#it’s so subtle but it’s there and it’s intentional

[chastiefoul]

nanami kento is known to have a habit of crossing his legs when he sits. when he's reading, or just idly thinking. it's just something he does unconsciously, often time he doesn't even realize it himself.

yet this quickly changes after he got together with you.

now, everytime you come into the same room as him, the man quickly shifted his legs back to a regular position; you know, just in case you want to sit on lap.

fine, he wants you to sit atop of it.

this is all because he had the mistake─one he'll gladly do over and over, of experiencing it once.

the feeling of your body pressed so close against him while you ramble on about absolutely nothing, which he listens to intently with a smile on his face; his hand running along your hair ever so softly while he hums once or twice as response to your animated chatter.

and then you rested your head on his shoulder after getting a bit tired, your strands tickling his neck in the best way possible. his hands moved smoothly to your sides, rubbing up and down. all soothed and relaxed, nanami loves the sight of you being so comfortable near him.

you probably couldn't get closer to him more than this could you? he thought, as he held you tighter nonetheless. he felt content, whole.

so yeah, in short, nanami wants you to sit on his laps.

and with how fast he does it too there's no way you don't notice the subtle change of how he sits lately. yet you don't have the heart to point how obvious he was being, so most of the times you just indulged him, no questions asked. although it's not like it wasn't enjoyable for you, it was the opposite.

not to mention the smile he wears everytime you do it... it's enough to make your knees go weak. a smile you'd go to war for, a smile that's worth doing anything he's asking for.

it seems like nanami isn't the only one who seems to have a new habit, then.

[livebeforeyoulearn]

Safe in Her Arms

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Use of safe word, Fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Alexia goes a little too far and cares for you after.

Request

-

Alexia's lips latch onto your neck, branding the tender skin again and again, each press hot and possessive. Her mouth moves with unrestrained hunger, grazing, sucking, her tongue gliding over the bruised spots. She feels like a vampire lost to desire, marking you as hers, and each time her teeth scrape or her lips suckle, you gasp beneath her, arching into her body. 

“Another?” Her words come close to a tease, yet they’re a question too, just as much as a request. You hum in reply, words failing you, reduced to the basic sound that’s enough to make her smirk. 

She shifts, lifting herself up to her knees, her eyes locking onto you in that potent way that leaves you feeling bare, vulnerable, but willing. Your legs are spread wide open for her, aching and receptive, and you’re not sure how many times she’s had you like this tonight – maybe the fifth, or the sixth? Your body is worn and sensitive, surrendering to her insatiable rhythm with a desperation that mirrors her own. But how could you deny her?

“Remember your word, bebé?” she whispers, and you manage a nod. She studies you, intent. “Tell me, I need to know you remember.”

“Red,” you manage, a whisper from hoarse lips. 

She hums in approval, her lips curving into yet another smirk, seemingly thrilled by your surrender. "Good," she murmurs, her gaze intense, devouring you whole. Her hands grip your thighs, keeping you open, exposed, as her eyes drink in the sight of you, desire deepening in her gaze. “Still want me so bad, huh? Have I not given you enough already?” she teases, her voice dripping with a possessive pride that leaves you trembling.

Your response is a helpless whimper, and she leans back, her hand finding the strap, sliding along its length to coat it with the traces of earlier pleasure before guiding it towards you. You can feel her gaze on you, taking in every subtle movement, every little sound you make as she drags the tip of it through your folds.

“Alexia, please,” you beg, voice breaking on the edge of a whine, every inch of you hyperaware of each movement. Her grin only widens, slow and dangerous, as she relishes in making you beg, enjoying every second that she has you at her mercy.

When she finally presses forwards, the tip stretching you in a way that’s both familiar and fresh, your mouth falls open, a strangled moan escaping as she fills you once more. You’re tight, your body trembling, and the pressure makes your eyes roll back, lost in the feeling she draws from you. Her eyes are locked between your legs, completely lost in how you take her; entranced. Her breaths are shallow as she watches your body open up to her touch, every inch of her consuming you.

Her movements start slow as she leans down, her fingers threading through yours, pinning your hands beside your head, trapping you under her as her hips find a steady rhythm. You glance up at her, catching sight of her torso, her abs flexing with each thrust. The sight alone is enough to make you melt, your body responding with even more need. Her eyes trail up your body, taking in every inch before she lowers her mouth to your chest, her lips catching one of your sensitive nipples. Each suck and bite, each motion is precise and demanding, pushing you further until your mind is hazy.

“Ale,” you moan, voice cracking as she moves faster, her rhythm intense, her own need apparent in the way she holds herself. “Fuck,” each thrust sends you reeling, caught between pain and pleasure, unsure where one sensation ends and the other begins, and yet you crave it all, maybe even crave for it to stop, though you can't quite tell anymore. Everything blurs together, and all you can do is feel.

You tighten your grip around her hands, nails pressing into her skin, and she responds with a groan, dragging her teeth along your chest, a teasing nip that makes you cry out. She watches, caught in her own pleasure, your hips lifting despite the overwhelming ache. Her body presses you down, her control firm as she whispers praises, “Ho estas fent molt be, mi princesa.” 

She slips one hand free from your grasp, sliding it down to steady your hips as her thumb begins tracing slow, agonising circles over your sensitive clit. Your free hand drifts down to her abdomen, fingertips pressing firmly along the defined lines of her abs. Your nails rake against her skin, leaving faint, heated crescents in their wake, a breath escaping her lips as she feels each trace you leave behind.

“Mira’t,” she husks. “Taking me so well.”

Her thumb presses harder against you, and as her lips capture yours in a messy, needy kiss, your mind spins. You can feel that familiar heat building, intensifying as she pushes you to the edge one final time until everything snaps, sending you headlong into bliss. Your vision fades, your senses numbing, body going limp. As the waves of ecstasy wash over you, her lips trail down your jawline to your neck, kissing and sucking with fervent desire. Each soft bite sends goosebumps across your skin, pulling you deeper as she explores the sensitive curve of your throat. 

But just as fast as the pleasure washes over you, it shifts – the sharp edge turning from sweet to searing, the sensation that once held you captive now pressing painfully against every nerve.

“Alexia, red, red, red,” you gasp out, voice faint but urgent. She stops instantly, her entire body stilling above you, her breath a sharp intake as she processes the word. She freezes, her lips still pressed to your neck, her hips halted, her breathing heavy as she lets you both catch up, her chest rising and falling in time with yours.

Then, softly, she whispers, “Amor?” Her voice is gentle, a hint of unease beneath the concern. “I’m going to pull out, okay?”

You manage a faint nod, the lingering pleasure melting away as she withdraws carefully, her hand gentle on your stomach, stroking softly as she helps you come down. The bed shifts, the quiet rustling of fabric filling the silence as she slips out of the harness, discarding it with little thought as she watches you with concern.

Exhausted, you roll onto your stomach, burying your face in the pillow. The scent of her skin lingers there, familiar and comforting, and you let yourself breathe, willing your body to relax as the ache fades.

In moments, she’s beside you again, settling on the bed and pulling you close. Her hand finds your face, her thumb wiping away a tear that’s slipped free. She’s quiet, waiting until you’re ready to meet her gaze, and when you do, her expression softens, a tender worry in her eyes.

“Are you okay, mi amor?” Her voice is soft, almost pained. “Did I go too far?”

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, your voice so faint, almost uncertain, feeling the exhaustion seep into every word. “I just need a moment.”

She nods, her face relaxing with a soft sigh, “No rush, mi amor,” she says, her arms encircling you as she guides you on top of her body. Her fingers trail softly across your back, drawing gentle, soothing patterns that steady you, and her lips press delicate kisses to your forehead. 

You stay on top of her for a while, savouring the warmth of her body beneath you, her skin like silk under your fingertips. Your cheeks feel flushed, a faint embarrassment creeping in. It’s not the kind that feels shameful, but it’s enough to make you aware of just how exposed you feel. Admitting you needed to stop, even to her, feels vulnerable, like peeling back an extra layer of yourself and laying it bare for her to see. But you know she’d never judge you; she understands more than anyone. Yet, lying here, pressed against her, it’s impossible to ignore the gentle ache in your chest.

Her chest rises in a deep, slow breath beneath you, and the motion stirs you from the peaceful fog you’d nearly drifted into. Your eyes flutter open, taking in the dim light of the room. Her fingers, once tracing soft, soothing circles along your back, now lie still, her hand resting gently against you. Her lips are pressed firmly to your forehead, her breath soft against your skin. You feel her inhale, breathing you in as if memorising the moment, and it fills you with a strange, quiet peace. Your fingers draw a soft circle against her chest before you find your voice.

“Can we go shower?” The words come out rough, your voice betraying how tired and raw you feel. 

“Of course,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss before she carefully shifts, guiding both of you upright. You slide off her lap as she sits, her hands steady on you, her gaze tender. When she looks at you, her eyes seem to cradle you, holding you in that soft gaze that always undoes you. She leans forwards, her lips finding yours in a kiss that’s gentle and sweet, as if speaking the words she doesn’t need to say. When she pulls away and rises to her feet, she reaches a hand towards you.

She pauses when you don’t immediately move, a faint smile playing at her lips. With a gentle shake of her head, she steps closer. “Come on, I will carry you,” she says softly, amusement and love mingling in her tone.

A shy smile tugs at your lips as you scoot to the edge of the bed, letting her arms slip around you. She lifts you with such ease that you cling to her, feeling the need to be close. You nestle against her, and she seems to sense your desire to be held, pulling you even closer, her lips brushing soft kisses against your neck and shoulder as she carries you to the bathroom.

She sets you down on the cool countertop, and you watch as she moves to turn on the shower, the steam slowly beginning to fill the room. When she returns to you, her palms rest on your thighs, her fingers drawing soft trails along your skin. Her gaze is thoughtful, her eyes tracing over your face with an intensity that makes you wonder what she’s searching for. But her touch, her closeness, is reassuring, reminding you of the trust that exists between you, even in this moment of unfamiliar vulnerability.

Neither of you has ever had to use the safe word before, and you both feel the weight of it, unspoken but there. You know it isn’t her fault – she hadn’t meant to push you past what you were comfortable with. And she did exactly what she should have, stopping the moment you uttered the word, letting the trust between you remain intact. You take a steady breath, grateful for her presence, for how deeply you trust her, and for her respect towards you and your boundaries.

She blinks a few times, her gaze softening as she seems to pull herself back into the present. Her fingers tighten around your thighs for a moment before she nods towards the shower. You give her a look that says enough, and she laughs softly, stepping forwards to help you down.

She slips into the shower first, letting the water run over her as she tilts her head back, closing her eyes in peaceful surrender to the warmth. “Amor, quick, it is lonely without you,” she calls, her voice carrying through the gentle rush of water.

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts, and slowly step into the shower. Your limbs feel heavy, the emotional exhaustion mingling with the physical, but she immediately pulls you close, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. She reaches for the shampoo, her hands finding their way into your hair, fingers working with such tenderness it nearly takes your breath away. Each touch feels purposeful, soft and attentive, as she washes away the remnants of the night, the lingering weight of the moment. She treats you with a gentleness that makes you feel fragile but safe, a softness that assures you she’ll handle every part of you with care.

When the soap is rinsed away, and you’re both just standing there under the cooling water, she wraps her arms around you from behind, her head resting on your shoulder. You let your hands fall over her forearms, anchoring her close, the moment both grounding and comforting.

“I’m sorry for making you stop,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the soft patter of water. “I know you were enjoying it.”

She frowns, her face immediately softening as she turns you around, pulling you closer. Your arms instinctively wrap around her shoulders as hers tighten around your waist.

“No, you did exactly what you should’ve done. Thank you for trusting me,” she says, her voice tender, her eyes filled with sincerity that warms you from the inside.

You look down, feeling a flicker of embarrassment you can’t quite name. “Thank you for stopping,” you whisper, a touch of shyness creeping into your tone.

She lifts your chin gently, her thumb brushing against your skin as she meets your gaze. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed, I promise. I am happy you told me to stop. Otherwise, I would’ve hurt you more, sí?”

You nod, your heart easing under her soft reassurance. She gives you a tender smile before leaning in to press her lips to yours, the kiss unhurried and filled with a quiet love.

You stay like that, bodies tangled in soft kisses and gentle caresses, each touch a wordless promise. They never evolve into anything more, remaining innocent and comforting. In that restraint, you feel a respect and care from her that makes your heart ache in the best way. She’s understanding, patient, and everything you need in this moment. It’s one of the many reasons you love her.

As the water finally begins to cool, she shivers and quickly reaches to turn it off, both of you chuckling softly. She’s quick to wrap you in a towel, drying you off with the same care, and once she’s dressed, she helps you into something comfortable before guiding you back to bed.

Under the soft covers, she pulls you close, her arms wrapping around you with gentle insistence. Her fingers trace light patterns along your back, and she whispers soft, comforting words, each one slowly lulling you to peace. She brings a steady sense of tranquility as she lays against you, and as your eyes grow heavy, you feel nothing but safe, loved, and secure in her embrace. She follows you into sleep not long after, holding you close through the night.

[maroonhazed]

representing all of us really.

that made me imagine boxer!logan who just knows whenever a man has another intentions with his girl, and it makes him 100 times more possessive and protective of her than he already is.

Given that, imagine how he'd react when his cute little girl walks into a place full of men who automatically start drooling at the sight of her, not even caring about being subtle. He'd be fucking mad, of course.

But one of them had to be so stupid to think he had a chance with Logan's girl, commenting on her body w another man, hell, even going as far as trying to touch her.

Oh boy, he'd be absolutely feral.

And of course, he'd have to go against him in the next match, beating the man up mercilessly 'cause nobody touches what's his. He could smell the man's blood, mixed with the oh so familiar scent of your arousal because what's a girl to do? He looked so hot like that.

His body covered in sweat, his heavy breathing causing his chest to rise and fall, his muscles flexing deliciously. And his eyes. His fucking eyes, so dark and filled with anger and possessiveness for you. Plus the low growls that slipped from his throat, it all added to the animalistic sight that made you wet.

needless to say that he fucked you the same way later, feeling the urge to mark you and maybe even breed you so everyone knows you're fucking his.

sorry but thinking about this scene and how fucking hot he looks. the way i fight the urge to lick my screen anytime i see boxer logan! i need to be locked up bc!!!! i need him so BADLY oh my god.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ oliver aiku vs. his ex!

synopsis: oliver aiku was always a ladies' man. a sadistic one, at that. he enjoyed playing with emotions, enjoyed being in control, enjoyed ruining women at the whims of his heart and dick. so, when he decides he's had enough of his cheerleader!gf and breaks up... why does she not look upset? in fact, why is she brushing him off, acting like he didn't mean shit to her?? huh? guess it's upto him to remind you just what a wonderful boyfriend he is. pairing: pro soccer player!oliver aiku x cheerleader!gf cw: hate-sex. marathon sex. making a sex tape. nsfw includes: fingering, penetration, creampie, oliver being a bitch and lowkey toxic. NOT PROOFREAD. wc: 2.9k

oliver aiku wasn't an actor by profession. no, he was a soccer player. the entire world knew that by now, you knew that by now.

yet the way he had clasped his hand — intertwining his digits — and looked at you with his pretty face all furrowed, you may as well given him an oscar for best actor.

"it hurts me to do this. it really fuckin' does." oliver nodded, splaying his large palm against his muscled chest, "but, i'm afraid it's just not working out between us."

you almost wanted to laugh in his face.

so, this is why he had booked a reservation at the same restaurant he had asked you out at just two months prior.

you could recall that night as if it was yesterday. the winds were unforgiving as you had sat on the same table in the same balcony area. that night, his heterochrome eyes were locked in on yours and he smiled so softly when he asked you out. words candied, so awfully, awfully sweet: "'s you and me, baby. forever."

how funny that forever lasted 2 month and 6 days.

now, the same dim overhead lighting panted the man in a subtle glow, hiding his dark intentions just as well as it hid the dips and curves of his facial features.

he reached for your hand on the table, methodically rubbing circles into your skin as his eyes bore into yours. he repeated, "you get me, right, baby?"

you almost did laugh in his face.

stifling your amusement under the guise of sadness, you nodded, "i understand it all, oliver. all too well, at that."

you knew oliver was a sadistic man, a man that replaced women with the flick of his fingers. something in him got off at their spluttering breaths, their wide eyes as they tried to ask him questions: but why? why do you want to break-up? oliver, why? why, why, why?

too bad you weren't one of those girls at oliver aiku's feet.

maybe he had forgotten that you had known him for ages, that you were well-versed with his tactics — being the captain of the national japanese cheerleading team. maybe he had forgotten that you knew what kind of man he was long before he started chasing after you. and maybe he had forgotten that if he tried to ruin you, you'd ruin him thrice over.

covering his larger palm with yours much smaller ones, you leaned forward. the swell of your tits was a sight to see, your cleavage so delicious against that low-cut dress but it was your words that made oliver aiku question his sanity, "i really get you, oli. with your career and mine, it's just so hard to make this work. i was gonna suggest the same. we should really break up."

what?

whatever flickers of amusement were left in his heterochrome eyes turn to ashes, sinking within his tanned skin as he physically froze. his eyes took you in, words barely pushing past his lips, "what?"

"you're right." you patted his hand sympathetically, "we should break-up, baby."

the two of you sat in silence, basking each-other in as the chatter in the background faded off. suddenly, the sensual ambience of the restaurant turned into one of stark... confusion...?

the man opened his mouth, pretty lips parting before closing again, and again, and again like a goddamn fish out of water.

"right. right." the man finally breathed out, shifting backwards in his seat and nodding, "i'm glad we both agree then."

"thanks for the meal, oliver." you smiled, pulling your hands back to your lap. your posture straightened, eyes tangling against his in such a cruel dance. "i'm so glad we could end this mutually."

"of course," the man rasped, trying to mask his disappointment at your level-headed tone.

why weren't you in shambles yet?

his lips wobbled as they fell into a smile, and the gesture left some sort of sick, twisted satisfaction in your gut.

oliver grit out, "i'm glad too."

that was two weeks ago, and you had walked away from the restaurant with heart well and intact. oliver aiku was a language you were well-versed in, after all. he was destruction, ruination, he was everything you should stay away from.

but now... the real question was: if oliver aiku was soo glad that you broke up, then why was he running towards you after winning the championship quarter-finals?

sweat dripped off the planes of his cheeks, down his jaw and into his jersey. he cleared his throat, completely ignoring your teammate who had been talking to you seconds prior. his eyes zeroed in on you, "oh, didn't see you there."

the man huffed, eyeing you in your tight-fitting uniform. the man in question smirked, keeping up with his own nonchalant attitude, "how ya doin', sweets?"

"didn't see me?" you repeated with a jump in your brows, "you didn't see the cheer team throughout the match? have you lost your vision, aiku? or worse, your mind?"

"oh? have i?" the slight, seductive lilt in his voice never gave up and you stared daggers at him, "what is it, aiku?"

"how was that, huh?"

"how was what?"

"my... play? the game?" the man slowed his speech down as if you were not comprehending him thoroughly.

"good, i guess?" you shrugged, still turned towards the teammate that seemed to sense the tension between you two. as if on cue, she left you to alone. walking away with the signature ponytail swaying with each graceful step.

you dragged your gaze back to the man and waited for him to spill. and spill, he did.

"i was thinking about the break-up." he finally fessed, a hand flying up to tame his unruly hair, "and i think it may have been a mistake."

a smirk threatened to break out on your lips but being a woman of class, you cooed instead, "but i do think it was the right decision. i don't think we should get back together, oli."

"what? f'real?" he panted, wiping a hand to get rid of the sweat that was cascading down his forehead.

you just hummed.

"what? jus' asking." and he grinned — unabashed, uncaring that the whole world might make when they see his crazed expression, "dont'cha miss me? be honest. don't you miss my dick? bet i can get you to come back with just an one night sta—"

"—nah, you're too tiny, aiku. it won't get the work done."

of course, the former captain didn't lose his cool. instead, he laughed — the kind that made your skin crawl and sent a violent, hot throb down to your core. his heterochrome eyes narrowed in some sort of evil satisfaction and he dragged his hand over his stubble so, so slowly.

he finally leaned in, "you want me to ruin you? ya wanna gamble your life like that?"

"can you?" you paused, purposefully looking at him with those doe-eyes, "can you 'ruin me', oliver?"

"hah." he pulled back, giving you an easy smile, "trying to push all my buttons? you have no idea how this'll end for you."

you nodded, "you think you'd scare me, aiku?"

"baby..." his voice was a drawl, words so well-pronounced, "i'd do you worse than that."

maybe you forgot that if you tried to ruin oliver aiku thrice over, he would go for a nasty total of four times instead.

"oli— a-aiku." your breath stuttered as his silhouette became blurry. hot tears pricked at your lash-line as he bullied his digits deeper and deeper into your cunt once more.

his pace was inhumane, fingers still playing against your gummy walls till he found the spot that was your kryptonite. and then, he kept assaulting that very spot over and over again. over n' over n' over again till your back arched and moans tore out of your throat so pathetically.

"i can't. i can't. ca-can't." you babbled — fucked so dumb on his thick fingers — as he tried to pull your fourth orgasm out of you, "a-aiku."

"ah." he hummed, his fingers fucking into you so, so mean. his pace slowed only so that you could focus on his rough voice, "tch, look right here."

his digits moved with purpose, their purpose being your ruination. and you lost yourself in the feeling of your stomach tightening, another violent orgasm trying to pry itself out of your aching body.

you were pulled into reality with a harsh squeeze of your cheeks. your teary eyes widened, wobbling lips falling into a forced pout as oliver repeated himself, "look into the fuckin' camera, doll."

"o-okay." your eyes dragged upwards from man to the tripod set at the edge of the bed. your shaky vision took in the metallic luster of his phone and you tried to focus.

"okay," he rasped, "now tell 'em how good i'm fucking ya." he cut himself off with a laugh, "ah, wait i haven't even fucked you yet and you're still so fucked out, isn't it?"

"no-oh." a harsh slap to your throbbing clit had your head rolling backwards. oliver hummed, "i asked you to speak up," another harsh slap had you gasping, "so, speak the fuck up."

"i-" your voice wavered pathetically, eyes barely focused on the camera that was perched a few meters apart, "i fuckin' hate oliver aiku."

"oh?" his amused laugh hit your core, hot breath playing with your overstimulated cunt. his fingers steadied, the impending orgasm that was just now knocking at your door dissipated with each drawled out second.

"oh?" he laughed again, this time slowly pulling his fingers out, "you hate me?"

"i- i do." you almost cringed at the weak resolve in your voice, and cringed once again as you failed to meet his eyes. oliver stared daggers at you, pushing his pretty fingers past his hungry lips to finally taste you.

"hmm," he hummed against his digits, popping them out lewdly, "you taste so fuckin' sweet but you're a mean, lil' thing. aren't ya?"

"yeah, i am. why?" as your body finally caught a break from his unyielding acts, your voice grew firmer, "are you having a tough time handling me?"

"you're so cute." the soccer player raised himself upwards and caged you in under him, muscled back rippling with each step forward. his fingers hooked under your chin, voice so soft, "why do you hate me?"

the very next second, he was off you. clad only in his boxers, oliver aiku carried himself to his phone and removed it off the tripod. bringing the device to you, he started a new video, "how about you tell all the reasons you hate me to the camera?"

"wh-huh?"

the phone was handed over into your shaking hands and you stared at your flushed face in the front camera as the camera kept on recording. your eye makeup was a mess, highlighter and blush smudged as lipstick dragged off of your lips to your chin.

"go on." oliver dragged his boxers down and you to his lap. with one smooth motion, his achingly hard cock was inside your abused cunt.

"o-li-ver." his words were mere syllables as your eyes clasped shut. his hips rutted upwards, his strong hands wrapping around your waist as he kept fucking into you. the mushroom tip dragging so deliciously against your g-spot.

"go on," he grit, words a desperate command, "tell the camera w-why you hate me, doll."

"first, you're so me-mean sometimes." you caught your face contorting into pleasure as oliver kept up with his pace.

"am i?"

"mhm." you nodded, one hand shakily clasping the camera and another wrapping around his shoulders to stablize yourself. he dragged his lips down your jaw, his stubble a familiar scratch against your skin, "what else?"

"you keep flirt—ingh ah, ah, ah wi—with other women, oli." he inhaled your scent, obscenely licking at the thin layer of perspiration on your neck, "and?"

"and you're s-sho," your words slurred at his sudden hard thrust within you, "pretentious."

he smiled against your skin, words so scratchy as your velvety walls milked him to his demise, "using big words now, pretty?"

your eyes met his in a lewd, charged dance. the long-forgotten video still getting filmed in the background as he captured your lips in a messy kiss; all teeth and spit and sins.

"'m not dumb like ya," you breathed against his kiss-bitten lips for a bare second before your lips clashed against his again. a strong hand travelled up your spine, the touch so intimate as he pounded his cock up into your cervix.

"o-oli," your hand shook, another wrapping around him as your hardened nipples rubbed against his hard, muscled body, "'m gonna cum."

"not yet." the man babbled, "not yet. not yet. finish telling the camera why you hate me."

"i ha-te you." you nodded, eyes drooping dangerously as you tried to speak into the phone, "i hate oli 'cause he only da-dated me to... fuck, oli. he dated me jus' to break up."

"did you not wanna break up?" the man cooed, though the undertones of his voice revealed the dark satisfaction of your admission, "ya said ya wanted it."

"i— i did."

"an' now?" his eyes bore into your face, words so desperate that they dangled at the edge of insanity, "say you love me."

your eyes widened, sanity clearing only for a moment to deny his hurling accusations, "i don't."

a harsh roll of his hips had your eyes rolling back again, had your manicured nails sinking into his tanned skin and had your jaw slacking open just for his to kiss you senseless.

"say it." he mumbled against your lips, drunk on you, "jus' say it. say y-you love me, doll."

you found yourself losing your senses as he fucked into you with one harsh rut and then another, and another. a hand snaked lazily between your writhing, sweaty bodies to play against you long-neglected clit, "c'mon. spill, doll."

"i do." you nodded finally, lips wettened by your crazed kisses and body molding to his corrupt touches, "i love you, oli."

"good girl." he smiled against your glossed lips, "say you want me back."

you repeated after him, a mindless husk of a woman at his disposition, "i wan' you ba-ah fuck 'm gonna cum."

"say it."

"i wantyouback." your words mushed together as you finally felt your orgasm clash against your own body. your thighs shook, the limbs closing tightly against his well-defined waist and his phone dropped from your limp grasp onto the luxurious bed.

"good girl, jus' like that." oliver nodded, his words so very dark as you finally fell limp against his body. his hand methodically soothed you, rubbing patterns into your back as he fucked his erection right into your overstimulated core.

heavy breaths stuttered out of your used body, eyes clasping shut at the feel of his warmth against your entire skin and the mess he was making against your puffy folds.

"fuuuck." his hips came to a stutter, arms growing tighter against your ribcage as the man emptied himself within your inviting, plush cunt with a pornographic moan, "fuckin' hell, i forgot just how good you feel like this."

the sticky, white-ish liquid dribbled past your fluttering cunt and pooled within you two. oliver pushed you a mere inches away to bring his hands to your face. as his heterochrome eyes burned into yours, the warmth from his palm seemed to seep into your cold cheek... but now, his touch felt too hot, as if it would char you.

oliver aiku gave you a smile — a dangerous one — and the dimple in his cheek came alive, "i'm so happy we're back together, baby."

wait, what???

but before you could question him, before you could take a pause and wonder aloud, his syrupy lips caught yours and he shushed you, "shh, 's okay. jus' go to sleep, baby. i'll clean you up, okay?"

"but oli—"

"—baby." his words were gentle, actions so soft as he laid you down on the bed and kissed your forehead, "just sleep, doll. we can talk tomorrow, right?"

and you nodded. how could you not as he dragged his strong palms up and down your sore body and mumbled sweet nothings into the pliant, night air?

the next morning, as the sun shone past his glass windows and onto your sleepy face, you saw a half-dressed oliver hovering on the side of the bed.

"what?" you asked lazily, rubbing the sleep off of your eyes. half aware that you were still in his bed, you stared at him confused.

"what?" he repeated with a dopey smile.

"what'dyou want?" your words slurred, the morning voice creeping in within the syllables.

"nothing." oliver grinned, bending down to boop your nose with his index, "jus' wanted to say goodmorning to my beautiful girlfriend."

your eyes widened, body shooting up so fast that your forehead collided against his dense head, "—ouCH!"

"jesus," the man staggered, rubbing the area you had assaulted with his index and middle finger, "what?!"

"you were serious about that?!"

"you were not?" he quipped, and you shook your head as if he was the insane one, "obviously not."

"ah," oliver aiku nodded — as if in a deep thought — before looking down at you. flickers of amusement swam in his irises, lips lopsided and twisted as he looked at you as if you were his personal lab rat, "well, too bad we're back together now, doll."

what the fuck.

a/n: OLIVER AIKU THE MAN YOU AREEE. I LOVE TO HATE YOU. MY CRINGEFAIL HUSBAND FOREVER MWUAH MWUAH. tagging: @moodswing101 @actuallynarii @5hoe1 @mininji @scara-simp69 @heartfeltstarry @keimorii because like why, not?

[lightmare000]

I was just struck by the need for more leechstarion; he's so cute!

I'm sure he could do it himself with the right rig, but if he doesn't have the good habits, maybe someone carefully flossing his teeth?

leechstarion does like to be praised and taking care of,either in a way to satisfy his pride or a way to feel loved by his love ones. But… for him there's a quite subtle difference among different actions, a line between being spoiled and being look down on. So asking to floss his teeth would usually be refused and get on his nerves. (It's nothing about peoples' intention good or bad, but he being sensitive about certain issue of his own.)

(Thank you and sorry he's not really a good-temper leech.😭)

[aurynsia]

Unrequited, Terrifying Chapter 4

James Potter x Reader

Summary: While studying with the Marauders, you realise you misjudged them, rekindling feelings for your primary suspect…

Warnings: Extremely fluffy, nervous!james x shy!reader, some subtle wolfstar action in the background, idiots in love, oc!friends, lovesick!james, no use of Y/N, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, swearing, all fluff with a side of plot, intense pining and I mean INTENSE, James starts off scared of you but quickly learns to be openly in love, NOT EDITED!

Word count: 1.7K

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Slipping through the aisles of shelves lined with books of spells and history, you made your way towards the tables and chairs scattered in the middle of the room. The furthest table was occupied by the four boys you were in search of: the Marauders.

Approaching the Gryffindor boys, you noticed the quiet passing of paper between Remus and James, both scribbling small notes in a hurried manner. “Ehem- hello…” you spoke softly once you were within hearing range. Four pairs of eyes shot up to meet yours, each looking more afraid of your presence than the last.

Remus graced you with a bright smile, mouthing “hey” in reply. Across from him sat Sirius, who wore a look of surprise that quickly shifted into a lopsided smirk, nodding in greeting. Peter was startled by your presence but showed no sign of genuine fright, unlike James.

The head boy sat at the end of the table, breath hitching when you spoke with eyes blown wide.

They had saved you a seat between James and Remus, which you promptly moved to, busying yourself to shift the attention off of you. You placed your material on the table, pulling out your notebook.

You were suddenly very aware of your surroundings, shifting uncomfortably in your seat and glancing at the boy next to you, meeting his gaze before turning red and glancing back down.

Remus caught your attention, calling your name and gesturing to the book he had placed in front of you. “I thought we could revise the content in chapter four and quiz each other,” he said.

You and Remus were thirty minutes into your study session, writing with intention as you took pages of organised notes in dark ink before Sirius struck up a conversation.

“Your handwriting is very pretty,” he looked at you with a grin, “Prongs, look how neat her handwriting is!” After a beat, James shifted to look over your notes and gave a shy smile.

“Oh, Godric, he’s right…” he spoke softly, looking intently as he admired your penmanship like an artwork in the Louvre. His look of curiosity shifted when he met your gaze, gulping as he pushed back into his seat with rose cheeks. Your face was burning too.

“Thank you…” you stuttered out. Sirius was watching the interaction with a snarky grin plastered across his face, ready to push James’ buttons some more.

“I only bring it up because James has awful handwriting,” he stated, “See? It’s practically sprawled all over the place!” You glanced at the boy’s scattered writing, letters not quite aligning with each other across the page. You giggled, mustering a sense of courage as you sunk into comfortable banter with the group. “Well, whatever he’s doing with his writing seems to work, James always gets great marks in class!”

Sirius smirked at your praise, eyebrows raised and laced with visual sarcasm, as if to say “bold move, sweetheart”. You found the table of boys to actually be very easy to talk to. You glanced at James’ direction once more, admiring the bashful grin he showed you in thanks.

Your eyes met his writing again, noticing the boyish quality with which he wrote. It felt familiar, like you’d seen the print before. You took this as a sign that your feelings for the boy must have never really died after all, finding so much blissful comfort in his presence.

Remus reluctantly interrupted the moment again, realising he should at least act like studying was the only reason he invited you here. “Right, think you can handle a quick quiz now, love? Test that big brain of yours?” You closed your books and met his eyes, harvesting a glint of confidence in your own. “Bring it on.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“I invited her to study.”

“What?”

“We’re in the same class for History of Magic, she’s very good you know.”

“You mean, she’s coming here? Now?”

“Who did you think the empty seat was saved for?”

James’ eyes flashed emotion after emotion, from hope to excitement to nervousness, before finally settling on fear. The note traveling back and forth between Remus’ pen and his own was losing space, and he began to flip it over in order to scrawl a series of exclamations and offensive names directed at his friend.

The soft call of a greeting from your position standing by the table made him pause his actions, his heart plummeting into his stomach and swimming aimlessly. He backed further into his chair, praying to Merlin that he could merge with the wood and disappear.

When his prayers weren’t answered, his eyes flickered to the boy who caused this encounter to happen, cursing him with his gaze.

You had settled into your designated chair, so close that he could smell the intoxicating perfume you had deliberately sprayed this morning. His lips parted at the scent, imagining you would smell even sweeter with his nose buried in your neck, unruly curls being massaged by your soft touch, waist encapsulated in his grasp.

Your eyes met his, catching him explicitly staring at you through lidded eyes. Your quick reaction to turn away pulled him out of his trance, beginning to focus on his work once more.

James’ writing manifested as a mess of nerves and lovestruck adoration. He continued to steal quick glances at your pretty face, wise eyes, soft lips, delicate skin and sweet hair that framed your face in such a perfect way under the library lights.

He mentally blessed the table for obscuring his vision of your enticing legs and providing a physical barrier between himself and your warmth, otherwise he might just curl up at your side and drift off to sleep in the comfort you emitted.

Sirius’ utterance of “Prongs” brought his attention back to the group as he explained that your handwriting was pretty and James should look at it. When are you ever not pretty? Merlin, he was whipped.

James shifted to look over your notes, the links and chains between each letter more mesmerising than the last. “Oh, Godric, he’s right…” he whispered, still staring at the perfection on the page. You were perfect.

Your small thank you sounded flustered, calming him in the knowledge that there was a chance he could make you feel the same way he did, buzzing and warm in your presence.

Sirius continued teasing the boy, motioning for you to look at his awful handwriting. James let out a silent laugh at the sudden attention, though it manifested as more of an infatuated sigh as you curiously peered at his notes.

You turned to face Sirius again, before nonchalantly glancing back at James and smiling as you said his writing gets great marks in class nonetheless.

James was grinning ear to ear with a smile that could blind a crowd of angels, cheeks pigmented with a red glow and eyes squinting from pure joy. He wanted nothing more than to bask in the warmth of your quick wit and charming softness.

When the Marauders arrived back at their dorm that night, James rushed to his desk to spill his feelings onto a page. He quickly folded the note into another baby blue envelope, running over to the girls’ dorms and slipping the note below your door.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The night was quiet, a soft breeze flowing through your open window. Your friends were tucked in and sleeping soundly as you gave into temptation and reread the messages you had received so far.

A subtle sound of commotion from your door stole your attention from the notes as yet another one appeared at its base, baby blue and addictive.

You scrambled to your feet, scooped up the message and jumped back into bed.

Throwing open the envelope marked with your name, you began to read its contents with a lovestruck haze to your vision.

“I long for you. You’ll never understand the sheer desperation you spark within me with every breath you take. My heart feels ripped out of my chest and locked away by your subtle glances, your bright smile, your shy demeanour. I want nothing more than to exist in the shelter of your love, capturing the sickeningly sweet tune of your voice in my long term memory to keep me sane. To keep me alive.” The note continued on the other side of the paper, which you flipped.

“I’ve been blessed with a proximity to you recently that can only be described as intoxicating. I breathe your attention. It fuels me to act a little more confident every time I see you, for all that you allow me gives me strength in my lovestruck prison, whispering sweet nothings to me in my dreams at the dead of night. Speaking of dreams, it seems the grasp your minor affection has on my attention forces me into a state of sleep paralysis, and I’m starting to think the only cure is your lips on mine and your presence in my lonely bed. If you haven’t realised who I am already, my love, time will tell. I’m so fucking obsessed with you, it’s unmissable. Forever yours.”

You gasped at the pure desperation demonstrated in the new addition to your growing pile of love letters. This boy was smitten, and you were finally beginning to accept the fact that you wished it was the first boy you had ever loved. You had tried to stay neutral about the situation, open to all who demonstrated such infatuation with you, but you prayed to Merlin that this boy was the one you wanted in return, one James Potter.

Sick with affection and drunk on love, you placed the note on top of the others as you began to sink into a deep slumber. Tomorrow you would return to the library with the Marauders, and you would do everything in your power to decipher if James really was who you wished he was.

The note flickered under the weight of the pressing autumn breeze, rustling the pages of uneven text once controlled by a messy hand.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

A/N: AHH I meant to wait to upload this one but I couldn’t help it so I rushed to finish it! The dynamic between these two is addictive to write about and I’m ashamed to say I’m flustered over my own writing ;-; As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated and comment if you want to be added to the tag list for chapter 5! <3

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Tag List:

@1-queenofpotatoes-1

@caspiankingofnarnia

@thesuitelifeofafangirl

@moonydoodlez

@fionnalopez

@kawaiiarbitervoid

@kc2sstuff

[transformers-spike]

Heyy I noticed that you put TFO among the stuff you might write for. Pls pls, if it's alright w/ u, Megatron x reader angry sex? Like, you might be a human he found after being banished and kept with him, and he trusts you bc u are nice, pose no real threat and ur good to blow off some steam :))))))))) but ofc he cares abt u, so it's more like angry sex + tender aftercare thank uuuuuuu i love my big metallic man with anger issues

My brain decided to do its own thing and for the sake of not writing a full length novel about it, I had to cut it short (and of course I made it sad because the boy is just dripping with angst - so I'm going to give him more.) So here:

He was advised to abandon you. Found in the deepest recesses of a Quintesson ship they’d shot down, you were still shaking from the crash. Not Cybertronian. Nor Quintessonian. A completely different being, with soft mesh, warm extremities and strands of something falling from your helm. An animal perhaps? Much like the strange quadrupeds traveling the surface? No, your optics move with intention, taking in your surroundings and wrinkling your optical ridge in clear contemplation. You are incredibly tiny, even next to a cogless miner. He wondered, briefly, when he first saw you, if you were another casualty of Sentinel’s tyranny, a forgotten being he sold off to the Quintessons without a second thought. He does not understand your language, nor can you speak his, but you observe the context and carefully come to associate certain words with objects, actions and designations. You cannot reproduce the subtle tones of Cybertronian with an organic vocalizer, much like the Quintessons – but you do not reject it. You learn to live despite your muteness. Many times he’s watched you draw figures in the sand with a twig the size of your arm, depicting what he could only assume to be a spaceship flying away from a distant planet as the Quintessons surround it. Sometimes you draw more of your kind, together in an embrace. You would stand over your creation, watching wistfully as the wind erased the fine traces of sand. A memory of your people. He wishes he could tell you about him and Orion, the pain of losing him, the crater in his chassis that will never mend – but guilt keeps him at bay. Soon enough, your provisions will run out. What they found on the Quintesson ship were rations made for your specific type of biology, with no guide to recreate them from, not even Shockwave could reverse-engineer the process. It’s simply too late. One orbital cycle, your life will come to an end, but he will give you the dignity of dying at his hands, painlessly. He is no stranger to starvation, but unlike him, you must refuel at various intervals during an orbital cycle, else he senses how you grow restless on his shoulder, fiddling with your servos, mesh growing pale and optics sluggish, growls emanating from your inner mechanism. You are not made for suffering Your life will come to an end, and you know this better than any other Decepticon; as though reading his thoughts behind the permanent scowl scratched into his face. Perhaps this is why he indulges in you even if he’s been advised against it. You’re eager despite your size, pressing yourself against his frame, ignoring your discomfort. He’s still getting used to his new body, including his strength for better or for worse. Yet you do not fault him when he leaves bruises. You kiss him and rub up against his spike, transfluid trickling down to his valve even before he comes undone. You squirm and laugh and pull him into a hug, helm to helm, a moment so perfect he’s ready to rip the cog from his chassis if it means staying like this forever, servos clenched into fists as he curses at Primus for the happiness he will shatter.

[lilyprettyremy]

The Art of Showing Up for Yourself Every Day

In a world where we’re constantly pulled in all directions, showing up for ourselves is a skill worth mastering. It’s the subtle yet powerful act of prioritizing your well-being, setting boundaries, and building daily rituals that honor who you are. Here’s how to make it happen, one intentional step at a time.

1. Create a Morning Ritual That Sets the Tone

Begin with a simple, calming routine that focuses on grounding yourself. Think of five minutes of mindfulness, stretching, or even sipping your morning coffee without scrolling on your phone. This moment is about aligning your mind with your day—your time to check in with yourself.

2. Set Intentions, Not Expectations

Rather than piling on lofty goals, start each day by setting intentions—small, achievable steps that honor your energy and goals for the day. Intentions like “I will protect my energy,” or “I will be kind to myself” keep you connected to what truly matters.

3. Listen to Your Needs Without Judgment

Some days, showing up means tackling a to-do list; other days, it means giving yourself a break. Listen closely to what you need—whether it’s extra rest, time alone, or time to socialize—and honor it without judgment.

4. Invest in Small Acts of Self-Care

Showing up doesn’t require grand gestures. Simple acts like drinking enough water, making time for skincare, or organizing your space send the message that you value yourself. The key is consistency—building small moments that reinforce self-worth daily.

5. Embrace Gratitude and Reflection at Night

Each night, end your day with a few moments of gratitude and reflection. Acknowledge your efforts and appreciate the small victories, however minor they may seem. This habit builds resilience and makes it easier to show up for yourself again tomorrow.

Showing up for yourself daily is about building a life that feels both empowering and graceful. It’s an art form, crafted by listening to yourself, honoring your needs, and taking small steps toward the best version of you. So here’s to you, showing up with intention and elegance, every day.

[idkyetxoxo]

Harwin Strong - A Whisper of Worth

Summary - During her brother's name day celebration, she escapes the court's gossip and encounters a charming Lord, sparking intense jealousy in Harwin. Following her to a secluded field, Harwin passionately asserts her worth deepening their bond beneath the stars.

Pairing - Harwin Strong x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2238

Masterlist for Harwin • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

I sat on a chair, a goblet of wine in my hand, surrounded by the ladies of the court who were eagerly sharing gossip and news, both real and imagined.

Their chatter was a relentless drone that seemed to sap every bit of my patience. I sipped the wine, but it felt like a poor remedy for the emptiness gnawing at me. 

The thought of the evening stretching endlessly before me made me wish I could vanish from this scene altogether.

Suddenly, I stood up, startling a few nearby courtiers. I plastered on a wide smile and excused myself, making my way outside where most of the men were occupied with various activities.

It was my brother Aegon's name day. Rhaenyra had cleverly evaded the festivities by feigning illness, despite our father's insistence on her presence. I regretted not doing the same.

As I aimlessly kicked a small pebble, a hand on my shoulder made me jump.

"Princess, I apologize. I did not mean to startle you," said a lord whose face I only vaguely recognized. I laughed lightly, placing a hand over my heart before waving off my surprise.

"It is quite alright, my lord. I was lost in thought," I replied. He smiled warmly at me, a young man with dark hair, piercing dark eyes, a slight tan, and an incredibly chiselled jaw.

"Arryn Blackwood, Princess," he introduced himself, placing a soft kiss on my hand.

I glanced around, my eyes briefly meeting my father's as he played with Aegon, then locking onto another pair of eyes, those of Harwin Strong, who watched me intently. I frowned slightly, shaking off the weight of his gaze and turning my attention back to Arryn.

"You seemed rather bored, Princess. Is something not to your liking?" Arryn asked, a small laugh escaping his lips.

"I had hoped my displeasure wasn't so apparent," I admitted, chuckling softly. Arryn laughed along with me, his charm easing some of my earlier irritation.

We continued to talk, his lightheartedness a welcome distraction. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, Harwin's eyes never straying far from me. He was undoubtedly jealous, though he tried to hide it. 

After all, he knew me better than anyone, and the sight of me engaging with another man was more than he could bear.

"Perhaps it is something I can remedy," Arryn shamelessly flirted, his voice dripping with charm. 

I contemplated shutting him down or playing along, deciding that the latter sounded far more entertaining. Besides, I thrilled at the sensation of jealousy emanating from the pair of eyes glued to us.

"You are quite bold, Lord Blackwood," I said, placing my hand briefly on his arm. He responded with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly taken aback by my unexpected reaction.

"I apologize, Princess. It is not often I am graced with the pleasure of speaking to such a beautiful lady," he said, his eyes sincere. A slight blush tinged my cheeks, and I smiled, enjoying the flattery.

"You are too kind," I replied, thanking him with a warm smile. 

We continued our playful banter, exchanging flirtatious comments and subtle touches. The courtly atmosphere seemed to fade away, replaced by the excitement of our interaction.

As our conversation flowed, my eyes drifted towards Harwin again. He stood rigid, clutching a dagger in his hand, his knuckles white from the pressure. The intensity of his gaze was palpable, a mixture of frustration and longing that only added to the thrill of the moment.

"Lord Blackwood, it has been a pleasure, but I must bid you farewell for now," I said, gently withdrawing my arm from his.

"The pleasure has been all mine, Princess. Until we meet again," Arryn said, bowing slightly as he kissed my hand once more.

I turned and walked towards the stables, feeling Harwin's eyes follow me the entire way. I mounted a horse with ease, casting a final glance back to see Harwin standing rigid, his expression a storm of emotions.

The ride provided a welcome escape. The wind in my hair and the open space around me offered a sense of freedom and exhilaration. I pushed my horse into a gallop, heading towards a large, empty field.

As I reached the field, I slowed my pace, letting the horse trot leisurely. 

The vast expanse of the field stretched out before me, a sea of green under the setting sun. I dismounted and walked a little way, feeling the soft grass under my feet and breathing in the fresh, crisp air.

Sitting down on the grass, I gazed up at the sky, watching the clouds drift lazily. The field, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, seemed like a world apart.

The sound of approaching hooves made me look behind myself. As expected, Harwin rode up and came to a stop next to me.

"Ser Harwin," I greeted nonchalantly.

"Princess," he replied, dismounting his horse with ease. He stood over me, his presence imposing.

"You seem angry," I said with a teasing smile, biting my lip. He exhaled sharply, his frustration evident.

"Maybe I am," he admitted, his voice tight. I smiled, leaning back on my elbows and stretching my legs out in front of me, savouring his reaction.

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees beside me, and I gasped quietly. With effortless movements, he straddled me, his hands pushing my elbows back, forcing me to lay flat in the grass.

"Don't toy with men who aren't worth your time," he said, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. His touch was surprisingly gentle despite the intensity of his words.

"Why not?" I whispered, my voice barely audible as he cupped my face in his hands.

"Because you are worth so much more," he said softly, his eyes locked onto mine. I smiled, a mix of defiance and anticipation.

He leaned down, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. His tongue danced with mine, exploring and claiming with a fervour that took my breath away. His hands threaded through my hair, holding me close as if he feared I might slip away.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and demanding. I responded with equal passion, my hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders, pulling him closer. 

Harwin pulled back slightly, his breath ragged. "You drive me mad, you know that?" he murmured, his forehead resting against mine.

"Good," I replied with a mischievous grin, my fingers tracing the contours of his face. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "You're insufferable," he said, but there was a softness in his eyes that belied his words.

"And yet, here you are," I pointed out, my voice teasing.

"Indeed," he said, his tone turning serious. "Because no matter how much you frustrate me, I can not will myself to stay away from you."

I looked up at him, my heart swelling with a mix of emotions, desire, affection, and a deep-seated connection that words couldn't fully capture. 

"Then don't," I whispered, my voice full of invitation and promise.

He kissed me again, slower this time, savouring the moment. As his lips moved against mine, I felt a sense of certainty settle over me. 

He began removing his clothing slowly, a tantalizingly deliberate pace that made my pulse quicken. His eyes never left mine, a smile playing on his lips as each garment fell away. The sight of his bare skin caused a warm flush to spread across my cheeks.

His hands moved to untie the laces of my dress next. He gently peeled away the layers, the cool air of the empty field brushing against my exposed skin.

"So this is what I'm worth?" I asked, my voice a mix of curiosity and teasing challenge as he laid me back onto the soft grass. His fingers trailed down my body, sending shivers through me as they tickled my skin.

"No," he replied, parting my legs with an ease that left me breathless. I lifted my head in confusion, my gaze searching his for an explanation.

"Your worth isn't imaginable, Princess," he said, his voice a husky whisper. His fingers teased my entrance, eliciting a gasp from me.

Harwin's touch was both tender and commanding, a contradiction that drove me wild. He knew exactly how to coax the most exquisite reactions from me, his fingers worked their magic with practised skill. 

My breath hitched, and I felt my body respond to his every movement, arching towards him, craving more.

"You deserve nothing less than complete devotion," he murmured, his lips trailing soft kisses along my inner thighs, each one sending jolts of pleasure through me. "And I intend to give you just that."

I moaned softly, my hands tangling in his hair as he continued.

Harwin's mouth found its way to my core, his tongue exploring and teasing with a skill that left me trembling. My hips moved of their own accord, seeking more of the exquisite pleasure he offered. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as he worked, his eyes flicking up to watch my reactions with a satisfied gleam.

"Harwin," I breathed, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He paused, looking up at me with a grin that was equal parts mischief and adoration. "Yes, Princess?"

"Don't stop," I managed to say, my words laced with desperation and need.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through me. "As you wish."

With renewed focus, he continued his attentions, his tongue and fingers driving me to the brink of madness. My moans grew louder, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable crescendo. And then, with a final, skilful flick of his tongue, I shattered, the waves of my climax crashing over me in a torrent of bliss.

As I lay there, panting and spent, Harwin crawled up my body, his expression one of pure satisfaction. He kissed me deeply. 

"You see, Princess," he whispered against my mouth, "your worth is beyond measure. And I will spend every moment proving that to you."

I smiled up at him, my heart full of affection and gratitude. "Then don't stop," I whispered back, my fingers tracing patterns on his skin. "Prove it to me, again and again."

Harwin's eyes darkened with desire as he positioned himself above me, his gaze locked onto mine. Slowly, he pressed himself against my entrance, his movements deliberate and sensual. 

He entered me with exquisite slowness, a low groan escaping his lips as he did. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and connection that left me gasping. Harwin moved with deliberate care, each thrust slow and measured, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Feel that?" he whispered, his voice a husky murmur in my ear. "Every inch of you belongs to me."

I nodded, unable to form coherent words, my body responding to his every movement. He continued his slow, sensual rhythm, each thrust deep and purposeful, driving me closer to the edge once more. 

My hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax beneath my fingers, the heat of his skin against mine.

Harwin's mouth found my neck, placing gentle kisses along my collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. His hands explored my body, caressing and teasing in ways that made my pulse race. 

The connection between us was intense, a bond that felt unbreakable in that moment.

"You are everything," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. "And I will spend my life showing you just how much you mean to me."

With each slow, sensual thrust, he drove us both higher, the pleasure building to a fever pitch. The world around us ceased to exist, replaced by the raw, intimate connection we shared. My moans mixed with his groans, a symphony of desire that echoed in the empty field.

As the tension built within me once more, I clung to Harwin, my nails digging into his back. He increased his pace slightly, the rhythm still measured but with an added urgency that drove me wild. I felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening within me, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge.

"Harwin," I breathed my voice a desperate plea.

He responded with a deep, lingering kiss, his tongue exploring mine with the same slow intensity as his movements. The kiss was a promise, a declaration of the depths of his feelings for me. 

As he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with mine.

"I've got you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

With a final, powerful thrust, he sent me over the edge, my climax crashing over me with a force that left me trembling. Harwin followed soon after, a deep groan escaping his lips as he found his own release. 

We held each other tightly, our bodies entwined, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through us.

We lay there in the grass, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat between us. Harwin's arms wrapped around me, holding me close as we caught our breath. The stars above us shone brightly, a silent witness to the profound connection we had shared.

"Don't ever forget your worth, Princess," Harwin said softly, his fingers gently tracing patterns on my back. "You are everything to me."

"I won't," I replied, my voice filled with contentment. "As long as you're here to remind me."

We stayed like that for a while, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking, the world around us forgotten. In that moment, under the vast expanse of the night sky, we were simply two souls entwined, bound by love and desire.

A/n - giggling because wdym 'you deserve nothing less than complete devotion' like WDYM by that..

[supernova2205]

The Long Game

Summary: In a world filled with danger and high stakes, you join Task Force 141, where you find yourself drawn to the enigmatic Captain John Price. As you both navigate missions and build a connection, a deep bond forms between you, culminating. However, following that moment, Price begins to distance himself, his demeanor turning cold and professional. As the tension between you escalates and the rest of the team notices the shift in his behavior, you’re left grappling with heartbreak and uncertainty about what could have been, setting the stage for potential future developments in your relationship.

Warnings: I spent the whole night writing this so it may be a little of my loveliest readers. Be aware angst angst angst and a little bit of intimacy nothing crazy I hope you enjoyyyyyy😊

You joined Task Force 141 a few months ago, stepping into a world where Captain John Price was a constant, commanding presence. From the moment you arrived, he was both a figure of authority and mystery. Price was a man of few words, with an unwavering intensity that demanded respect without ever needing to raise his voice. You couldn’t help but admire him, not just for his skill but for the way he led—calm under pressure, with a kind of quiet strength that held the team together through the toughest of missions.

You’d catch him watching you sometimes, his gaze lingering a second longer than necessary, those keen blue eyes taking in every detail. The looks he gave you weren’t overly forward; they were subtle, filled with something quiet yet charged, an intensity that made your pulse race. Over time, the two of you had fallen into an unspoken rhythm, a push and pull that played out through fleeting glances, small gestures, and the occasional private moment that made you wonder if there was something more.

It wasn’t until one night, after a long mission, that you began to suspect he felt something similar. The team was winding down, sharing quiet conversation and drinks in the common area, and you felt his eyes on you as you laughed with the others. When you glanced back, you found him watching you intently, his expression unreadable but his gaze piercing. He didn’t look away when you caught his eye; instead, a slow, almost imperceptible smile curled at the corner of his lips, a rare warmth in his normally guarded expression. The moment was fleeting, but it left a spark that lingered.

Not long after, you were assigned to a reconnaissance mission with him, one that required a stakeout in a safe house far from the rest of the team. It was meant to be a quiet job, just the two of you observing and gathering intel on enemy movement, but the prospect of being alone with him for days stirred a restless anticipation within you. The safe house was small, the quarters tight, and as you settled in, every brush past him in the cramped kitchen or shared glance over paperwork felt amplified in the close quarters.

The silence between you in those moments was thick with unspoken tension. You became acutely aware of every small detail—the slight rasp in his voice, the way his eyes seemed to follow you even when you weren’t looking, the quiet strength in the way he moved. Each evening, as you prepared for another long night of observation, you felt that tension build, simmering just below the surface, waiting for one of you to break.

One night, as the hours stretched on, he proposed a game of cards to pass the time. You sat across from him at the small, worn table, watching as he shuffled the deck with a practiced ease. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong, weathered forearms, and the dim light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the faint, thoughtful smile that played at his lips. He looked up at you, his gaze steady, and you felt a heat rising in your cheeks, your heart beating faster under his attention.

“Getting tired?” he asked, his voice low, roughened from years of commanding in the field.

You shook your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “Not at all.”

The silence that followed was thick, charged with something unspoken, and for a moment, you thought he might say something more. But instead, he leaned back in his chair, watching you with a gaze that felt too intense, too personal. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was waiting for something—waiting for you to make a move, to cross the line that had kept you both in check for so long.

Later, unable to sleep, you found yourself standing by the window, staring out over the quiet landscape, your mind spinning with all the small moments that had led up to this point. You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt him, a quiet, steady presence at your side.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur in the dark.

You turned to find him standing close—closer than he’d ever stood before. There was something different in his eyes, something raw and unguarded, and you felt your breath catch as you met his gaze.

“Feels strange, doesn’t it?” you whispered. “Just us. No noise. No team.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “It does,” he replied, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Feels… good, actually.”

His hand came up, his fingers brushing lightly along your jaw, the touch both gentle and grounding. You leaned into his touch without thinking, and his thumb traced a line along your cheek, his gaze darkening as he studied you, as if memorizing every detail. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the world narrowing down to the space between you.

Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft, hesitant, as though he was testing the waters, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you pressed closer, deepening the kiss, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, anchoring yourself as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him.

The kiss grew deeper, more intense, and all the restraint you’d both been holding onto seemed to dissolve in an instant. His hands roamed over your back, strong and sure, and you felt the heat radiating from him, the quiet power in his touch. His lips left a trail along your jaw, down to the curve of your neck, each kiss igniting a spark that sent a shiver down your spine.

As the night unfolded, he held you with a tenderness that took you by surprise, his touch reverent yet possessive, as though he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had. Every brush of his fingers, every whispered word, was filled with a depth of emotion that left you breathless. He moved slowly, savoring each second, his hands mapping out every inch of you as though he was committing you to memory.

The hours slipped by in a haze, the two of you tangled together, lost in each other. When the first light of dawn crept through the window, you lay beside him, his arm draped over you, his breathing steady and calm. You felt his fingers intertwine with yours, a small, simple gesture that felt more intimate than any words could convey.

But as he slowly stirred awake, you caught a flicker of hesitation in his eyes—a look that was there and gone before you could fully register it.

In the days that followed, you noticed the subtle ways he began to pull away. At first, it was easy to dismiss—averted glances, the casual space he kept between you during briefings. But the distance grew, and you could feel him closing himself off, locking away whatever had passed between you that night. He wouldn’t look at you in the same lingering way; his warm glances and small smiles had disappeared, replaced by a careful, almost cold professionalism.

One afternoon, while you were preparing for a mission, he barely acknowledged you as he passed by, eyes fixed straight ahead, his face set in a hard line. Ghost, who had caught the exchange, shot you a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing beneath his mask. Soap seemed to notice, too, his gaze flicking between you and Price, his expression curious but unreadable.

“You two alright?” Soap asked quietly, catching you in the hallway after the briefing. His tone was casual, but his eyes held a hint of concern. “Price seems… different lately.”

You forced a smile, shrugging as if nothing were amiss. “He’s just focused. Long missions, you know how it is.”

Soap nodded, but the weight of his gaze lingered on you, and you could tell he didn’t quite believe your answer. The rest of the team had started to pick up on it, too—the subtle shift in the way Price acted around you, the way he avoided your gaze, the quiet tension that seemed to hang in the air whenever you were in the same room.

One evening, after everyone had turned in for the night, you found yourself wandering the empty halls, hoping to clear your head. You rounded a corner and froze when you saw Price, sitting alone in the common area, nursing a drink with his gaze fixed somewhere distant. He looked tired, weighed down by something heavy, and the sight of him like that tugged at something deep within you.

You hesitated, but before you could second-guess yourself, you crossed the room and sat down beside him, leaving just enough space between you for it to feel intentional.

“John…” you began softly, hoping that using his first name might remind him of the closeness you’d shared, even if just for a moment.

He stiffened, his grip tightening on his glass, but he didn’t look at you. “Shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to hold steady. “Why are you doing this? Pushing me away?”

His jaw clenched, and finally, he turned to face you, his gaze cold and unreadable. “It was a mistake,” he said, his tone flat, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as you. “We shouldn’t have let it happen. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

The words stung, like a punch to the chest. “A mistake?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Is that really what you think?”

He looked away, his face tightening, as if he was struggling with something he couldn’t bring himself to say. “I can’t afford distractions,” he muttered, his voice, his voice rough. “Not in this line of work.”

You felt a rush of frustration and hurt rising within you. “So that’s all I was? A distraction?”

He met your gaze, his expression softening for just a moment, and you thought you saw a flicker of regret in his eyes. But he quickly looked away, his face hardening once more. “It was one night. We both need to move past it.”

With that, he rose to his feet, his movements stiff and mechanical, as if he were putting up a wall brick by brick. He turned away without another word, leaving you sitting alone, your mind spinning with a mixture of anger, confusion, and heartbreak.

The days that followed were strained. Price continued to avoid you, throwing himself into his work with a renewed sense of determination, his gaze cold and distant whenever you crossed paths. The rest of the team had started to pick up on it as well, their glances filled with curiosity and quiet concern.

During a training session, Ghost pulled you aside, his tone quiet but firm. “Something’s going on between you and the captain,” he observed, his gaze piercing. “Whatever it is, it’s affecting both of you.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the look in Ghost’s eyes made the words falter. Instead, you looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s… complicated,” you muttered, feeling the weight of everything you’d been carrying.

Ghost nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Just don’t let it distract you out there. It’s hard enough staying alive as it is.”

You managed a small nod, grateful for his understanding, but his words stayed with you, a reminder of the fine line you were walking. Price had been right in some ways; you couldn’t afford distractions, not here. But the distance he’d put between you only seemed to deepen the ache in your chest, a wound that refused to heal.

One night, after a grueling mission, you found yourself alone on the base, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders. You’d hoped for a quiet moment, a chance to clear your mind, but when you walked into the common room, you found Price there once again, sitting alone, his head bowed as he nursed a drink. His shoulders were tense, his expression drawn, and he looked as though he were carrying the weight of the world.

You hesitated in the doorway, a part of you wanting to turn around and leave, but something kept you rooted in place. Slowly, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours across the room, and for a brief moment, the walls between you seemed to crumble. You could see the conflict in his gaze, the same longing and regret that mirrored your own, but as quickly as it appeared, he looked away, his expression closing off once more.

Without a word, he rose to his feet, leaving his half-finished drink on the table, and walked past you without so much as a glance. The hollow ache in your chest deepened as you watched him go, his footsteps echoing down the empty hall.

And just like that, the distance between you felt insurmountable, a chasm that no words could bridge. You’d shared something real, something powerful, but now it seemed as though he was determined to bury it, to lock it away where it couldn’t touch either of you. Yet, as you stood there alone, the memory of that night lingered, a bittersweet reminder of what might have been.

To be continued…

Authors note: Ahhhhhhh angst I actually hate writing sad things like this I be hurting my own feelings 😭 but the show must go on pls let me know your thoughts on this piece so far and if you’d like for me to continue it 🫶🏼

[silna-pdf]

May I ask what your favourite things about Weskers reports are? :3

YEAAY im happy u asked my brain is set alight rn

Ok so, for starters I, much like anyone else appreciate how it, more specifically Reports II, humanizes sir mysterious wesker. How he wasn’t megalomaniac from the get go, just a specially hand-picked intelligent young man with questionable morals. I also enjoy that it includes both him questioning the purpose of all of this, Spencer’s intentions ‘n all but also just brushing it off Chalking it up to something he simply Just didn’t need to Know. Typical pawn activity if I say so myself!

Anyways because of the way it narrates his self reflections, I like to imagine Wesker momentarily residing in the mansion itself, maybe taking moment to himself away from the lab, like sitting in the window observing the landscape that they’re strategically placed on. Far from humans yet intertwined with nature, wind blowing in his face from a crack in the window then Wesker has his WTF moment. suddenly he’s like hey actually I Do indeed need to know WTF we are doing here cuz shit could go DOWN FR

And obviously I really liked the little snippets of Wesker’s relationship to Birkin. In every translation I’ve read, Wesker mentioning him had like a subtle fondness to it. None of his concern to him felt born out of necessity for their research, but instead Genuinely wishing better for William. He mourned the colleague he once knew when Alexia was active, and he sympathized with him despite the fact that his personal issues were delaying their progress. Stating “he was still a child in the end” and that all Wesker really needed was for him to recover from this experience. I think it’s sweet to say the least Lol

Thats mostly it on the the favorites. I think the bits on logistics behind the T-virus and G-virus were neat too cuz Oooo game lore or whatever

[inkshadow]

"means i'll have to break you in." there's little room for rebuttal, spoken as more of an FYI than anything else. she'll be good and take it, at least for tonight since the main intent is to wear her out. he wonders if she's even close to exhaustion, though it won't be a problem for much longer. his other hand pushes up her shirt to reveal all of her chest, peaks stiff beneath his tongue when he finally slides it over each one. the hand between her legs continues to work her, slowly at first so she can feel every subtle movement down to his knuckles, the way his fingers curl inside the faster he fucks her. his warm mouth sucks and laps at and around her breast, eager to leave reminders for when she wakes up the next morning.

"no. i—"  there's little point in denying it but rina does so anyway, he's apparently caught on to the fact that she's incredibly worked up. she's grateful for the more comfortable surface to settle on; hardly minding being on her knees for him but figuring her joints might be thankful for the plush couch beneath her. "andrei." his name comes out with a gasp, back arching up at the sudden fullness between her legs. it's only a couple of fingers, how will she cope when he finally fucks her with his cock? at the very least she's wet enough that it helps with the glide of the digits into her. "i'm more resilient than i look." she isn't sure how well that statement holds when she's flushed from her cheeks, the top of her chest... all the way down to where she's pink and glistening around his fingers. "i want you to wear me out," she insists, a hand reaching down for her fingers to graze the wrist of the hand that's between her thighs.

[kimmie2me]

Hi there! May you pretty please do deku x reader with a deer/fawn quirk! Headcannons or a story is fine you can choose🍒

Marks of a Hero

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Midoriya Izuku x AFAB!fem reader with a fawn Quirk

.....

Izuku’s dorm room was filled with the soft amber glow of his desk lamp, casting a cozy warmth over the walls covered in hero posters and personal memorabilia. You sat cross-legged on his bed, smiling softly as he animatedly flipped through his notes, pointing out drawings and theories with a passion that seemed to set his eyes alight.

“…so, I guess that’s what fascinates me so much about quirks that alter someone’s physical form. Like Tsuyu-chan! She’s developed abilities that make her adaptable to so many situations—on land, underwater, high places,” he gushed, eyes sparkling with admiration. He moved on to mention quirks like Mirko’s remarkable rabbit agility and speed, Hawks’ feathered wings with all their hidden abilities, and finally… he paused, looking over at you, hesitant but with a trace of wonder in his expression.

“…And yours. I just think it’s incredible how graceful you are. There’s something different about the way you move, how attuned you seem to your surroundings. It’s like…” He trailed off, almost bashful, rubbing the back of his neck as he fumbled for words. “It’s like you’re connected to something beyond what we can see. I don’t know, maybe it sounds strange, but I’d love to understand it better. If that’s okay?”

You blinked, heart swelling at his openness and curiosity. His enthusiasm for quirks always inspired you, but hearing him speak so intently about yours had a different effect. You leaned forward, smiling gently.

“Why don’t you explore it yourself?” you offered, the suggestion so natural that it slipped out before you could second-guess it. “It might help your research if you could… well, take a closer look.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, cheeks flooding with color. “W-Wait, really? You’d… let me? I mean, here? Now?”

You nodded, a calm reassurance in your expression. “Yes. I trust you, Izuku. Besides, if it’ll help with your analysis, I’m happy to assist.”

“Right. Right, of course! Purely for research,” he stammered, trying to steady his nerves. With a deep breath, he inched closer, his fingers hovering just above your shoulders, hesitating. “This is… okay?”

You offered him a soft nod, and, at last, he began to reach out, his touch light as a feather at first, as if afraid to disturb something precious. His fingertips traced along the faint contours of your collarbone, where your skin bore subtle markings unique to your quirk. He’d always found these hints of animalistic strength mesmerizing, even in his sketches and notes. Up close, he seemed even more awestruck.

“This is… incredible,” he murmured, voice hushed with reverence. His fingertips followed the delicate tracings of darker pigmentation on your shoulders and arms—markings reminiscent of the patterns found on young fawns, subtle but unmistakably present. “It’s like these patterns… they almost mirror actual fawn spots. I wonder if they have any evolutionary purpose, like camouflage? Have you ever noticed if they shift in different seasons or adapt to your surroundings?”

You chuckled, unable to hide your amusement. “Not that I’ve noticed. But I do have enhanced senses, so maybe it’s just as useful that way.” His fingers brushed over a slight ridge along your shoulder, evidence of a minor quirk-related adjustment beneath the skin, and you saw his gaze sharpen with fascination.

“Your shoulders,” he observed, his voice soft and analytical, “they’re slightly more developed, like there’s an extra layer of muscle. It’s so subtle, but… is that how you can leap as high as you do?”

You nodded, impressed by his insight. “Exactly. I don’t even realize it sometimes, but it’s there. Helps with balance and power.” You could feel his hands relax as he grew more absorbed, each touch more confident, his focus trained on understanding rather than hesitation.

For a moment, he was lost in his analysis, fingertips exploring the faint curve of your spine and the sinewy strength you carried. There was a purity to his admiration—his complete and genuine awe of your abilities—and it warmed you to see him immersed in discovering this side of you.

And then, he stilled, drawing his hands back with a shy laugh. “I, uh… sorry. I got a little carried away.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “I don’t mind. Actually, Izuku, would it be okay if I… looked at you, too?”

His face reddened immediately, and he seemed to shrink back, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous reflex. “Uh… m-me? I mean… I… I don’t think there’s much to see.” He glanced down, his voice faltering. “It’s mostly just scars. Nothing like… like yours. I mean, there’s not much that’s…”

He trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish, and your heart softened. “Izuku,” you said gently, reaching out to take his hand, “these scars are part of you, too. They’re part of everything that makes you who you are. I’d like to see them, if you’d let me. I promise, I won’t judge. I just… want to understand more about you.”

He looked at you, and in his eyes, there was something so vulnerable, so open that it took your breath away. Slowly, he nodded, taking a shaky breath as he lifted his shirt, revealing the map of scars that crisscrossed his chest and torso—signs of battles and struggles, reminders of his journey.

Your hand hovered just above his skin, taking in the raw evidence of everything he’d been through. Carefully, you let your fingers rest over a thin, jagged scar running along his collarbone.

Izuku’s voice softened, almost as if he were telling you a secret. Maybe because, well, he was. “That one… it’s from the Hero Killer, Stain. When he attacked Iida in Hosu City, I… I knew I couldn’t just stand by. We were just supposed to be training, but I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else.”

You nodded, fingers tracing over the scar with gentle reverence. “You were so brave,” you whispered. He blushed, his eyes downcast but a small, almost bashful smile tugging at his lips.

“I didn’t feel brave,” he admitted, glancing up at you. “But in that moment, I just… I knew I had to act. I'm so glad Todoroki-kun came to help us.”

Your hand drifted to another mark, a deeper one just above his ribs, and he inhaled, recognizing the spot immediately. “That was from Overhaul,” he said, voice low. “When I… when I saved Eri. She was so scared. I remember feeling like I had to give everything I had, and then some.”

The memory hung between you both, heavy and sacred. You remembered that battle, the way he’d come back bruised and battered but with that quiet strength that had always set him apart. “Eri’s safe because of you, Izuku,” you murmured, a soft pride in your tone. “You’re a hero to her.”

He looked up, his green eyes softening as he watched you trace each mark with such care. “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted, “but seeing her smile afterward at the school festival… it was worth it.”

You moved lower, touching a scar on his side—a small one, but etched with a memory just as fierce. “This one?”

“That was… from Nine.” Izuku’s voice grew quiet, his gaze distant as he relived the memory. “On Nabu Island. Kacchan and I fought him together. He was so strong, but… I couldn’t let him hurt anyone. I couldn’t let anyone on the island suffer because of us.” He managed a small, shaky laugh. “Kacchan wouldn’t forgive me if I gave up anyway.”

The way he said it made you smile, knowing that even amid chaos and danger, his heart had been focused on protecting others. You took his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Izuku’s cheeks flushed as he scratched his neck, embarrassed. “I just… I did what I had to. What any hero would.”

But you shook your head. “No, Izuku. Not everyone would. That’s what makes you so special.”

You continued to explore each mark, reaching one on his upper arm next. He looked at it, a fond smile in his eyes. “This one… it’s from Kota. When we fought Muscular. I thought… I thought I might not make it, but he gave me a reason to fight, you know? He trusted me.” There was a warmth in his gaze, a memory he held dearly.

“He trusted you because he saw how strong you were,” you said, feeling the strength in his arm. “You’re someone people can rely on, Izuku. Kota, Eri… and me.”

He let out a small laugh, nervous but happy, eyes shining as he looked at you. “Thank you.”

You paused on a scar just below his ribs, softer than some of the others, almost hidden against his skin. He placed his hand over yours, looking down at it with a sad smile. “Flect Turn,” he said quietly. “It’s still… hard to think about that one. The way his quirk worked… it felt like I was being forced to face myself. To question everything I was trying to achieve.”

You met his gaze, voice steady. “But you didn’t back down.”

“No,” he said, his voice more certain this time. “I didn’t.”

For a moment, you just sat there, taking in the weight of his story, each scar a part of the journey that had shaped him. You ran your fingers over a few smaller ones, ones he didn’t mention, but you knew from the look in his eyes that each one had a tale to tell.

Finally, he looked up, the tension in his shoulders softened, the vulnerability you’d seen in his eyes replaced with a quiet confidence. “Thank you for… for wanting to know all of this,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

You took his hands, squeezing them gently. “Thank you for letting me in, Izuku. These scars—they’re not weaknesses. They’re your strength. Proof of every battle, every person you’ve helped, and every reason you’ve kept going.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and in that moment, he felt seen, understood, in a way he never had before. His cheeks flushed again, but there was a warmth in his expression, one you knew he’d carry with him beyond this room, beyond these memories.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, and this time, you knew he meant it in a way only the two of you could understand.

Midoriya Headcanons

...

— Izuku is utterly fascinated by how graceful you are, often catching himself watching you move without realizing it. He’s taken by the way you seem to instinctively navigate through crowds and small spaces with ease, almost like you’re attuned to every small detail around you.

— His notebook is filled with little sketches of your quirk’s features, like the subtle fawn-like markings or unique muscle structure that helps with agility. He’s spent hours researching how animal traits like yours might benefit in hero work, adding little notes like, “Could be useful for enhanced evasion.”

— He’s always mindful about touching you, especially if he’s trying to understand your quirk’s physical differences. His fingers are soft and light, often tracing the markings on your skin with almost scientific reverence, as if he’s afraid to break something delicate.

—Izuku’s attentive enough to notice if your senses seem more heightened in certain seasons or environments. He’ll offer his jacket or scarf in the winter, thinking your quirk might make you more sensitive to cold, and will keep extra snacks on hand in case you need extra energy.

—On days when training has been intense, he’ll suggest taking you to quieter places, like an empty park or a spot on campus where you can unwind. He knows that your heightened senses might make crowded spaces overwhelming, so he loves giving you a peaceful place to recharge.

— IIzuku finds your presence calming in a way he can’t quite explain. When he’s stressed or overthinking, he’s drawn to you because your calm demeanor and gentle movements help him feel grounded, and he’s always grateful for that unspoken support.

— He’s curious about how your quirk can be applied in different scenarios, so you two spend time coming up with unique tactics for you in mock battles. You’ve even managed to startle Bakugou once by sneaking up quietly—Izuku was genuinely impressed because not everyone can just do that!

— Knowing how self-conscious he sometimes feels about his scars, you’ve started a quiet ritual of tracing them gently, assuring him that they’re a testament to his courage and resilience. It’s become one of his favorite gestures, even if he blushes each time you do it.

— Izuku takes notes on exercises that might help you develop your natural abilities even further. He’ll shyly suggest new routines designed specifically with your quirk in mind, encouraging you to experiment and improve in ways that feel uniquely suited to you.

— Some nights, after studying or training, you’ll sit together, sharing stories about your quirks and experiences. Izuku finds himself opening up about his insecurities and struggles, especially around those he’s saved, while you reassure him that he’s helped you feel seen and understood, too.

[greenfiend]

These Songs Hold Major Clues

Connected to Mike’s love for Will…

We are told within this scene the importance of songs that hold a personal meaning, thus we can assume those particular songs do just that.

Remember, every detail within this show is intentional and important!

It’s also important to note that this is all from the episode Dear Billy. The same episode where Mike declares to Will that he felt as though he had lost him. Plus we are first introduced to the song Letter to Willy within this episode, further connecting Will with other plots that don’t involve him (on the surface) through subtext.

So let’s take a look at these songs, shall we?

All these songs have very similar themes. They’re all love songs. One lover separated by the other, dreaming about being reunited. The one singing is longing for the other.

“I stand at your gate”, automatically my thought went to the obvious gates between the real world and the UD. But, let me remind you of another time Mike stood at Will’s gate…

At the airport. The gate at the airport. Notice the little “snack” behind Will in this shot? Well…

Obviously it’s alluding to the “snack-size gate”. Aka “watergate” found at the bottom of Lovers’ Lake! This is another clue connecting Mike and Will with Lovers’ Lake.

The mentions of the sea are interesting here, especially because they are often connected with water (the quarry, Lovers’ Lake, the ocean imagery etc). Again, the singer is missing their lover… hoping for a safe return home. AND the singer described themselves as “blue”.

“Someone took you right out of my arms”! That’s pretty self-explanatory. Will was taken from Mike. He’s describing his lover as a “light” as well here. And once again, the mention of dreams.

This one isn’t explicitly about separated lovers, but it is still very relevant. More mention of dreams! The mention of sunshine following rain. And of course…

“Castles may tumble”. Absolutely no coincidence. An obvious nod towards Castle Byers which did “tumble”…

So umm… yeah. These are carefully chosen songs!

Dreams, separated lovers, light/darkness… are all reoccurring themes here.

The dreams aspect is interesting. What could it mean exactly?

Well… according to The Montauk Project: Experiments in Time (huge inspiration for ST):

“The parallel universes might reach our consciousness through dreams, ESP, meditation or artificially induced mental states.”

So it could be suggesting that Mike was/will be reaching out to Will from another universe through dreams… 🤔

ANYWAY, as always, I’d love to know your thoughts on this. Kind of blew my mind when I looked into these songs.

[just-null]

wrestling to be the first to greet you (they broke into your house)

[shimmershy]

Buttercups and Golden Flowers