would you rather leave all this junk behind and come with me, or do you want to take some of this crap with you?” He gestured around the apartment casually.

"Are you gonna be paying me the same as the check?"

"That depends, are you going to be a little smart ass the whole drive" he crossed his arms like they were the problem.

"Maybe pay me more."

He puffed his cheeks "get in the damn car and well see how many zeros i add on"

[ducksido]

Hey I hope this isn't too much but I just discovered that my mom destroyed my pillows from this twisted wonderland wedding themed event I went to last year so that I'd be forced to throw it away and I just really need some comfort from Jade right now so maybe a fic where Jade comforts the reader after something precious from their wedding broke?

(rushed to write this, may be spelling mistakes)

you don’t even know how it happened. like. you blinked and it was just— shattered. not even a clean break, but one of those awful, cruel kinds where every piece splinters and you can’t even fit it back right. your wedding charm. the one you got from the event. your favorite one. the one with the ocean glass and the little twisting vine etched into it. it’s gone. and you’re on the floor, just. staring. hands curled and cold and your mouth keeps trying to say something but it’s just little hiccupy sounds. you don’t cry easy, but now it’s like a dam cracked.

you don’t even hear jade at first. the door creaks, soft like the sea. "oh… my pearl…" his voice is quiet. careful. he sees the glass first, then you. and then his hands are on your shoulders, warm and anchoring. "what happened, dearest?"

you can’t even look at him. it hurts too much. "it’s broken," you manage. "she— she broke it. said it was dumb. made sure i couldn’t keep it…"

your voice cracks like the charm did. jade’s eyes darken, slow and stormy. not at you, never at you. but you can feel it, the weight of his silence. he always thinks before he speaks.

"...how cruel of her," he murmurs, brushing hair out of your face. "to decide what should matter to you. to destroy what she cannot understand."

you try to speak again but he just hushes you, pulls you close. his arms are all-encompassing, tide-strong. the sea could take you and you'd feel safer there than in your own house right now.

"listen to me," jade says, voice low by your ear. "the charm may be broken, but the memory… your happiness that day… the way you looked, how you smiled, the way i whispered that you were the most beautiful thing in all of twisted wonderland—"

he lifts your chin gently.

"—none of that is broken."

you sniff, try to laugh but it just breaks into another cry and he just. holds you. tight, firm, present.

"we’ll find the pieces," he says after a bit, pressing a kiss to your temple. "and if we cannot fix them, we’ll make something new. something just for you. something she can’t touch."

you nod. it still hurts. it still feels like something was ripped from you. but his voice is steady. his words are seafoam and promise.

he rocks you slightly, humming a lullaby from the coral sea, and in his arms, even with your heart aching— you feel like maybe it’ll be okay again.

[jjwolves]

Could you make a small ficlet of Mitu x male!reader nsfw/smut? I know you can’t get very detailed but maybe what kinda positions, dirty talk, or what she’d like? And if you could add her being possessive too? Clingy, spelling out “M-I-N-E” and stuff

NEXT GAME •°❀─•°•❀•°•─❀°•

What: 5 Mitu X Male Reader Headcanons (NSFW)

Who: Mitu from ENA Dream BBQ

How Much: ~800 words, ~4 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G, Divider -> @thecutestgrotto

Warnings: Sexual Content

Being partners with Mitu means a lot of things. It means dancing in clubs which had been recently cut out from the afterlife and near-constant date nights in ominous ceremonial grounds. It means lots of games, merciless teasing and playful touching which Mitu manages to make sacred. You are constantly besieged by poking, petting, hugging and groping by your hangwoman. It’s usually endearing, but sometimes it’s a little embarrassing when you’re in public, even if most of the entities around you probably don’t care all that much. “Aww, you’re just so C-U-T-E! L-O-O-K at you getting all shy… Trust me, B-A-B-E, they’ve seen weirder.” She shakes you playfully and initiates a weird, upside down hug where her arms loop around your waist and everything above her head lays flush with you.

Eventually, all that touchiness takes a toll on your restraint. Mitu keeps her teasing cranked up to an unbearable degree while you burn hotter than the Uncanny Streets’ acid vein rivers. “Kehehe. You’re looking at me like I’m a M-E-A-L. Is it something I’m doing?” Mitu continues dancing as she circles you, occasionally swinging to rub a part of herself into you or sneaking a warm hand under your clothes. “You’re so fun to P-L-A-Y with. Is my little no B-O-D-Y getting frustrated?” She touches you from every angle. It makes you dizzy. It’s a favorite move of hers to turn up the heat on your date nights and keep the flames stoked for as long as possible, but one thing that Mitu always makes good on is her follow-up. She may be a constant flirt, true, but she’s not cruel—she’s getting you ready for something very special later on. “Looks like the party’s D-O-N-E. You seem… up. Kehe. Let’s go B-A-C-K to my place so I can make you… hm. Now what’s the W-O-R-D?” You hesitate before answering. Happy? Mitu smirked. “Yeah! Very happy! Though the word I was thinking of was something more like… M-I-N-E.”

You return to Mitu’s brightly-colored temple-house after the party. It’s dark out; you don’t know if it’s because it’s night or because a giant flying horse is blocking the sun again. Either way, Mitu insists that you go inside before being zipped up by her rope to who-knows-where. You enter the temple’s labyrinth. Mazes aren’t really your realm of expertise, especially when you’re so tingly and excited, but thankfully, cartoon letters left floating throughout Mitu’s residence give you directions with a helpful ‘E’ for East or ‘S’ for South. You’re familiar with this part, though—a dark room with a blanketed altar and Nazca lines running up and down the walls. Mitu’s room. You can see she’s inside, and you don’t want to keep her waiting.

Mitu gets giggly as she tangles you up in her ropes and suspends you above her altar, wiggling her fingers like a gourmet meal was just set in front of her. “Aw, you aren’t even gonna pretend you don’t like being strung up with my R-O-P-E? You must be pretty P-E-N-T up, huh?” Eager to start, Mitu gets to business. It’s odd and kind of clunky, since your favorite knife-girl is always upside down and her body has an unusual shape, but you find a way to make it work even if you’re in midair. Mitu undresses you and tastes you, but she’s surprisingly gentle now that she has you. You see stars and masks. She draws back as you learn to think again, hanging near your face. “You look like you’ve B-E-E-N screwed silly. But we’ve only scratched one thing off the L-I-S-T! It’s not O-V-E-R yet!” You sigh, pretending to be resigned as Mitu pinches your cheek and snickers.

A few hours pass before you’re both on the altar, Mitu laying on top of you. She gasps and pants as you dig into her. You’re not always forward enough to show how much you love your little trickster, but the inky walls which hold you back during the day get smudged off the paper by night. You both revel in each other, Mitu starting to get a little too fast for you to hold back. “I don’t have a pile of G-O-L-D or any treasure or nothing… ���Cause you’re M-I-N-E, you know? You’re mine, I’ll K-E-E-P you here forever…” Mitu’s muttering into your ear is what puts you over the edge. You spasm and give her all that you have, collapsing onto the altar (and Mitu falls with you). After a few minutes spent gathering the strength to do or say anything, Mitu speaks. “I didn’t even M-I-S-S a single word during all of that. We need to do something even crazier next T-I-M-E!” You gulp nervously.

A/N: There's only so many GIFs of her

[aengelren]

when i tell you i genuinely don’t understand shit in the jjk manga visually..like wtf is going on? seriously

[annebrontesrequiem]

.

[badolmen]

There is nothing more frustrating/amusing than watching a play through of a blorbo game and watching the gamer bumble through the plot and completed misinterpret what’s going on like my dude you just out loud read a codex entry that was straightforward exposition and somehow came out of the collectibles screen convinced it meant the opposite of what it just said.

[daddy-long-legssss]

how do you get over imposter syndrome? i’m asking for a friend.

[phiniusandjelly]

Vaguely inspired by that one post where Danny gets summoned by the JL and keeps throwing his shoes and stuff at them bc HE might not be able to leave the summoning circle but his clothes sure can!

I think the twist for that was that the circle doesnt effect him at all because hes a halfa and he was just goofing with the JL.

But imagine if the summoning and containment WORKED.

Like, he gets summoned and its startling, but once he realizes hes been summoned hes mostly annoyed.

Its a school night! He has work to do! Sure he wasnt DOING it, but it was still a possibility!

And hes trying to banter with the JL. Which for him just means being vaguely-obnoxious-but-somewhat-charming.

But then he tries to leave.

Maybe hes worried about his friends reaction to seeing him disappear.

Maybe the JL are saying some anti ghost/demon/whatever they think he is nonsense.

Maybe he changed his mind about doing that homework.

But either way, it doesnt work.

He drags his hand along the edge of the spell. It doesnt give, and he realizes hes not sure what this spell is supposed to do.

Its all along the floor beneth him, he cant fly through the floor.

He tries to get away from the walls and floor, worried whatever spell makes up the container can be triggered to hurt him or brainwash him or SOMETHING.

Its not his best guest, but he has never been summoned before, at least not with this type of barrier, and he doesnt know what to expect.

He barely gets a few feet off the ground when he hits the spells invisible roof.

And he is trapped.

And now this fourteen year old child is caged in a room with clearly dangerous adult strangers.

After hes been more or less kidnapped.

He’s suddenly regretting insulting them.

And its not his first time beimg kidnapped. Or his first time being in danger in general (obviously).

but its usually some ghost! Or Vlad “Loser, I hardly know her!” Masters!

Both of whom explain literally everything they plan in long ass evil monologues! It usually takes danny five minutes tops to learn their entire life story Dr Doofenshmirtz style!

He knows most of them personally! They hang out sometimes! Heck! even the local ghost hunters are either literally related to him or someone he’s dated!

He knows their powersets, their strengths, their weaknesses.

Most importantly, he knows their goals

But now hes trapped. In a room of clearly superpowerd strangers. With magical abilities strong enough to trap him for real.

And has no idea what they want

And Danny just freezes up

This could be super angsty if the JL were told that he was evil and think his panic + young features are only done to manipulate them.

You can also add angst with a language barrier/translation issue

I imagine the JL would be trying to get information about ghosts/ are trying to get someone to fight a villain they can’t defeat

Its going to scare the shit out of Danny either way- like imagine fourteen year old you gets kidnapped by strangers and they start asking you about your weaknesses or say they will only let you out if you agree to fight this monster.

And if Danny doesnt know this villain or how tf hes going to fight them he might feel like hes being sent off to get his ass kicked.

I can just imagine Danny being told he has to fight this supervillain and being like “…if i like..die…trying to fight this guy…what are you going to do with my body? Like will you send me home? Cause my family will freak if my corpse is teleported into the living room”

JL would not be happy about any of his responses.

Im begging someone to write this please have a nice day

[fingertipsmp3]

Have we learned nothing. Have we truly learned nothing.