➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

criminal minds

working with spencer Reid

working with the bau

spencer >3

criminal minds

Spencer Reid 🖤

dating spencer ❤️

in love with spencer reid

Dating Spencer Reid

FBI

Criminal minds life

spencer

daily life with spencer

spencer aesthetic

spencer ❤️🔫💕

Girly girl dating Spencer <3 💓💕

Elle 🖤🍷

Elle 🖤🖤

Elle 🖤❤️‍🔥

Mommy jj 💓🖤

Jen 🖤💓

Jj 🖤

Penelope 🎀🖤

Penelope 🌸🎀💕

Penny 🌸💕🎀

Em 🍷💄🥀❤️‍🔥

Emily 🖤☕️

Late night winter walks with Spencer ☃️🧣🌨️

Spending fall with Spencer 🍁🍂

FOUND IT THANK YOU💪🏾 @whoreforpomegranates

MODERN DAY SCHOOL HEADCANONS (multiple!)

content — okay i've never seen any modern day headcanons so i'm not sure if people will like these but they're funny to make so im gonna do it anyways.

AO'NUNG !

so irritating istg and you're so into it??? he gets on your nerves, but the way he looks at you when you're not looking gives him away completely

him and his friends will bug you any chance they get but not in an unacceptable way. they know better than that, ao'nung would probably kill them

he'll walk you to class knowing his is the opposite way and be waiting outside as soon as the bell rings. it almost makes you wonder if he even went to class

"you can eat lunch with me and my friends today"

you never do bc you have friends of your own of course but that won't stop him from trying

exceptionally good at math and no one acknowledges it since he acts like a damn idiot outside of class

grades???? never down. not if he wants to keep playing basketball bc he would totally play the sport. james told me so himself

you don't go to any of the games bc it's just not your thing, but he did find himself asking at one point and was very surprised to see you in the stands that night

instead of celebrating with his team, he decided to shoot his shot and take you to a local ice cream shop where he FINALLY confessed his feelings

under any other circumstances, you would've thought he was joking, but as i said, his eyes don't lie. you saw the way he looked at you, you were just waiting for him to make a move

cue his friends hooping and hollering when he drags you through the halls with his hand in yours the next day, proud ass smile on his face bc you were finally his he's such a fool

leader of simp nation fr

you two are so cute, complete opposites and everyone adores it

"y/n i think i need help on this problem" "ao'nung you have a high A in math????"

high school sweethearts through and through

NETEYAM !

i wouldn't say he's a goody two shoes but he's still top of his class and would totally be valedictorian or salutatorian or some shit like that

catch him studying in the courtyard during lunch or reading manga bc i KNOW he would

has his airpods in (brent faiyaz is playing)

literally has never said a word to you, but you have met his eyes a couple times in the halls, though he just looks away without a second thought

you made progress with your not-so-temporary crush one time when you asked him for a pencil with a sweet smile on your face and lovesick eyes

he literally laughed in your face and shook his head in amusement before facing the front again, making you realize your pencil was sitting in your hand

you cried tears that night

one day he pulled out a copy of fruits basket and suddenly you're jumping in your seat as you ask him if he's team kyo or not (he is)

you didn't get to talk much before the teacher started her lesson but he did follow you out the door that day, asking what else you're into

baby boy was locked tf in from that moment on

from that day forward, you sat with him in the courtyard, sharing stories and mindless thoughts. he looks forward to that hour every day

wrote his final essay for his ELA class on what it's like being in love with you and it's now framed in your room

you're his first girlfriend so you're pampered on by him. the girls wish they had a bf like yours

asked you out at that same table you two share two months later and you thank natsuki takaya every day for writing fruits basket

kind of a loser but he's your loser bf and you're so deathly in love with him

LO'AK !

you did NOT like this boy

he was so annoying. and not in a cute way like ao'nung was, but genuinely irritating

you've been going to school together since fifth grade so you know him more than you'd like to

you get along well with his sister and it makes you wonder how they're related at all

tries to cross you up in the halls and thinks it's top tier comedy

probably the type to ask you "thot daughter or gay son" in the halls :'(

ended up seeing him outside of school when hanging with kiri where you realized, he's actually a cool kid when away from his friends

he ended up sitting on kiri's fluffy rug with a squishmallow in his lap, invested in your girl talk

isn't as annoying in school after that day and it made him notice how you are more willing to be around him so he does end up maturing a bit more (everyone say thank you yn)

once you had his number, you'll send him a ss of a song you like with no context and the next day, he's giving you his opinion (he loves them all)

his friends try to hang out at school bc they notice he's been straying away and only when he says yes, does he realize how annoying he must've been bc being around them after your calming presence is like being surrounded by barking dogs

walked around with a nba yb book bag all throughout middle school and you make sure to remind him of that

he cringes so bad when you two talk about pre!yn lo'ak

asked you out on a fucking sticky note and got it confiscated by the teacher before you could read it so when the teacher read it out loud, he just shrugged and waited for your answer

you were so humiliated by your soon to be boyfriend but couldn't stop grinning bc he really does keep you entertained

you said yes btw

dream - isagi yoichi

"She looks just like a dream, the prettiest girl i've ever seen"

— In which pro player isagi yoichi hopelessly falls in love with a florist named y/n l/n

— welcome to "dream" masterlist! you can find all related works here.

— please do not copy and plagiarize my works :)

— all works fall down in chronological order down below!

10.31.24 - ???

Chapter 1 — Dreams

Chapter 2 — flourish

Chapter 3 — when

Chapter 4 — love

Chapter 5 — guides

Chapter 6 — your

Chapter 7 — heart.

[baby fever] ft. miya osamu

wc: 400

iwa | ushijima | atsumu | sakusa | kageyama | oikawa

--

You adjust the gemstone earrings as you finish up the final touches of your outfit. It’s been a really long time since Osamu has been free for date night and he was sweet enough to make reservations for tonight. You’re just about ready when he pops his head in to check on you. 

“Ya ready, babe?” 

“Just a sec!” 

You grab your purse and make your way out. Osamu is waiting for you in the entryway, standing at his full height and dressed in a crisp, white button-up shirt. His usual attire of a plain black t-shirt is already enough to make you stare, but seeing the way his chest fills out the shirt and just the slightest bulge in his tummy makes you practically salivate. 

Osamu doesn’t question the way you gape, only chuckling a bit and getting on his knees to slip your heels onto your feet. He plucks your purse out of your slack grip and slides it on his shoulder, holding a hand out to escort you. 

You have heart eyes all night, keeping your gaze fixated on him instead of dinner. Osamu, a regular receiver of your stares, doesn’t seem to mind and simply opts to feed you bites of his dish when you remain still for too long. 

At the end of the night, Osamu asks for the dessert menu and talks you through the options, pointing at the options he knows you would like. 

You stop him though. You’ve been thinking about having a whole different nightcap all night. “Don’t want dessert, ‘Samu.” 

“No?” he raises a brow, corner of lips curling upwards and thumb brushing over your pulse point. 

“No,” you say. 

“Why not?” he teases. “Not feelin’ well?” He puts a warm palm on your thigh, where 2 of his thick fingers slip just a centimeter under your dress. 

“‘Samu,” you whine, but it comes out more of a gasp. You involuntarily push your thighs together. 

He lets out a low laugh and squeezes your thigh once. When he takes his hand back, his vacated spot feels cold, and he gives your ring finger a kiss in condolence. “I’ll go pay. Be right back.” 

When Osamu comes back, he helps you into your coat and easily grabs your hand to begin the short walk home. You’re silent on the walk, feeling hot. It doesn’t get better as Osamu breathes into your ear, grazes his hand around your hips, and pushes your bangs away every time the wind moves a single strand out of place. 

He’s in an astronomically good mood and finally, you give him the stink eye. “You’ve been teasing all night,” you pout. 

“I thought you liked it.” 

You harrumph and mumble, “you won’t like it so much when we accidentally pop out a kid 9 months from now.” 

He raises a brow, pressing your whole body closer to his side. 

“Says who?”

Expiation - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to A03)

This is a birthday gift for @sophsiaaa based on a suggestion of a fantasy AU Shigaraki x reader. Happy birthday (although it's definitely a bit late)!

You hear the rumors long before you see him, but the story of his arrival is told to you so many times that it’s etched into your head. It was a beautiful spring day, the fields surrounding the castle bright with wildflowers, the air humming with butterflies and bees – the kind of day on which nothing bad is allowed to happen. And then the world went still. The sun seemed to dim. The air fell silent, empty of insects and birds, and even the flowers cringed away as he led his horse past, walking so slowly that it seemed he knew his presence poisoned the world, and reveled in it. The dark knight, the one they call the White Death. Shigaraki Tomura.

The rumors are terrible, and most of them are true, but no one finds the High Kingdom unless they were meant to be here. You remember the day you stumbled out of the Forest Perilous, last of a party of dozens who had all set out together, the only one to reach the castle. The castle chose you, the same as it chose everyone born outside the walls who now resides within. The same is true of Shigaraki Tomura – Sir Tomura, or Lord Tomura, anything but the dread title he’s earned on the battlefield. There is some purpose to his presence here, although neither you nor anyone else can imagine what it is.

Most knights come to the High Kingdom with squires and servants, hauling supplies and gifts and finery to please the king. The White Death comes alone, and bears no gift – no gift other than the one he’s rumored to have tossed at King Izuku’s feet. That rumor is terrible, too. But it it’s true, it means that Shigaraki Tomura crossed a line no one else had dared to touch – in taking on the King’s fated enemy, the man prophesied to destroy the High Kingdom, and slaying him himself. Tearing down his armies himself. Singlehandedly wrecking a prophecy that has hung over the Kingdom’s head since it was first spoken, a prophecy of death and destruction that would bring a mighty kingdom to its knees.

And you suppose it did. After all, the prophecy, never said it would be your kingdom that fell.

King Izuku offers Shigaraki Tomura a seat on his council, over the objections of the rest of the council. Shigaraki Tomura accepts. And then the question turns to where he should be house, and what level of opulence is appropriate for his room, and because the gods hate you or because you’re just unlucky, you’re assigned from all the servants to help him decorate it. To create a dwelling space fit for a hero, meant to house someone who cannot be called anything but a villain.

You knock hesitantly at the door, struggling to balance the heavy wooden chest you’re carrying at the same time. When that fails to produce a response, you call out, your voice thin as it echoes through the deserted wing of the palace. “Lord Tomura?”

The door unlocks with a sharp click, then swings open, and you suck in a breath. You heard he had magic – most in the High Kingdom do, you included – but it’s considered crass to flaunt it for things that could otherwise be done by hand. You step through the door into a large, empty room. The only features in it are a window without a single pane of glass, an armoire with doors gaping open, and a canopy bed bare of both canopy and sheets. The infamous white armor is piled in the corner of the room, along with the white sword his enemies call Decay. The White Death himself sits on the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t look away from the spot on the wall where he’s fixed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“My Lord.” You bow, or curtsy, or do some awkward mix of both at once. It doesn’t matter. He’s not looking at you. “I was sent to help you put your room in order.”

“This is fine.” Shigaraki Tomura’s voice is flat and icy, devoid of anything but apathy. “The window is a nice touch.”

You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. You would be, if you were a knight and not a maid. “The window will be fixed, my Lord. In the meantime, I was sent to arrange the rest of your room. I’ve brought many things for you to choose from.”

“Many things.” He looks up at last, and you catch your breath at the sight of his crimson eyes. It’s all too easy to imagine his enemies freezing in terror, those eyes the last thing they saw before the darkness closed in. “That chest is too small for many things.”

“It’s larger on the inside,” you say. He raises an eyebrow – or he would, if he had them. “Do I have your leave to show you?”

“If it’s the case that you won’t leave me be until you do.” The White Death looks away, and you come a few steps closer. A few steps, and then a few more, until you can set the chest down within his eyeline and kneel down to open it. “What is that?”

“No one could tell me what you preferred, so I brought some of everything.” You were hoping to avoid being berated. You’re starting to think that’s unlikely. “There are sheets for the bed – and choices for the canopy, also. These are for the walls – most knights have tapestries made of your great deeds, but you’ve only just arrived. They won’t be ready for a little while.”

“Great deeds,” Shigaraki – Sir Tomura – sneers. Your ears burn. “Yes, I’m sure the weavers are lining up to chronicle mine.”

“If you say so, my Lord.” You lift out a set of curtains – curtains, for a broken window. Whoever left this for you to deal with, you hope they catch the plague. “Er, the window –”

“I didn’t say so,” Sir Tomura interrupts. You look up at him. “I have done no great deeds. It is no honor to be on your knees at my feet.”

“Pardon me, my Lord. I never said it was.”

You shouldn’t have spoken. You bow your head hastily, but not before you see a flash of interest in the White Death’s eyes. “A punishment, then. Tell me, who did you displease?”

“Nor did I say it was a punishment.” You’ve already gotten yourself in trouble. You may as well explain. “It is my duty to serve the nobles of the High Kingdom. You are one of them. And you’ve done the kingdom a great service.”

“I didn’t do it for you. Or for your wretched kingdom.” Sir Tomura is looking at you, still. You can feel the heat of his gaze on your shoulders, the exposed curve of your neck. “I might have destroyed your kingdom just as easily.”

You know that. It’s why everyone fears him, why a man with a lean, slender build casts such a long shadow. “Then why did you choose his?”

“You both wronged me. He wronged me worse.” Sir Tomura goes silent for a moment, and you dare a glance up at him. His face is still, the sneer long-gone. “And because you wronged me, too, you must suffer my presence. In honor of the great deed I have done.”

Now he sounds bitter, mocking – but not of you. He’s looking at you again. “And what terrible deed have you done, that you do not fear to raise your eyes to me?”

“Is that a requirement for meeting your eyes, my Lord?” It strikes you as an odd thing to say, when any other knight would remark on your temerity at gazing upon any noble’s face. “I did not come here to pass judgment on your deeds. I came to make your room a fitting place for a person to live.”

“Indeed,” Sir Tomura says. “But unlike the five maids who preceded you, you have not fled from the sight of me. Why?”

You would answer him if you knew, but you don’t. The rumors of him terrified you, the same as everyone else. You were frightened as you knocked at the door, frightened when you stepped into the room, and even though he’s weaponless, you have no doubt that he knows dozens of spells that will kill you where you stand. There is no doubt that the man in front of you is the White Death, the terror of battlefields across the known world, the ruination of a kingdom most thought would stand forever and the slayer of a king most thought could not be killed and the destruction of a prophecy that went unchallenged for a hundred years. You should be terrified, just as you were before, and you’re certainly wary. But you aren’t frightened any longer.

The White Death is waiting for an answer. “If I had an answer, I would give it, my Lord,” you say. You look away and begin to unpack from the chest. “Does my Lord have a preference as to colors?”

“No.” Sir Tomura’s voice carries an odd rasp, whether he’s scornful or not. “Do what you want.”

So he’ll allow you to complete your task. You wonder if the five maids who apparently preceded you tried to hold a conversation, or if they simply ran away the instant he opened the door. Some part of you wants to decorate his room in bright colors, something cheerful, but you don’t have the sense that he’ll appreciate it. You’d be better off giving him something to look at, since he spends so long staring off into space. You choose fabrics in muted colors, woven with small illusions here and there, patterns that move and change in response to the human eye. It’s likely that Sir Tomura will spend a lot of time here. He doesn’t seem to like people very much. His room should at least be a pleasant place to be.

When you’ve covered key portions of the walls, leaving space for the inevitable tapestries, you move on to laying out rugs. The stone floors in the castle are cool in the summer, cold in the winter, and Sir Tomura’s feet are bare, his boots kicked into the same pile as his sword and armor. You don’t have as many choices with the rugs. They are nothing but bright colors, woven together from scraps of fabric, and you lay them out hastily, hoping he continues to prefer staring at walls to staring at floors. Then you turn your attention to the armor. It needs to be stored properly, and there isn’t a stand in the room.

You turn to face Sir Tomura and find that he’s already watching you. “If you give me leave, my Lord, I’ll retrieve a stand for your armor.”

“It can stay where it is.”

Most knights pride themselves on their armor. Most pride themselves too much. “Won’t it rust?”

“Until it crumbles away. I don’t care.”

You don’t understand. “Sir –”

“It’s no use to me any longer.” Sir Tomura rises from the bed for the first time and crosses the room, moving with catlike grace. He lifts the breastplate from the pile one-handed and holds it out for you to inspect. You can’t miss the problem – it’s been cleaved almost in two by a single strike, torn apart as only cursed steel can do. “It can’t be fixed.”

“The best smiths in the world work here,” you venture. Sir Tomura scoffs. “They reforged One For All, and that sword was broken into nine pieces.”

“Yes, we’ve all heard the story. Good King Izuku gathered the nine pieces of One For All and proved he was the rightful king.” The disdain in the White Death’s voice is withering. “The rightful king, but not a good one. The king before him was worthless, and the queen before him, too – they let their greatest enemy grow and prosper, throughout their entire reigns.”

“They fought back,” you protest. “Queen Nana was killed fighting him – King Toshinori was badly wounded –”

“And King Izuku never tried,” Sir Tomura sneers. “In spite of their goodness, they turned away. They were too good to do what had to be done, so it fell to me to slay the monster and tear down his throne.”

Sir Tomura wasn’t mentioned in the prophecy. Why would it fall to him? “And look what I’ve done,” he continues. A harsh laugh tears free from his throat. “Spared a kingdom of cowards and fools from destruction they deserve only slightly less.”

The questions bursts out of you. “If you despise us so much, why did you come here?”

“This kingdom owes me a debt,” Sir Tomura says. “I have nowhere else to go.”

You have nothing to say in response to that. You expect Sir Tomura to look pleased at silencing you, but he doesn’t. “Receive a stand for my armor if you wish it,” he says, and you depart, feeling sick to your stomach.

The White Death’s words cling to you as you search for a spare armor stand. What had to be done. What could he mean by that? What would the White Death do that the good kings and queens of your kingdom wouldn’t try? The answer occurs to you at once. Dark magic. Magic that corrupts the mind and soul, magic that leaves cursed wounds and blighted lands in its wake. Of course the kings and queens of the High Kingdom would never do such a thing. But if that was what it would take to end the Enemy’s reign of terror, then maybe –

It’s not your place to decide such things. You find a spare stand in the armory and cart it back to the deserted wing of the palace, only to be accosted on the way by the tailor Hakamada. “You’re attending him? Good. These are for the feast tonight.”

He thrusts a package into your arms, even though your hands are already full. “Ensure he wears them. His presence is an affront, but he’ll be properly dressed if it’s the last thing I do.”

Given that Hakamada isn’t the one forcing the new clothes on Sir Tomura, it’s more likely to be the last thing you do. You set off again, struggling under the weight of both the package and the stand at once.

Sir Tomura seems surprised that you’ve returned, but he doesn’t mock you over it – yet. He allows you to set up the stand, and to begin to store his armor properly, although he refuses to allow you anywhere near the sword. “It’s cursed,” he says, even though you didn’t ask. “Once it tastes a victim’s blood, that person is doomed to wither and rot. Did you know that?”

“I heard rumors,” you say carefully. “There are many rumors about you.”

“They aren’t rumors if they’re true,” Sir Tomura says. “Almost all of them are.”

It doesn’t surprise you that the White Death knows his own legends. “Which ones aren’t?”

Sir Tomura doesn’t answer. He’s investigating the package from Hakamada, which you set down on the end of the still-unmade bed. You, meanwhile, find yourself transfixed by the tear in the breastplate of his armor. It’s been split nearly in half. You lean closer, paper and fabric rustling behind you, in order to peer at the edges of the breastplate, the padding inside, and a needle of shock and fear drives itself through you. All of it is stained with blood. “My Lord –”

You turn to find yourself facing Sir Tomura half-dressed, in clean breeches and bare feet, having just removed his shirt. His bare skin is laced with scars, some old and some newer, but none so terrible as the enormous wound in his chest, so fresh it can barely be called healed. It matches the tear in the breastplate exactly. Sir Tomura glances at the breastplate, then at you. Then he turns away.

“My Lord,” you start, “if you need a healer –”

“It’s a cursed wound,” Sir Tomura says. “It will never heal.”

That was in the prophecy, too – something about a blow from which the victor will never recover. You know it’s half the reason King Izuku held off. He has no heir, nor an obvious successor among his advisors, and everyone assumed the blow described in the prophecy would be fatal. You mind feels frozen, caught between horror and sadness and trapped in confusion. If what everyone says is true, and it is, Shigaraki Tomura is a monster. If what everyone says is true, and it is, King Izuku is a good king. If both of those things are true, then why did the monster fulfill the prophecy? Why has the good king offered him so meager a welcome? You don’t know what to do with the White Death, who saved your kingdom, whose infamous fury has yet to make an appearance since he arrived at the castle.  Neither does anyone else.

Sir Tomura is fumbling with his new shirt, cursing. You abandon the armor and come forward. “May I help, my Lord?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t refuse, and you take the risk of helping anyway, straightening the useless ruffles, doing up the pearl buttons, staying well clear of the terrible wound. “It takes a monster to slay a monster,” the White Death says, as you smooth out the lines of his shirt. “And now you all must live with the monster that survived.”

He looks down at you, the ghost of the sneer from before distorting his features. “Is that pity I see on your face? Save your pity. It’s useless to me.”

“I don’t pity you,” you say. You can’t – not when he’s done such terrible things, not when you can’t begin to calculate whether what he did in fulfilling the prophecy cancels any of them out. But you do feel something. You can be honest about that. “I was thinking that it was a brave thing to do, my Lord. To face the Enemy when you weren’t the chosen one, and knowing that the consequences were severe even if you should win. That is all.”

A hint of surprise crosses Shigaraki Tomura’s face. “Do the words monster and villain mean nothing to you?”

“They do,” you say. “But I have never seen it written that a monster cannot be brave. Or that a villain must always be a villain.”

The White Death scoffs. “Are you waiting for me to become a true knight?”

“Only as long as you would wait for me to become a fair lady,” you say. “That is to say, a very long time.”

“A long time to become a lady, perhaps.” Sir Tomura extends one hand towards you, slowly, as though he’s expecting you to flinch or bolt. “You were fair before you knelt at my feet.”

You’re not sure what he means to do with his hand, but you reach out and capture it anyway. There’s only one thing you can think of to do, and you do it – bow low over it to kiss his knuckles, just as you’ve seen lords do for their ladies a thousand times. And you speak, words you’re certain no one has uttered since he arrived. “Thank you for what you did. Even if it was not done for us,” you say. “And thank you, too, for saying I was fair. You did not need to say that.”

“I didn’t lie.” Sir Tomura has yet to take his hand back. You don’t know what to do but keep holding it. “It seems that you are in my debt now.”

Just like that, you’re nervous again. You know what knights often ask, or demand, from the women who cross their paths. “How shall I repay it?”

“This feast,” the White Death says. You look up, startled. “You will accompany me.”

“My Lord –”

“Since I have arrived here, no one has met my eyes, nor spoken to me as you have.” He’s averting his eyes from yours now. “I would like to spend one evening in the company of someone who does not find my company torturous.”

“I would, my Lord, but it is simply not done.” You’re surprised at how upsetting it is to be unable to grant such a simple wish. You let go of his hand and drop into a curtsy, replacing the distance that should exist between you, rather than the odd intimacy of the last few moments. “No true knight would bring a servant as his companion to a royal feast.”

“I see,” Sir Tomura says. His hand slips beneath your chin, tilting your face upwards, and you see that same flash of interest in his red eyes. This time it has staying power, as his callused hand molds to the shape of your jaw and his lips curve into the first smile you’ve seen from him. “It’s fortunate, then, that I am no true knight.”

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Masterlist of Taehoon ✨Bullshit✨

Lookism Masterlist | Part 2 ☞ (multi-character headcanons/dynamics)

Lookism Storylines ☞ (fun shit. mix of x reader and with reader)

Gun + Goo | Jake + Samuel | Everyone else ☞ (single character-centric standalones)

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How To Fight/Viral Hit Masterlist | You're here! Seong Taehoon

Seong Taehoon Standalones

Seong Taehoon dying his hair

Seong Taehoon meeting HTF Peak... YOU

Seong Taehoon: Meeting for the first time

Seong Taehoon x Reader: You and a boring bastard at a photobooth

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Meeting the DILF | Daddy Seong

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Dying his hair black

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Boyfriend headcanons | Boyfriend headcanons 2

Seong Taehoon x Reader: boyfriend does my makeup

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Sulking

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Confessing to You

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Taehoon gets hit

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Ignoring you

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Bedtime headcanon (sfw)

Seong Taehoon x Reader: cat dad

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Crushing on You

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Ideal Type

Seong Taehoon x Reader First Kiss: Hospital Kiss | Making the first move

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Older reader hc

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Cheerful friendly S/O

Seong Taehoon x Reader: fall out

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Unnie/Noona

Seong Taehoon x Reader: As friends

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Winning you back hc

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Looking after you

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Cuddling to a bit more hc

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Internet simps

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Yor Forger-ish type S/O hc

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Through the years

Seong Taehoon x Reader: All your moods

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Congrats on your pregnancy!

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Uno Reverse

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Getting accidentally kicked

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Strangers to... A Not-Crush | Hansu and Taehoon talk

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Yi Suryeon | Part 2

Seong Taehoon x Reader: You being an idiot

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Two menaces walk into an arcade...

Bald Taehoon

Seong Taehoon hc: Simping + Being a dad

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Insomnia

Love at First Sight Double-Take at First-ish Meeting: Taehoon

Seong Taehoon x Reader: when did you know you liked me?

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Stay

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Coffee date (feat Hobin)

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Comfort

Seong Taehoon x Reader: bouquet from your secret admirer

Seong Taehoon x Reader: when did you know you liked me?

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Stay

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Happy Birthday! (feat Hansu)

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Comforting Taehoon

Seong Taehoon x Outdoorsy!Reader hc

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Coupons (feat Hansu)

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Swim

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Military Service

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Letters

Fucking The Nerd

Masterlist

Lo'ak, Neteyam, Aonung,Rotxo

Preview

Prt 1 Fuck Me Boy - Summary: being paired with the fboy of the school what can go wrong

Prt 2 Fuck Him - Summary: getting pay back is the best feeling in the world especially when it's with his older brother

Prt 3 Fuck Them Both - Summary: neteyam needs a goodbye present before he goes off to college

Prt 4 Fuck Up - Summary: it's going great till someone appears at his front step

Prt 5 Fuck Him Out - Summary: taking up your brothers offer leads you to be in the arms of your childhood best friend.

Prt 6 Fuck Party - Summary: getting drunk and laid was on the to do list but now you have two pairs of hands on you.

Prt 7 Fuck Off - Summary: lo'ak finally realizes his mistakes and flies over to make right what he did wrong.

Ending (chose your own)

Acceptance - Summary: maybe hearing him out with solve the issue out

Reject - Summary: maybe starting somewhere new will solve the problem

Tag.List

@avatar4eva @lik0 @sweetirilly @a-nachronis-m @myh3artttt

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 01 Chapter 01 | distorted reality⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

BOOM!

The world swam back into focus, a sickening wave of nausea rolling through you.  Your throat rasped, a metallic tang heavy in your mouth. Blinking away blurry spots, the world swayed violently around you. There was a dull throb behind your eyes, and a chilling, empty space where your memories should have been with each sluggish heartbeat.

Fear, raw and primal, gnawed at your insides. Where were you? Everything felt...wrong.

BOOM!

Another thunderclap, followed by a blinding flash of lightning, illuminated the room for a split second. Each crackle of electricity sent a jolt of pain through you, a strange disconnect between the storm outside and the ache in your body.

Disoriented, you tried to sit up, only to find your limbs heavy and unresponsive. Groaning, you forced your eyes back open, expecting the sterile white of a hospital room. But instead, you were met with a riot of bubblegum pink and frilly decorations.

Trying to focus, you pushed yourself off the plush bed, tiny legs unsteady and weak on the plush carpet. Drawn by an instinct you didn't understand, you stumbled towards a small, ornate vanity tucked away in a corner.

BOOM!

Another flash illuminated the room, and for a fleeting moment, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. A face stared back, long, coily red-tinged auburn hair, framed a face unfamiliar and innocent. Light brown skin stretched taut across unfamiliar cheekbones.

However, it was your eyes that truly terrified you.

Golden irises stared back, hypnotic in the flickering light. But it was the crimson rings within them, swirling like miniature storms, that sent a cold dread spiraling down your spine. These eyes, alien and unsettling, were the only familiar thing in this sea of confusion. Where are you? Why did everything feel so wrong?

BOOM!

Tears welled up, blurring the vibrant clash of pink and lightning in the reflection. But even the tears felt alien—a betrayal of a body you didn't recognize. You were adrift in a sea of your own flesh, a puppet with severed strings. No memories, no identity, just a throbbing head, a strange pain in your body, and fear—a cold, suffocating fear that had no name.

Collapsing onto the plush carpet, you reached for the cool vanity for some semblance of comfort. But instead of finding solace, your hand brushed against a soft, frilly nightgown, another alien entity on your unfamiliar skin.

You were lost, a terrified child in a body that felt wrong, with eyes that held a secret you desperately wanted to remember. A frantic voice cut through the cacophony of fear in your head. "Sweetheart, are you alright?"

An instinct you didn't understand made you shrink back.

The voice belonged to a woman who rushed to your side, her brow furrowed in worry. Her face, etched with lines of concern, was unfamiliar, yet there was a warmth in her eyes that practically swallowed you whole—you were a star in her desolate sky.

You wanted to ask who she was, who you were, but the moment you tried to form a question, a searing pain lanced through your head. It was easier, for now, to just let the confusion wash over you.

"Come to Mommy~" she reached out, her voice gentle but laced with urgency.

The woman—your apparent mother—sighed, her worry deepening. "Oh, sweetie, you must have been scared with that awful storm. Were you having another bad dream?"

Another dream? The term triggered a flicker of unease.  Dreams?  What dreams?

You clenched your fists, the throbbing in your head intensifying with every attempt to pull a memory from the void.

Nothing.

Frustration welled within you, a surge of anger replacing the fear. "I... I don't remember," you admitted, the words falling flat in the face of your growing anxiety.

Your mother, whoever she was, wrapped her arms around you, a gesture that felt foreign yet strangely comforting.  You didn't know how to react, your body stiff and unyielding in her embrace.

"It's alright, Y/N~" she soothed, her voice tinged with sadness. "Now come on, let's get you cleaned up and ready for breakfast."

The word "Y/N" hung in the air, a name that felt foreign on your tongue—a borrowed coat ill-fitting your shoulders.

As your short and chubby mother, led you away from the unsettling reflection in the mirror, you stole a glance at her. Her burnt orange hair, once vibrant and full of life, was now streaked with silver, a testament to the years that had passed. The curls, once perpetually escaping from any attempt at control, were now pulled back in a loose, lopsided bun, seemed to vibrate with nervous energy.

Her honey-tan skin was dusted with a constellation of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose—boring the etchings of time in the form of wrinkles crinkling around her warm, honey-colored eyes.  Even now, a flicker of worry, a worry that seemed to have become a permanent resident, danced within their depths.

Her name, you vaguely recalled from the panicked jumble in your head, was Mei.

The house itself mirrored Mei—functional, lacking any personal touches.  It spoke of a life lived by routine, devoid of the chaos you once thrived in.  The lack of toys or childish decorations was another jarring note.  Here, in this world of beige walls and muted tones, quirks weren't a topic of conversation, a stark difference from the hero-worshipped society you once manipulated.  Here, it seemed, you were utterly ordinary.

Breakfast was a quiet affair.  Your 'father'—Wino, a stoic man with a perpetual peppered five o'clock shadow—presented a stark contrast.

Tall and lanky, he grunted a greeting before disappearing behind a newspaper. His electric green eyes, usually crinkled at the corners from a lifetime of suppressed smiles, were hidden behind thick wire-rimmed glasses. His hair, once a vibrant auburn, had surrendered to the relentless march of time, turning a stark white that seemed to hold the secrets of countless unspoken words; both he and your mother appeared older than their mid-forties.

As Mei fussed over you, you picked at your food—the unfamiliar taste of fluffy pancakes, a bland echo of the delicacies you once indulged in.

Mei, oblivious to the storm brewing within you, hummed along to a children's show playing on the TV. It depicted brightly colored superheroes battling a giant, fire-breathing lizard. You watched the scene detachedly; it was both whimsical and confusing.

"Welcome back, young heroes-in-training! Today, we're going to learn all about quirks—those amazing abilities that make our world so unique!"

A flurry of images flashed across the screen: a boy with stretchy limbs, a girl who could manipulate fire, a man who could zoom through the air.  Your brow furrowed in concentration.  This was unlike anything you'd ever known.

"Quirks can be anything from super strength to creating illusions!" the cheerful announcer continued, "It's what makes our society so exciting!"

The show droned on, explaining quirk training, hero schools, and the intricate classifications of these bizarre abilities.  You listened intently, a spark of curiosity igniting within you.

What the hell are these "quirks" they kept droning on about?

Suddenly, a booming voice jolted you from your thoughts.

"Mei, change the channel. Not much point in letting her watch that mess. She won't be developing any quirks soon," Wino sighed behind his newspaper, lowering it down with a grimace. "No use in getting her hopes up."

Your mother bit her lip, a flicker of sadness crossing her features. "But she's only five," she began, her voice tinged with defiance, "we don't know if she's actually quirkless, there's always a chance..." Her words trailed off as Wino stood up and left the room without a glance, leaving behind a lingering scent of pipe tobacco in his wake.

You watched him go, your eyes narrowing a bit. Quirkless? The word itself felt foreign, a label you didn't understand but instinctively disliked.

As if on cue, the monotonous ringing of the house phone cut through the tense silence.  Mei gave you a strained smile before hurrying to answer it.  Left alone, you wandered back to the television, the cartoon announcer's overly enthusiastic voice now droning on about the "Quirkless Woes."

"And remember kids," the announcer chirped in a condescending tone, "if you're unfortunate enough to be born without a Quirk, just remember, there are plenty of perfectly ordinary jobs you can take up! Like... janitorial services! Or... grocery bagging!" His patronizing tone made you huff in annoyance; a strange feeling, a mix of anger and confusion, began to nestle in your chest.

Being Quirkless sounded... boring.

Limited.

Unfair.

Suddenly, the cheerful theme song was drowned out by a breaking news alert flashing across the screen. A stern-faced woman with a microphone reported on a villain attack downtown. Live footage showed a hulking man with glowing red eyes causing havoc, his bare fists shattering concrete pillars with ease.

"This is villain Catastrophe causing a rampage in the Musutafu financial district," the newscaster explained. "Heroes are on the scene, but the situation seems critical. We'll continue to bring you updates..."

Your gaze flicked between the cartoon heroes and the real-life devastation; a strange mix of curiosity and... envy? flickered within you.

These people, these heroes, could manipulate reality—defy the laws of physics with the flick of a wrist.

You, on the other hand, were utterly and seemingly ordinary.

The frustration bubbled up again, a familiar feeling you couldn't quite place. Was it the powerlessness? The lack of control? Or perhaps a deeper longing for something more, something you couldn't even articulate?

As the news droned on, Mei switched the TV off, a bright etching itself onto her face. "Come on, sweetie, let's finish your breakfast~" she said gently, "Today's an exciting day, we're learning the alphabet!"

☆

☆

Later that night, as the rain tapped a gentle rhythm against your window, you lay tucked under the covers, Mei having just left after her nightly goodnight kiss.  Staring out at the slick streets, you tried, in vain, to push past the blank canvas of your memories.

A dull ache throbbed behind your eyes, intensifying with each frustrated attempt.  Your body trembled, a cold sweat slicking your skin. Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through your head, and a gasp escaped your lips.

Involuntarily, your eyes flared open, an unsettling yellow glow emanating from them for a fleeting moment.  A metallic tang filled your mouth, and you reached up to your nose, feeling a warm trickle of blood.

Through the ringing in your ears, a voice, faint and distorted, seemed to whisper a name. "...Ma...ki...ma..." it repeated, the syllables blurring together before fading entirely. Each whisper senting a jolt through you, a flicker of a vision erupting behind your closed eyelids.

"...Ma...ki...ma..." The first whisper brought a flash of a pale, porcelain face, a chilling smile stretched impossibly wide across blood-red lips. Then, darkness.

"...Ma...ki...ma..." The voice pleaded, a touch more insistent this time; and with it, it ignited a vision of slender, crimson-stained fingers wrapped around a length of barbed wire, a look of perverse pleasure contorting the unfamiliar face. Darkness again.

"...Ma...ki...ma..." The vision that followed this plea was a kaleidoscope of horrors—a city in flames, screams swallowed by the roar of an unseen beast, and that same face, eyes blazing with a cold, predatory hunger.

A wave of nausea washed over you, and you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, willing the visions away.

The whispers began to quicken, a desperate urgency seeping into their tone. "Ma...ki...ma...Ma...ki...ma!" Each utterance felt like a physical blow, a sledgehammer pounding against the fortress of your mind. With each beat, the visions intensified, a torrent of violence and depravity flooding your senses.

A cackle, laced with madness, echoed in the darkness. You saw twisted shadows writhe on the ground, heard the sickening crunch of bones, felt the heat of searing flames licking at your skin.

And then, her face, crystal clear this time, filled your vision.

The pale girl, the crimson smile—Makima.

Her eyes, once a mesmerizing crimson, were now a bottomless void, devoid of any humanity.

"Makima!" The final whisper arrived in a shout of despair, resonating with horrifying clarity, shattering the last vestiges of your resistance.

Your pupils dilated, a single word echoing in the vast emptiness—Makima.

It was a name, a fragment of who you were, but it offered no explanation for your current existence.

Slowly, the tremor subsided, the yellow glow in your eyes receding, leaving behind a chilling emptiness.  Fear melted into a strange sense of clarity.

You were Makima, but you were also Y/N.

Calming your ragged breaths, you tested the name on your tongue in a low, raspy whisper. "Makima..."

It held power—a chilling familiarity—but it felt distant, alien.

Y/N, the name your mother called you, felt more comfortable, more like your own.

Yes, you decided; you were Y/N.

You didn't know who Makima was, but you would find out. And in the meantime, you would carve your own path in this world, as Y/N.

A determined glint flickered in your eyes, a spark of defiance against the unknown future.

***EECKKK!! I'm so hyped for this, lol. Just get ready for all the fan-service cuz y'all know i love being delusional, lololo

Anyways, here's a sneek peak, I have like 10+ completed and should start updating regularly in about a week (i plan on having 20+ completed so I won't keeping you guys waiting too long in between updates) See y'all next update ❤️

Tomura breathes in the cold air the moment he opens the roof door.

Whoever thought that Jin or Iguchi needed more alcohol was insane. Then again, they really should have expected that Toga would spike the punch.

And as entertaining as it was to watch Sako judge their Dabi impressions, the leader just needed a moment.

Next year was minutes away and everything the league and himself have been working towards would be that much closer.

He sighs.

What a pain. He doesn’t understand where all this pressure was coming from. He shouldn't care.

Whether they win or lose the battle, there'll be nothing left for the heroes to salvage anyway.

Still.

He keeps seeing his teammates' faces every time he closes his eyes. Toga and Jin's bouncy demeanor, Dabi’s eye roll, Iguchi's victory shouts, Compress's musical laugh.

And, of course, he couldn't forget-

"Whatcha doing out here, boss?"

Tomura opens his eyes, coming face to face with the number 2 hero.

"Isn't this a busy night for you heroes?"

Hawks shrugs. "Sure. But I'm confident in the others. Plus," the blond tilts his head, "It's almost midnight."

"And?"

The hero smirks. "You know what I want."

Tomura rolls his eyes, but he can't stop the smile growing on his face.

"You think you've earned it hero?"

"I've been very good this year, no?" Hawks laughs, wings fluttering. "Even when I've been bad."

The villain hums.

10

The sound of his teammates counting down startles him a bit and Tomura looks away from the hero, distracted.

9

"Tomura." The other calls to him, voice playful and gentle.

8

The villain turns back to face him and suddenly Hawks is all he sees. Beautiful amber eyes staring at him sp fondly, he surprised his cheeks haven't erupted in flames.

7

"Tomura," the blond asks, "do you want to be my new year's kiss?"

6

"Can't tell if you're brave or stupid," he teases.

5

Hawks smiles. "Little bit of both actually. But that doesn't answer my question."

4

"It sure doesn't, huh. Maybe you should do something about that, hero?"

3

Warm hands cup his face, slightly tilting his head down until he can feel the blond's breath caress his cold lips.

"Tomura, will you be my new year's kiss?"

2

"Yeah," he murmurs, leaning closer, "yeah I will."

1

Fireworks shoot into the sky as a cacophony of celebratory screams ring out around them, but all Tomura can think about is how soft the hero's lips feel against his own.

He shivers as Hawks pressed his body against the cold brick wall.

Tomura opens up under the other, letting the hero explore his mouth until they're both pulling back and panting.

The blond is the first to react with a soft, but self satisfied chuckle.

"Happy New Year, Tomura."

The villain gentle brushes back a stray blond lock behind Hawks' ear. "Happy New Year, Keigo."