#I don't know why I think it's funny. But I still think it's amusing that Steven's legs are so short/Connie's legs

[paramythas]

𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 it a point to note that the whole thing was caused by 'magic' in a world that had lost access to most of it? Or would that just make things more complicated? In the end, economy of action makes the decision for her- it would take too much time to 'write' it all out without expanding on strange terminology he might not understand. And while she wouldn't mind having the 'talk', she doubts reading all of that while eating is anything either of them really wants to deal with.

(She could make the Cat explain again, but honestly she might snap its neck in plain sight and she'd definitely get some looks for that, illusion or no.)

He's right in assuming she doesn't really know the ins and outs of how it all worked though. In the end, she'd been collateral damage for a situation she hadn't orchestrated. Her... punishment, maybe, for being so dead-set on murder had been to be tossed to her apparent death like trash.

...honestly, maybe she should have gone back, just to kick Cinder's ass.

Chewing on a takoyaki, she's about to interject and say that she can figure it out herself if it's too much to explain but Chuuya... Chuuya is already talking. Head cocking, her eyes blink, swap colors in her surprise as Chuuya goes into it at length. He explains the concept easily enough, shows her what he means, goes on a tangent about the different ways in which they've been interpreted and she feels her lips twitch as she leans her chin on her hand, pulling some of her noodles to her mouth as she listens.

Some of the things he shows her make her think of fucked up Grimm, which she doesn't mention, but keeps in mind to bring up later. Instead, when he finishes, she gives him an amused little squint of the eyes and asks:

And you thought me talking about being from another world was strange?

They have an entire genre in this universe, apparently, about just that- though not in the same way. Neo slurps up her noodles, and then flicks her tongue out at him a little after she swallows.

You're such a hypocrite, Chuuya.

Not that she has a leg to stand on, given some of her own idiosyncrasies, but she thinks this is genuinely funny. Especially with the detail he's gone into explaining it to her. It's nice, actually; he sounds kind of into it- or at least being able to be a know-it-all about it- and his voice is nice to listen to. Still, regardless of how cute he sounds trying to act like a professor, Neo can't help but give him a little grief- after all, she's made a few explosives in her time, even if some of them used Dust rather than chemicals. Didn't mean she didn't know what they did.

I've never been big on science, but I do know what methane is, thanks. That said, are you into aliens, or is it more space? Or maybe just weird things that you wouldn't know how to explain? Huh. Kind of explains why you're so curious about me, doesn't it?

Neo scoops up more noodles, blowing on them lightly before gulping down a mouthful that would make her etiquette teachers die of mortification.

Either way, thanks. We don't really... have that kind of thing on Remnant. Mostly just fairy tales. Though all things considered, I don't think going into space would have been something we'd consider. I mean... what if there were even weirder, more fucked up Grimm up there? They're bad enough on the planet.

Making sure to swallow her noodles again before she 'laughs', Neo shakes her head, pausing to take a drink. She has to give Chuuya credit- this is the best time she's had in ages- and she genuinely can't remember the last time someone made her actually want to laugh like this.

Or maybe we were just too dumb to realize that was the only way to escape them.

The silent contemplation just gives him time to enjoy his food, even if he's still subtly watching her just a bit. Not enough to be obnoxious about it, but enough to measure that she's weighing what she wants to say and how to say it.

All valid, really, considering he imagines falling between worlds isn't exactly some common, simple thing. At least, he doubts it is. There's probably some kind of complexity to it.

At the very least, there is plenty and plenty of of theorem on the concept of alternate worlds or other habitable planets, so on that front, his mind is open to many explanations.

Even if, on a standpoint of experience, most things can still be explained from a framework of Abilities.

Most things, except the one thing that comes closest to maybe, possibly, being a genuine alien. Not unless Dazai was wrong about there being no exceptions to his Ability.

Pocket dimensions, he can accept as real. He'd seen that ex-spy Randou create one in front of his very eyes, much as he'd prefer not to think about that. He'd been stuck for a while inside the space-time contradiction that was Guivre's body, for a time, and by all rights he never should have managed to escape alive if not for Adam. There was also that girl formerly from the Guild who was able to make an alternate dimension to trap people in that the Boss had gathered intelligence on personally.

So some kind of pocket void dimension? Okay, he can kind of accept that without too much trouble, even if there's still clearly pieces missing, though he's not completely sure if its for omission's sake or if Neo doesn't completely understand it either.

He chews on Neo's words a moment along with a prawn from his seafood noodles, trying to conceptualize all that she's telling him in his head.

The bit about being betrayed is... admittedly something he can sympathize with, if for entirely different reasons, and he recalls her hinting at something of that nature before.

"Yeah, I can understand that much."

At her question, he gives her a glance before sitting back a moment, and slips a phone from his pocket.

"Nah, it's not stupid. I figure there has to be some differences. An alien is like... basically anything not from this planet. Most pop fiction makes them out to be like little green men with big-ass bug eyes and even bigger heads that travel around outer space in flying discs. People usually call 'em UFOs... Unidentified Flying Objects."

He showed her pictures, some of the little green men, and some monsters of truly nightmarish imagination.

"At least that's how it started out, but you can find all kinds of interpretations of aliens now. They're a real popular subject. Octopi are a pretty popular base to model off of."

Considering that THING he met, he'd started to wonder since then if there wasn't actually something to that.

"Mostly it all just exists in the realm of science-fiction. No one's really proven that anything like them exists... not for certain anyway. From what we know, space is mostly just a lot of giant floating rocks and balls of burning gas," he points up at the sun. "Not much of anything in the way of life out there except maybe microorganisms and other simple life, and theorists say some of it probably isn't even on other planets, but on moons orbiting them, like there are some planets in our solar system further out that have moons they think are frozen on the surface but might have an ecosystem of liquid methane oceans underneath-- ...ah, methane is a flammable chemical gas that occurs naturally from the decay or burning of organic bio-mass, everything from bacteria to plants to animals... and it can be refined into usable gas for things like stove-tops, but it can also be dangerous and cause explosions if mishandled, like if you don't know there's a gas leak and set off a match, since methane is colorless and odorless."

He might be over-explaining... or not explaining enough. He's not sure which, really, but he's at least trying to make sure everything he says makes sense.

"Suffice to say, we don't really know exactly what sort of creatures would live in liquid methane but... considering just how weird shit gets at the bottom of the ocean around here, wouldn't be surprised if it was freaky as shit."

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Stan found an old woman in an alley and for some reason decided to check on her

She grabbed his arm with startling strength and whispered something he couldn't understand then died

What he doesn't know is she was the dying Moon Guardian and used the last of her strength to declare him the new Guardian of the Moon

So there's two ways for this to go, both funny for their own reasons.

First, this a nonsense title with real consequences. Stan's the guardian of the moon the same way people buy stars in that it does nothing for him but other people are still after him about it. Stans guarding the moon guardian title and he's just a guy with a car and a mullet.

I'm thinking like, demons and cultists are chasing Stan down for whatever meager power holding this title has. Stan's on the run and has no idea why they want this guardian status when all it does is get him chased. Don't have a solid idea of where this would go, I just find it amusing to think about Stan relieving this title and then getting Problems without any bonuses about it.

Second is the exact opposite where Stan's the Guardian of the Moon and no one cares. Like, every thing goes exactly the same as canon, but Stan goes and does Guardian things. What things? I have no idea. Drawing a blank there actually, I just, again, am amused about old man Stan going to do 'moon Guardian things' in his free time. Like comes through a glowing portal into the kitchen where Fords sneaking coffee in the middle of the night post portal and just waves Ford off because 'yeah yeah I'm the Guardian of the Moon, it's not a big deal Sixer'.

What does a moon Guardian do? Guard the moon. From what? Moon threats.

[fountainpenguin]

Past Life Ep. 4 - Etho POV

My second watch for this session, after Grian.

sdljkf, Scar's favorite bit about the octo-kill has been "Etho's been showing off to the ladies and Grian," and he just said that joke in front of Etho, who went "what" in the most under-the-breath nervously shocked/amused tone I've ever heard. Love that for him.

I like how Etho went from yelling "You were just a rebound!" at Jimmy to being confused about flannel shirts in 2 seconds.

Etho, over and over: Rebound! It didn't mean anything! Scott: Etho, you're sounding a bit jealous. Bdubs, to Jimmy: I didn't- I didn't know that you dressed like this on the usual, though, so now I'm kind of a little turned off, to be quite honest.

Geez, Bdubs ended his previous episode swinging (claiming that he was grumpy all day because he was PMSing) and he's starting this one off with equal energy. Love that for him. why is he this kind of person.

Jimmy: Are you trying to dress me now?? Is that what you're trying to do? Etho: This is a toxic relationship right here. Bdubs: The fishnets are throwing me for a loop- and the high boots.

Fascinating. Filing this away...

Etho: BigB, what's the haps? BigB: Anyone want to play King of the Ladder and DIE??

Scar: Here, let's go to the secret corner over here and I'll tell you I'm the boogey.

sdklfj... I don't even have a joke for this.

Always a fun time hearing Etho discuss his old pranks and traps from back in the day. I'd love to see an Etho win this season; it'd be so funny.

Mumbo in Joel's body: How's it going? Etho: Joel??

Crying, on the floor, devastated by Jimmy being the one to call out Mumbo for "not being Tango" and now Etho is out here unconvinced that Mumbo is Joel. Soulmates can see through even the Fourth Wall, ig... (Bonus shout-out to Limited Life Joel repeatedly calling Lizzie "Lizzie" while she was in Pearl's body, despite his best efforts not to... He love his wife).

Etho: You know what would really make me think it's Joel... is if I heard the classic [clears throat].

^ Is he STILL going on about the tiger chuff?

OH, and then Mumbo NAILS IT and Scott and Bdubs are both thoroughly convinced (in character) they're looking at Joel.

Scar: Why don't you give him something on the neck, Joel? Give him something on the neck. Mumbo in Joel's body: Of course, of course! [Approaches Etho in a crouch and makes kissy sounds]

Had to pause immediately... Me staring into the void because I made my post on Thursday about Etho being on team "Joel is the giver of neck kisses" while all his friends are on team "Etho is the giver of neck kisses"... When I unpause, is Etho going to call him out? Is he gonna go with it to keep up his side of the story despite all their friends always painting Etho as the neck kiss giver... If I know Etho, he's going to recognize it's "wrong," but it aligns with the version of the neck kisses story he always presents to their friends, so he's going to like that part.

There are some serious lore implications here of Episode 2 Mumbo remarking that he "forgot who he was playing" (when Martyn teased him for acting like Gem) and now Mumbo's back in someone else's body, pretending he's Joel but possibly not doing it well enough to slip under Etho's radar... Let's find out.

OF COURSE, OF COURSE- It's Etho; of course-

Etho, scrambling backwards: WHOA, NOOO- WHOOOOAAAA-OH-OH. Scar: That's too much; okay that's too much- Etho: I don't know about this! Mumbo: Is that more than-? Is that more than I would normally do-? ... I've always wanted to do that. Scar: I've just never heard sound effects before- Scott: Yeah... Etho: That's like, obsessive and fanning at the same time. I don't know. It's like you combined two people into one there.

Love that for them. You go, funky ninja dude. I'm not gonna make the SnifferMyFeet joke, I'm not gonna make it-

Hey, anyone want to talk about how Mumbo and Grian canonically share a soul, or... No? Just me? ok.

Scott: Then you got killed by Etho. Etho came in. Your Boat Boy came in. Mumbo, who just remembered he's supposed to be playing a character who's mad at Etho: ETHO??? Etho: [nods a lot] Mumbo: You DID do that to me! Etho: Yeah, I did. Yeah. Mumbo: HUH! Yeah! And I just kissed you on the neck tenderly! That's just so wrong. Etho, trying not to crack up: You did give me neck kisses; that's true.

It's the total lack of hesitation from Mumbo that gets me... He is so on the dot with his humor every time I see him. What a guy.

THERE IT IS! Etho pushing his "Joel is the neck kisser" agenda because he is stubborn. Nobody ever believes him, but I respect his commitment to the bit.

Etho, in response to Mumbo's attempt to retract his kisses: The Joel I know neck kisses everybody, though. Just, he just- He loves it so much - It doesn't matter - He just goes for it.

I'm pretty sure I have never once seen this man budge on this. I'll never see everything he does, but I don't think I've seen him veer from his claim that Joel is the one who kisses him, even when everyone else is saying Etho is the one who likes giving neck kisses. I can't get over him. why are they.

I like how this is followed by Etho dumping sand on Joel's head, trying to bury him alive.

Sigh... Then there's Impulse, who can take me out with a single line drop any time he wants.

Etho, in regards to the Gluten Guys selling bread: GMO gluten. GMO. Impulse: No GMO... I don't even know what that means. Etho: And full of pesticides, too. Impulse: Nuh-uh. Organically farmed. We stomp on them a little bit; there's no pesticides.

Why are you advertising the stomping, I CAN'T-

Etho: I saw you steal it from poor little villagers over there. Impulse: We saw it first. Etho: It's not even homegrown. Impulse: We saw it first.

Imagine going to a bakery and everything that's sold looks suspiciously like it belongs to the bakery next door...

It always makes me laugh when everyone stays in character and calls a possessed person by their name... Scar talking about how they left Joel in a hole when that is obviously Mumbo, et cetera... It gets me every time. I keep expecting them all to mess up more often than they do, but most seem to do it fluidly. Exception being Limited Life Joel who could not say "Pearl" instead of "Lizzie" when hearing his wife's voice.

Absolute comedy: Etho pretending Bdubs is a boogeyman, and helpfully removing ladders from the Villies' base so he can trap Gem on the bottom floor. Gem calmly walks out the door that Etho didn't know was there.

Etho: We've got to give something to Gem, because we wasted her time. Gem: I want to be in a confined space with you so little right now, it's actually insane.

Why did Etho ALSO know Grian made a baby... He just hears "New Square Hole" and instantly goes "Square Hole BABY??" Grian, what are you doing...

I know Etho's not obligated to tell his teammates what's in his inventory, but I couldn't help but notice that Scott gave everyone three golden apples, and Etho immediately turned to the crafting table and crafted a 4th without sharing or admitting he has four. Watch out, card counters...

Scott is such a menace... He's not direct, but he acts nice to your face and steals things behind your back. rude.

Etho: Can I get you sworn to secrecy, Martyn? Martyn: I mean, I think I can already put 2 & 2 together. It's 7, and I can't keep a secret.

Outstanding. This is what I'm talking about, people.

I'm glad Etho's still trying to use banana as a codeword. It's been like 7 seasons.

I like how Scott's trying to start drama with Gem by telling her the Rejects are in a band... He is having Gem & the Scotts flashbacks...

Scaaaaar, killing Bdubs AGAIN despite saying he desperately did not want to because he's already done so many times and that's his teammate.

Shout-out to Etho walking into the Villies' Lighthouse and setting his spawn in the bed Gem showed him, no hesitation. I know he did team with her and Grian last week, but... Etho. Come on, man.

-> Nvm, he went upstairs and admitted he thought it was a trap. I can't believe he didn't click on the Villies' bed also.

I like how Cleo went from "You SUCK, Etho!" to Etho giving them advice on how to make their build more menacing, followed by silence and Cleo agreeing. Perfect.

It's very funny watching Etho's episode after Grian's because apparently Scott knew the arena was rigged to blow.

Etho at the start of the episode blaming Canadian ping for his slowness vs. Etho at the end blaming his "old man reflexes"... You know what that is? Growth.

-> The fact that this is followed by Etho shouting to Scott before the creeper blows him up (Something I did not catch in Grian's POV) is hilarious.

Oh GEEZ, I actually missed that Mumbo failed to turn keep inventory on and all of Joel's diamond gear, etc. got blown up by Tango's trap... ruh-roh.

Okay, I like Grian adding the rule that "voluntary sacrifices do not cure the curse." That feels right. This is a game about BETRAYAL!

WAIT, Etho STOLE Joel's stuff before it could blow up? And gave it to his teammates? skldjf... I have nothing else to say.

The top comment on Etho's POV is someone (Letaxo) with this: "Gotta say, I love Ethos dedication of always using the skin he used in each specific version. It's the details <3" - Incredible. gg

[screwpinecaprice]

In the mood for a matching aesthetic, I guess?

PS: There is nothing burning in the background. That's suppose to be implied sunset.

[camellcat]

I'm rewatching s1 again and I think it's so fucking funny how much every other doctor except nine absolutely hates guns. nine is SO excited to shoot that goddamn dalek. he is READY he is DOWN he is soooo for it. he points a gun at rose tyler and doesn't even think about it until she scolds him for it.

and then in bad wolf where he's incredibly comfortable about holding that big ass blaster. never gets onto jack about parading around with them either. just does not bat an eye. in fact he is threatening people with it, even if it is a farce.

the others would NEVER lol

[kthologue]

the end times — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo satoru thinks he’s going to die because you’re giving him the silent treatment. (aka your first big fight with gojo).

contents. hurt/comfort, ooc, lovesick!gojo, you give him the silent treatment and he goes crazy, he is so pathetic in this one, tw obsessive behavior (he makes it EVERYONE’S problem), gojo’s pov

notes. loosely inspired by that one scene from yakuza fiance. not proofread whats new

Gojo knows he’s screwed up the second he steps into the common area of Jujutsu Tech’s dormitory. The air feels thick, wrong. And then there’s you, curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, but your eyes aren’t moving.

His grin falters for half a second before he masks it with his usual bravado. “I always knew you had a little freak in you, but reading your erotic books out in the open? Who knew my girl was such a perv.”

The joke usually earns him a laugh, a shove, maybe even a teasing retort. But tonight, the silence that follows is deafening.

The pit in his stomach grows.

“Sweetheart?” He tries again, waving a hand obnoxiously close to your face.

You finally react, swatting his hand away, but there’s no playfulness in the motion. Your eyes don't even meet his.

“You’re late,” you say flatly, still staring at your book. “Again.”

Gojo scoffs, irritation bubbling. Not at you, never at you, but at the damn book that’s getting more attention than him.

“Ah, you know how it is. Got held up in Kyoto,” he says with a shrug.

The words leave his mouth too easily. He doesn’t realize his mistake until you finally, finally look at him.

And it’s nothing like usual.

There’s no warmth in your gaze, no sparkle of amusement or exasperation. Instead, you pin him with a look so sharp it strips him bare, leaving nothing but the hollow weight in his chest.

“You missed our date.”

His breath catches. His throat goes dry. “I–”

“I’m not mad about that.”

Relief floods him too fast, too soon. His shoulders sag as he leans down, tilting his head for a well-earned kiss. “You’re the best. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

You pull away before he can touch you.

Gojo freezes.

“[Name]?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You know, it’s funny.”

There’s nothing funny about this moment.

His pulse thrums as you continue, voice eerily steady. “That your mission was in Kyoto. I mean, we have a whole sister school there, full of sorcerers ready to handle a first-grade threat. So why would they need you, specifically?”

His stomach drops.

He’s never been good at guilt, not when he’s spent his whole life believing he’s untouchable. But now, standing before you, unable to meet your eyes, it sits heavy in his gut.

And you don’t let up.

“Of course, I asked around. Thought maybe I was overthinking it.” A humorless scoff escapes you. “Imagine my surprise when I found out my boyfriend was too busy meeting with his future bride.”

Gojo’s mouth opens, but for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s–” he starts, then stops because, shit, you’re staring at him like he’s a stranger. Like he’s someone you can’t trust. The realization makes his stomach churn.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” you say bitterly, arms crossing as you lean back into the couch. “I mean, I’d love to hear how you were going to explain this one, Gojo Satoru.”

Full name. That’s how he knows he’s really fucked up.

“It’s not–It’s not what you think,” he says quickly, voice unusually hoarse. His usual bravado, his charm, none of it is coming to him. He doesn’t even know where to start. “I wasn’t–I wasn’t hiding it. I just–”

“You just forgot to tell me that your clan is arranging a marriage for you?” you cut in sharply. “That slipped your mind?”

“No! Yes—Fuck, that’s not what I mean,” he groans, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s never felt like this before. Like he’s scrambling for footing on uneven ground. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter, sweetheart. I wasn’t ever going to go through with it. You know that, right?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Do I? I mean, Suguru seemed shocked when I didn’t know that these were recurring dates set by your clan.”

Gojo falters.

“You didn’t even think to tell me, Satoru,” you say, voice quieter now, but somehow even more devastating. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

His heart clenches. That’s not–God, that’s not what this is.

“Of course you deserve to know! But I—” he exhales sharply, trying to gather his words. “I just—Fuck, I thought it was stupid. I thought it wasn’t worth mentioning.”

You shake your head, looking almost tired now. “Right. Because I’m just supposed to assume you’d never go through with it. After your multiple dates with her. Because I’m supposed to read your mind, just like always.”

The weight of your words crashes into him, and Gojo suddenly realizes that this isn’t just about Kyoto. This isn’t just about one lie, one mistake. This is about every time he’s brushed things off, every time he’s let silence speak for him, every time he’s sat through those excruciating meetings, knowing he would never go through with it, but never once thinking about how it would feel for you to find out this way. This is about every time he’s expected you to just get him without him ever having to say a word.

This is about how, even after everything, you still don’t know how much he loves you.

And now, looking at you, Gojo is terrified that he’s already lost his chance to prove it.

“I’m going to sleep,” you stand up from your place on the couch. 

Gojo tries to follow you, “Listen, baby–”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I need some space.” you turn around to send him a teary glare and that stops him in his tracks. He had never seen you cry. And it tore him apart knowing that he was the cause. 

The sound of your door slamming echoes in Gojo’s mind. 

Gojo Satoru is the first one in class the next day.

He drums his fingers against the desk, restless in a way he can't explain, but he knows it has everything to do with the fact that he spent the entire night not sleeping. His mind was too busy replaying the way you had looked at him, no, the way you hadn’t looked at him.

He had left you alone and upset. He had made you feel like you were second to someone else. And worst of all, he hadn’t even realized it until it was too late.

“This must be a first.”

Gojo glances up as Suguru enters, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Gojo Satoru, on time? It must be the end times.”

He knows it’s a joke, but it might as well be the end times. Gojo doesn’t respond, just presses his lips into a thin line as he goes back to mentally reciting the apology speech he’s been revising in his head all night.

Then the shoji door slides open again.

You walk in with Shoko, your head tilted slightly as you whisper something to her, something he’ll never get to hear because you don’t so much as glance in his direction. Instead, you take a seat at the farthest desk, as if he isn’t even there.

A part of him withers away.

But Gojo Satoru isn’t one to give up.

If words won’t get your attention, he’ll just have to be Gojo Satoru about it. He leans back in his chair and stretches obnoxiously, before loudly exclaiming, “Yaga-sensei! Are those grey hairs from your recent divorce?”

He grins, waiting for the familiar sound of your laugh, for that little shake of your head, for you to scold him like always.

But you don’t even look at him.

Instead, he’s met with Geto and Shoko’s twin expressions of abject horror, and before he has a chance to register what’s happening–

BAM!

Yaga’s palm collides with his head, sending him face-first into his desk.

Even through the throbbing pain, he can only think about one thing.

You didn’t even react.

“And how exactly is she ignoring you?”

Shoko’s grumpy voice echoes through the morgue, where she’s been attempting to practice her technique. She’s clearly unimpressed that Gojo Satoru has decided to spam-call her instead of dealing with his own problems.

“She’s ignoring me, Shoko,” Gojo groans dramatically from the other side of the Jujutsu Tech campus, rubbing the fresh bump on his head as he stands in front of your door. “I’ve been knocking for an hour. She’s in there. I know she’s in there, but she won’t answer.”

“Maybe she finally got tired of your bullshit,” Shoko says dryly. “Honestly, I don’t know why it took her this long to hold you accountable. She’s let your bad behavior slide for way too long.”

“Why are we talking about me like I’m some kind of dog?!”

Shoko ignores him.

“From the sound of it, you really messed up. I mean, who keeps a marriage a secret from their girlfriend?” She pauses, then adds with a smirk in her voice, “Oh, right. You.”

Gojo groans, pressing his forehead against your door. “You and I both know that’s not what happened. But she doesn’t. And she won’t even give me the time of day to explain.”

Shoko sighs. “Give her time to cool down.”

“And what, let her decide she wants to run off and marry some other guy? Move to a cute little beach town in Enoshima, start a family, have three kids, and leave all Jujutsu sorcery behind?”

There’s a long pause before Shoko makes a disgusted sound. “O-oi. Keep your weirdly detailed fantasies to yourself.”

“I’m just being realistic,” he insists, clutching his flip phone dramatically.

Shoko promptly hangs up on him.

Gojo stares at the device for a moment before slowly lowering it, exhaling hard.

Then he rests his head against your door again, defeated.

But Gojo Satoru was never one to admit defeat, so he tries again. He returns to your door the very next morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“[Name]!” he chirps. “I bought us some parfait! Let’s talk things over, yeah?”

Silence.

Not even the sound of movement.

But Gojo Satoru is not easily discouraged.

So Gojo Satoru comes again the next morning.

“[Name]!” he knocks again, this time balancing a slice of strawberry cake in one hand. “This is all my fault, so come out and let me apologize properly!”

Nothing.

Gojo sighs, leaning against the doorframe, about to knock again when—

Your phone rings.

His breath catches as he presses his ear to the wood.

“Hi, Suguru?”

His heart stops.

“Yeah, we’re still on for the movie. I’m just about to leave right now.”

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru understands what people mean when they say they feel like they’ve been punched in the gut.

Because you’re going to Suguru.

You’re not just ignoring him, you’re choosing someone else.

His fingers twitch at his sides as a feeling he doesn’t like at all creeps into his chest. It’s something ugly, something unfamiliar. Something that feels a lot like jealousy. Was that how you felt?

He wants to knock again, wants to demand that you open the door, look at him, let him fix this before you walk away from him any further.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he presses his lips into a thin line, shoves his hands into his pockets, and forces himself to step away from your door.

Forces himself to give you the space you deserved.

You don’t know why you relent so easily.

You shouldn’t. Not after the way he lied, the way he kept something so important from you.

And yet, when you hear him pacing outside your door, his nervous energy practically seeping through the walls, you feel something crack.

He’s been outside your room for the nth time this week. Every day, like clockwork, he’s knocked. Brought your favorite snacks. Talked to you through the door, filling the silence with his ridiculous banter, even when you refused to answer.

You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your blanket a little tighter. You should stay angry. But you can't.

You sigh, pressing your forehead to your knee.

Maybe it’s time to stop punishing the both of you.

With a deep breath, you stand, crossing the room to the door. When you open it, Gojo nearly stumbles forward, mid-step in his pacing.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and filled with so much desperate hope it makes your chest ache.

And the way his face lights up like you’ve just handed him the entire world tells you that, maybe, you were never going to be able to stay mad at him forever.

But you’re here, leaning on your door frame with your arms crossed, your nails digging into your skin as you glare at the man who has spent the last ten minutes tripping over his words, looking wrecked in a way you’ve never seen before. His hair is messier than usual, lips are parted like he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know where to start.

Finally, you scoff, breaking the silence. “If you don’t have anything to say, I’m going back into my room.”

“No!,” Gojo steps forward instinctively, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. And after everything, he is. “I screwed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “Oh, really?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, I really fucked up.”

Silence.

You should say something. You should demand an explanation, yell, maybe even cry, but you’re so tired. You’ve spent days twisting yourself into knots over this, convincing yourself you never meant as much to him as he did to you.

And then Gojo says it.

“I should’ve told you.” His voice is hoarse. “I should have told you after the first meeting. After the first second they brought it up.” He swallows hard. “But I was stupid. I thought if I ignored it, if I went through the motions, if I waited for the right moment… then it wouldn’t matter. That it would be over before you ever had to know.”

You shake your head, letting out a hollow laugh. “Satoru, do you even hear yourself? Do you get what it was like for me to find out from someone else? To hear that the person I–” you cut yourself off, but the damage is done. You see it in the way his breath hitches, in the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you.

“The person you what?” he asks softly, pleading.

You clench your jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

Your shake your head. “You lied to me.”

“I know,” he says, and the sheer brokenness in his voice makes your throat tighten. “I know, sweetheart. And I swear to you that I never meant to. I never wanted to hurt you.” he exhales shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear on everything, I was never going to go through with it. I never even showed up to any of the dates, so they kept ambushing me under the guise of missions! I sat through every single one of those goddamn meetings thinking about how ridiculous it was, how there was only ever one person I wanted.”

He stops himself, inhaling sharply.

And then, quieter, almost afraid:

“How there’s only ever you.”

The words hit you like a fist to the chest.

Gojo watches you carefully, breathless, waiting. Hoping. He’s given you the truth, raw and unfiltered, and now it’s up to you.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in his world that makes you believe him.

For the first time in a week, your lips find his, and Gojo swears he can finally breathe again. The warmth of your palm against his cheek, the way your fingers curl slightly as if grounding yourself in him. It’s enough to make him melt.

"You’re so insufferably cheesy, Satoru," you murmur against his lips, your breath warm, teasing. "It makes me so angry that I love it." A pause, a soft exhale. "But I forgive you."

His grin is instant, smug and shameless. "That was good, huh?" He tilts his head, cerulean eyes twinkling. "I’m willing to bet your heart skipped a beat."

You roll your eyes, but you kiss him again, slower this time, because, damn it, he’s right.

extra!

“I demand some extra loving!” Satoru sprawls dramatically across your bed, limbs hanging off the edge like a defeated king.

You barely spare him a glance, flipping a page in your book as you lie comfortably on your stomach. “And why, exactly, do you deserve that?”

He lifts his head, pouting. “I deserve it after a week’s worth of psychological trauma. Don’t think I forgot that you ditched me for Suguru.”

“Oh… that.”

“Yeah. That.” His voice is thick with exaggerated betrayal.

You finally look at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “It was a fake phone call, Satoru. You were just so insufferable camping outside my door that I had to make up an excuse.”

His jaw drops. “Huh?!”

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 31st. tom riddle — breeding kink, raw sex.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom has a dream about fucking you raw, and decides it’s time he ditches the self-restraint.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, needy tom riddle, fingering, slight begging, desperate sex, PIV, creampie, incoherent babbling/dirty talk, breeding kink, literally the most feralized and needy and pathetic tom i have ever written .

You wake up to the feeling of Tom at your back, sometime within the early hours of the morning. 

Not an unusual occurrence, per say, but you're vaguely aware of the fact that the desperate way he's gripping your waist and pressing against you isn't just par for the course—something's off—and you don't get to wonder or question what exactly it is because within a second he's pressing his lips to your neck, murmuring your name, and stealing your cognitive function before you even get the chance to wake. 

"What—" you manage to get out, just as his hand slides up the front of your shirt and his lips continue mouthing against your neck. 

"Hm?" He murmurs, as if he's doing nothing unusual, as if you aren't completely aware he's pressed up against you like an animal in heat.

"Are you," you're struggling to get the words out as his lips graze the spot on the nape of your neck that makes your breath catch. "Okay?" 

He stills for a moment at that, before he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat, as if the question is almost funny somehow. "Should I not be?"

"I just...mmf—" a whole body shudder goes through you as his hand reaches the underside of your breasts; palming, squeezing. "You seem—different." 

"Different," he echos against your neck with a smile. "In what way?"

"Uh, needier—oh," his hand slips from your chest to the front of your pyjama pants, grinding his erection against your ass. "What's—gotten into you—"

"You, of course," he husks, and the fact that he can be cocky while he's practically pinning you to his chest is the perfect bloody summary of him. "Who else?"

"Well—I mean—" the words leave your lips in a hissing moan as his hand, that beautiful, steady hand—slips under your waistband and wastes no time in finding your clit, long fingers swirling tight little circles against it. "What—ohhh—" 

"You do know that you're asking way too many questions," he whispers, teeth nipping at your ear lobe as he runs his index and middle fingers down your slit. "I'd rather you be moaning my name as opposed to doing a million cross-examinations on my behaviour."

Well, that certainly shuts you up, at least on the verbal side of things—because the gasp that leaves your lips is not entirely something you can control, considering the fact that you're suddenly very aware of just how badly he seems to need you right now.

"I think that was progress," he croons between open-mouthed kisses, absentmindedly making you shiver and jerk as his fingers resume rubbing and massaging your clit. "Good girl." 

You whimper faintly at that, and you wish you could hate the way you react to the praise on principle only—but that's kind of hard to do when it's him, and he's doing the praising in the first place. So instead, you just try to keep any kind of higher brain function intact, regardless of it being a losing battle at this point.

"I just need you," he practically groans, and it's the strangest thing to hear him say when he's usually just fine being all smug and self-composed. "I need to feel you, now."

It's the closest thing to him pleading that you think you've ever heard, and the guttural moan you let out as he slips one of those long slender fingers inside your embarrassingly slick cunt is the closest thing to feral as you're sure you've ever been. 

"Need," you whimper as your hips jerk, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it's a sound you've made and not some kind of vocal fry of his. "Need me, why?" 

He doesn't answer right away, not in words—just sucks your earlobe into his mouth in a way that makes you want to scream. "You're not usually this difficult." 

"M'tired." The argument is weak, at best, but you're not exactly in any kind of frame of mind to try and make sense of the situation. "And you're—intense—"

"Yes," he murmurs, that smug tone still needling your eternal irritation. "And if you must know, it really is because of you. I had a dream about you." He punctuates the sentence by slipping a second finger into your slick heat, and you barely manage to keep a whimpering moan inside that you just know he would love to hear. "Fuck. It was a beautiful dream." 

He bites at your ear again, and it occurs to you that the desperate edge to his voice might have something to do with just how good the dream of you felt—or how badly he'd clearly wanted it to be real. 

You suddenly need to hear every goddamn detail. 

"Felt you for once, without protection," he tells you, as if reading your mind, and you whimper at what you're pretty sure is a pretty profound confession. "Even better than I thought you'd feel—fuck—"

"You're not the only one who's thought about that," you manage to get out, and you're not even being coy about it—at this point you're simply trying to deal with the realization that Tom Riddle having a wet dream about you is apparently enough to turn you into a pathetic, drooling mess. "But you are the one who's always been insistent on using condoms."

Oh, the low growl he lets out at that is a dangerous sound—it's low and guttural and it makes you realize that there's a very real chance this is going to go somewhere you might have trouble walking away from. 

"Yes, well," he pauses, and you can practically feel the fire in his eyes. "I'm just realizing I might have been a bit of a fool."

"You, admitting you're a fool?" You somehow give a half-assed scoff at the idea as you try to hold onto your sanity. "I think hell just froze over."

He laughs at that—actually laughs, and it does strange things to your insides to have it directed at you. 

"Maybe I'm just in a very specific sort of mood." 

"Oh?" You manage to raise an eyebrow. "And what kind of mood is that?"

"The kind of mood," he says, in an almost growl that you're trying to interpret through the haze of trying not to moan, "where I throw all reason out the window. The kind of mood where I forget all self-restraint."

"That's a dangerous thing, coming from you," you choke out, because that is true, but you're only half-thinking through your words before you say them, half your brain stolen by the curling of his fingers inside you, massaging your slick walls. "You don't usually—"

"Never," he cuts you off, like he's fully aware of just how different this is and trying not to admit it. "Until you."

Well, you don't know what to say to that—because you know him, and you know he doesn't usually lose himself in things like this, not like he's apparently doing now. 

"Oh?" You gasp, as his thumb sweeps over your clit, making your eyes roll. "So I've made you reckless." 

His answer comes in the form of a low, grunting sound of agreement, his grip on your body shifting a bit as he pulls you back tighter to his chest, rutting his erection against your ass. 

"You've done more than that," he murmurs with a sigh right in your ear as his slick fingers slip out to draw wet little circles against your clit. "Fuck it. I need to feel you—please, let me fuck you right. No protection."

Oh sweet Mother of Merlin.

There were a lot of words in that sentence that you were fucking sure, just a minute ago, were entirely out of the question for him. Not a soul on god’s green earth could have prepared you for the feeling that utterance just invoked—and you can't help but let out a helpless, wanton groan in response—his fingers driving you directly to the very edge of climax—

"I need a word out of you," he grits, and you realize then that you're both at the mercy of something he can only half control as he ruts against you again, his fingers slowing as if he's edging you— "please." 

You wish you could give him something teasing, snarky, maybe even witty. Something to needle him for just how beside himself he is, something to call him out for the feralized broken thing he's seemingly been reduced to. 

But you can't, because your climax is right there, and he's moving his fingers too slow, denying you of it on purpose—

"Yes," you whimper, the word like an answer to a prayer you hadn't even known you were praying for, and you realize somewhere behind your consciousness that you're desperate and aching inside for so many reasons, all of them because of him. "Please, fuck. Please, do it—I need—to cum—"

And at those words—that plea—the need in them, there's no stopping the sound that tears itself out of his throat, and before you can even think he's jerking your pyjama pants off your thighs—

"Wanna feel it—" he hisses as he frees himself next, tugging you against him and lifting your thigh toward your head. "Need to feel you cum when I'm inside you."

Oh, and at this point you're begging that you'll survive this. 

You're at his mercy, as you've been before, but in a completely different way—one that seems to be fueled by whatever animalistic thing is driving him today, and you're left with no defense besides the knowledge that he's doing this because if he didn't, he may just lose his goddamn mind. 

And for as much trouble you generally get into by enjoying him being cocky and in control of the narrative, this—this is something you've never once experienced. Tom on the edge of falling completely apart in his need for you, desperation and need taking a front seat to his usual restraint and control.

He's between your thighs before you can blink, and then he's pushing in. "Oh, fuck."

It's a sensation that's completely different when there's no barrier between you, and you're pretty sure that if it wasn't for the fact that the animal in his chest has risen to the surface, taking you by the throat, you would have gasped out in a moan so loud it woke the entire fucking country—but somehow, someway, you manage to tame it. 

His face buries in the crook of your shoulder, and it's a sound of guttural relief as his breath goes shaky and unsteady right in your ear.

"Feels so good," he whispers as he sinks in—as his thick, throbbing dick disappears into your greedy cunt. "Too good."

'Too good' feels like the exact wrong thing to say right now, at least in your mind, because you're pretty sure you'll take the fact that this feels so good you're scared it might kill you to your grave. 

"Oh my god." You manage to get out the words through the haze, and you're barely even sure what you're saying, your head thrown back against his shoulder, his arm coming up to wrap around your throat. "Oh my god, Tom." 

He responds with a shaky curse of your name, and you’re absolutely certain somewhere in you is exploding, something in your gut is coiled so tight it's like holding in the biggest possible secret of the world that you're desperate to scream to someone—

"So wet. So tight. I'm never starving myself of this again." It's a confession that steals your breath, and you struggle to keep breathing, struggling with trying to keep your world from spinning away as he starts to make shallow, languid thrusts into you, free hand slipping down to your clit. "Let me feel it. Let me feel it all."

You keen. "Fuck! Please."

It's the only word you can manage in a half-hysterical moan, your hand grabbing onto the one he's wrapped around your throat as if he's saving you from certain destruction, as if he's the only lifeline you'll ever find—and maybe, you think that's okay, because you're so used by him in so many ways that right now you don't even want another.

"T-tom—" his fingers swirl your clit in perfect time with his thrusts and you're clenching so tight your entire body is almost stiff. "Tommmm—I'm fucking—"

His teeth bite down on your shoulder with such ferocity you'd think he wanted it to bleed, and you're not even sure it's intentional as his body tenses against yours, tugging you back like he's trying to crush you into his chest. 

"Yes. Yes," he hisses again, and it's broken. "Please give it to me."

'Please give it to me' are the best five words you've ever heard from his mouth, you think with the quarter of your brain that’s still functioning—and it's like you've been waiting for permission without realizing it, because you feel fireworks going off behind your eyes a moment later. 

"Oh fuckk! Yes, yes, oh!" 

You cry out, so loud you'd be nervous about someone hearing you if the pleasure wracking your body wasn't so powerful you're pretty sure you're going to feel it all the way into next week—and there's a sound like something coming undone against your skin as his teeth dig deeper into your shoulder, a sound that's like a low, guttural moan of your name before he shutters something in half-broken words you're not even sure he's meant to.

"Oh yes—god, you're tight—fuck—"

You can't answer him, but it doesn't matter, because a moment later it's all painfully forgotten with the way he lets out another moan against your shoulder—

"That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. Just like that."

It's the pet name that does something to your insides, twisting them up in a way you can't quite parse through the haze, but it's enough in the moment to make tears prick unbidden at the corner of your eyes as he jerks against you, his breaths coming in shaky, heavy pants against your skin as his own climax draw closer, and there's no way this wasn't something you both needed that neither knew how to ask for. 

"Tom," you manage to whimper, and it sounds like a prayer of your own creation. "Tom—"

It's like he needed to hear you moan his name like that in a way that's primal—because in that moment his hand moves from your neck to your hair, and he clenches his fist into it, pulling, and it's enough to make a shattered moan force its way out of your chest and up to your throat. 

"M'close. Mmm. So fucking close," he hisses against your skin. "M'gonna—fill this tight cunt."

And god, it should be alarming, because you've always been careful, careful, careful—because you've always known the risks, the consequences, but right now you're having a hard time remembering why you ever thought it was a terrible, terrible idea to let him do this. 

"You're—Tom—you—"

"I know,” he groans, and it's like a plea, as if you're saying something out loud that he doesn't want to admit he knows— "just take it. Let me—fucking breed you."

There's a moment where your chest seems to constrict violently at that, where you're almost sure you must have a heart condition because it feels like skipping a beat is the under-explanation of the century, but it's gone as quickly as it came, and god if it wasn't as profoundly hot as you know it shouldn't be. 

“Jesus—Tom—“ there're a lot of things you know you should be saying, things you'd planned to say—or not do, as the case may be—but the only thing that leaves your lips at this moment is, “please."

And he doesn't know if it's a plea or a prayer, but either way it’s all the same because there’s no stopping the sound that leaves his lips as your answer sinks into his brain, as the meaning sinks into his bones: the low, guttural, primal sound of a man losing pieces of himself in something that he doesn't care to stop. 

"Oh—" he chokes out. "Oh god—"

It's like it's taking him like he wants it to, stealing him up in a way that both makes him feel both more whole than he's ever been and like he's lost more of himself than he can possibly cope with at every other moment all at once, and you're pretty damn sure you'll be the only thing that survives it, in the end— 

And then, he explodes. "Fuck—"

It's a choked-off sound that tears violently into the room without his permission, one that claws its way out of his chest and up his throat in a way that feels simultaneously like falling into and being pushed off of a cliff straight into oblivion—

"Mmm yes. Yes. Take it—" he's twitching inside you, hips trembling as he pumps his release deep within your walls. "Fuck. Fuck yes." 

There's a million and one responses to everything he's done and said in the last few minutes that dance on the tip of your tongue, but you're not entirely sure you have the mental capacity to do more than manage a shaky whimper at this point, and all you're even remotely sure you can do is respond to his own moans and gasps with ones of your own. 

"Tom," you whimper as he finally slows. As you both work to catch your breath. "I wish you had dreams like that more often."

He just laughs, a breathless, unsteady thing.

"That's my fucking girl." He mutters. "All mine."

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝐺𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑇𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑌𝑜𝑢

Warning: flirty talk, spicy vibes, and grown-up stuff. When Bakugo finds out she's inexperienced, he doesn’t judge… okay, he does, but he also volunteers real fast Part two

"Seriously?" Bakugo asked, voice still rough from sleep, like the words scratched his throat from how damn incredulous he was. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning in just enough to find your face in the shadows of the room, like he needed to see your eyes to actually believe it.

"Never? Like, never never? Not even a little?"

You turned your face away, dodging his gaze like that could somehow save you from the embarrassment. Heat bloomed from your neck to the tips of your ears. You crossed your arms, as if that could shield you from his expression—that dangerous mix of amusement and mischief that always made you feel stupidly vulnerable.

"Why the hell would I lie about that?" you snapped, defensive, curling slightly into yourself. "You think this is funny or what?"

"Nah, nah." Bakugo chuckled low, that raspy tone he used whenever he was about to say something you knew would piss you off. He flopped back onto the couch, head resting beside yours, and his hand—big, warm, sure—slid lazily over your waist, like this conversation wasn't actively setting your brain on fire.

"Shit..." he muttered, still smirking. "You're so fucking pure I feel like a goddamn degenerate just touching you."

You growled at him, like that could erase your existence from the conversation, but he only laughed harder.

"You're telling me you dated three dumbasses and none of them earned a blowjob? I don't know if I should give 'em a medal for being useless or thank 'em for leaving you untouched."

"You're sick," you muttered, a knot forming in your stomach—half nerves, half... something else you really didn't want to name out loud.

"I volunteer as tribute," he said suddenly, with that annoying confidence you hated and loved at the same time, leaning in just enough for his voice to brush against the skin under your ear. His warm breath made your skin prickle. "If you're gonna make your debut, better be with me. I'll train you, grade you, give you a final exam—whatever you need..."

You stared at him, horrified.

"Training?"

He raised an eyebrow, his grin totally out of control now. "Well, if you're gonna bite, better it be me. I’ve got high pain tolerance."

"Katsuki!"

"What? Gotta be ready. First-timers are like puppies—use their teeth for everything."

You covered your face with both hands, half-laughing, half-praying the couch would just open up and swallow you whole.

"No rhythm," he went on, completely unfazed, counting off on his fingers like he was listing groceries. "Forget to use their hands. Swallow air like they're training for a free diving comp. And that's if they don’t gag in the first sixty seconds."

"Shut up!" you laughed.

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Ever," he said, his voice dipping into something lower, serious.

You fell silent, caught off guard by the shift. His fingers moved softer now over your waist, more like comfort than teasing. Bakugo could be a dick, yeah. A world-class asshole. But sometimes—with you—he could be sweet, too.

"But if one day you do wanna try..." he smiled again, and his eyebrow arched in that smug way, "you know I’ll take one for the team."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet you’re dying for me."

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[apavora]

ANTAGONISM — MEETINGS

"Still mad?" "Missed me?" "Get out. Now." "Who let you in?!" "Why are you here?" "What do you want?" "Read my lips: no." "You don't scare me." "Hey, put that back!" "You are not welcome." "Move out of the way." "Don't be like that..." "Don't test me today." "Do you mind? I'm busy." "Don't come any closer." "Showing your face again?" "You expect me to apologize?" "I won't say it again: leave it." "You know I can't let you in." "I don't trust you to behave." "You being here is bad enough." "Have you nothing better to do?" "I thought you didn't trust me?" "I don't wanna deal with this…" "I'm not here as a favor to you." "Are you still holding a grudge?" "Your presence befouls this place." "Is there a… reason you're here?" "I didn't expect to find you here." "I should just kill you right now." "What more could you possibly want?" "Do you mind getting out of the way?" "Don't you have hobbies or something?" "You're threading a dangerous line…" "What? No open arms, no welcome back?" "Cut to the chase — why call me here?" "Do they just let anyone walk in here?" "How did you… the doors were locked!" "You're not sorry, don't even pretend." "You've chosen a bad day to bother me." "Come now, no need for such hostility." "Do you find amusement in harassing me?" "You being here is enough to ruin my day." "I don't care, you need to let me through." "You should have killed me… but you didn't." "So… standoffish. Am I not allowed to visit?" "You better have a good reason for ignoring me." "Here, I brought you something!" *Middle finger.* "Seeing your face sour at the sight of me is funny." "Is that what I am to you? An annoyance? A pest?" "Were you expecting me? What a… warm welcome." "No. Whatever you're about to ask, the answer is no." "Do you just think it's funny to get me into trouble?" "You think you can just walk in here after what you did?" "I'm not going to be intimidated into letting you through." "Doesn't matter what you say, I'm not doing you any favors." "You'll forgive me for being curt, but please, leave me alone." "Grow up. We can hate each other's guts and still do business." "I won't be held responsible for what I do if you don't get out of my face." "Isn't it funny that I'm right here and you can't do anything to me right now?"

[demonic0angel]

Dead Silent. One of the batfam ask Danny why he’s more clingy than his siblings and Danny just goes “huh??” Cuz he’s probably the LEAST clingy. Dan is Yandere Levels of clingy, Jazz is Ride or Die clingy, Dani is probably Stalker clingy, and don’t even get him started on their parents.

Danny, by comparison, is the normal one and I feel like that should be appreciated so much more.

(This is SO freaking funny and you're so right omg. It got long bc I got excited again lmaooo)

"You... you think I'm... clingy?!" Danny cried in shock, looking around for a camera. Were they serious? Was this actually real?

Duke said with a shrug, "Well... I mean, I always see you around Cass. We're just asking."

"I am literally the least clingy and the most normal out of my siblings."

Jason snorted from where he stood behind Tim's chair. Everyone was listening in but only Damian and Duke had the graciousness to not pretend that they weren't. Even Cass was staring, blinking as she was held in Danny's arms for a cuddle after the patrol.

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

Danny glared at him and pointed to his shadow, which stretched out beneath him from the Batcave's lights.

"One, the only reason she doesn't follow you around everywhere is because Jazz literally has Shadow following you whenever you go out." As he said this, two eyes blinked from within Jason's shadow and then disappeared just as quickly. "Two, she had all of your medical information on a file in her phone! And just information on you, period! Three, just yesterday, she blew up two ships and took down a trafficking ring by herself because she got reports that they put a hit on you! And don't even talk about how normal she is compared to me, because she definitely isn't! You just think she's a normal amount of clingy because the both of you have your brains rotted from romance novels!"

Jason made a face. It was one of great affront, grudging acceptance, and a wistful adoration. Danny couldn't even feel smug for proving him right because the look on his face was just disgusting.

Cass giggled from within his arms.

Dick opened his mouth and Danny pointed at him aggressively, clutching at Cass as he said, "You can't speak either! Dan is literally the most clingy out of all of us! You know what Jazz said?! He literally has abandonment issues and codependency!! Y'know what his name was before we came here?! It's "World Destroyer"! The only reason he hasn't done anything is because he really likes you and wants to spend most of his time watching you and keeping you safe instead of going around and causing destruction!"

Dick blinked. "But he also—"

"Wrong! He uses clones to do stuff while he keeps watch over you, and you're the only reason he has a moral code at all."

Dick made a considering face and then he smiled. "Aww, that's kinda cute. I didn't know he was so clingy."

Danny muttered to Cass, "Are you seeing this bullshit?"

She giggled again and patted at his arms that were wrapped around her neck.

Duke nodded, amusement on his face. "I see your point. But what about Dani? You're definitely clingier than her."

Danny made an error noise. "Nope! The entire Young Justice is codependent and clingy, so it just looks normal. And Dani just follows around Kon and Tim in intervals so you can't see either of them." He also grimaced at Tim, who was still working at the computer. "And Tim is already watching them, aren't you? You three are a bunch of freaks."

Tim looked up with a small smirk, much to Damian's audible disgust. "You got me there. I keep trackers and cameras on all of them. And Dani's usually just invisible."

Danny smiled triumphantly. "Hah! See? I'm the least clingy!"

There were murmurs of agreement and then Duke said, "I don't know, I think all four of you are clingy and weird."

Danny sulked. "No I'm not."

Duke gestured to all of him. "You're literally climbing Cass like a koala."

Okay, so his legs were wrapped around her waist and he was hanging onto her like a sticker, but so what? She didn't mind!

Cass snickered and said, "It's okay. He's light."

"Yeah, I'm light," grumbled Danny as he squeezed her.

Duke and Damian shared a look, as Duke said, "We should get out of here. Thank god these freaks are taken."

"Agreed. Thank goodness we are the most normal."

Now there were cries of outrage throughout the entire cave all over again.

[lingeriae]

"because you're my wife."

the voice is aggressive and harsh, which isn't unexpected because of the person it comes from, but the words have you feeling warm even with the possessiveness and aggression that comes off of it, it still has you face heating up and your eyes averting from his ruby red ones that seem to see right through you.

sukuna's fist is clenched and his body is tense as he stands in front of you, unknown and unwanted emotions flowing throughout his body, his heart beating rapidly and loudly in his ears—he wonders if he's having a heart attack at the moment. his swallows as he takes in your beautiful side-profile, light hitting your sun kissed skin just right, his fingers itch with the need to grip unto you. to take you.

his throat feels tight.

you’re stubborn, reckless—smart but reckless. it gets on his nerves, the way you don't seem to care about anything, not even yourself. your defiant, especially against him. don't follow rules, and go by what you think is right, and no one, not even him, can get in the way of what you think is right. and it's funny, you're just a mere human, a bothersome woman. sukuna could take your life easily, he has no doubt you would put up a fight, but he could kill you.

that was the plan all along, marry a member of the zenin clan, get the information needed, then kill them.

but things had changed, a lot of things changed since he met you. you made sukuna...feel things. you were different from all the members of that shitty clan, with your hair that rose towards the sun, always looking neat with the little curly coils and always feeling soft to the touch, you didn't cease to amaze sukuna with the little way you styled it and with the way you cared it so delicately.

your fierce glare that rarely left sukuna's gaze, never backing down even when he gave you the most deadliest of looks that had anyone else cowering, those same eyes that allow him to see how vunerable you are when you let him have his way with you and show him how you truly felt at times. those plumpy soft lips, full and round, they felt like heaven against his own when they overlapped. your sweet fucking voice, always finding something to cuss him out about, always saying his name in more ways than once. shit don't let him start on your fucking body.

you made sukuna feel things, give him this warm and nice feeling inside and it makes him sick. everything would go according to plan if you didn't make sukuna fall for you—if you weren’t so you. that's why he can't kill you,

and that's why he's so fucking upset.

with your arms crossed over your chest, you unintentionally make the male infront of you glance down at your supple breast that sits temptingly against your bra, you suck your teeth in annoyance still refusing to look at him. "i was your wife before, and it wasn't a problem." before, before he fell for you. before he got infactuated with you.

his jaw tightens and he grabs your chin, forcing you to stare into his eyes. "i said what i said, you’re not doing that shit. you're gonna get fucking killed."

you drag your hand from his grip as if you were burned, returning his equally intense gaze and ignoring the way your panties seem to cling unto you. drenched annoyingly with arousal. "don't talk to me like im a fucking child, ryomen."

sukuna’s head tilted in brief wonder and amusement, astonished that you would spit his last name out with such venom, knowing he could kill you in a second. knowing that not only was it his name but yours.

he lets out a bitter chuckle, "stop fucking acting like it."

it's a silent battle between you and him after that. both of you silently daring the other to look away as you continued to glare at each other—a silent battle between husband and wife. a war between two faith-fucked lovers.

sukuna huffs out a breath, shaking his head wildly before cradling your delicate and god-like face in his palm—akin to some form of desperation.

“what is it going to take? to prevent you from doing this to-to stop you from going on this fucking suicide mission?!” his voice almost cracks.

sukuna ryomen’s voice almost cracks.

your hand is so little in contrast to his. it has committed less cruelty and faced less harsh treatment compared to his, yet you place your hands over his and caress them with such gentleness. such tenderness and love.

and sukuna’s heart cracks at the words that left your lips, inhaling sharply as if he had been stabbed in the chest.

“there’s nothing you can do, you can’t stop me from doing this. nothing you do or say will change my mind and that’s final.”

the king of curses forgets how to breathe.

[celestiababie]

Cherry Vanilla | Clark Kent x Reader

Pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

Content: 1k words | fluff, undernotes of angst, but it's mainly just Clark being Clark and overthinking. Clark is also very shy and very much in love with reader, reader is kinda flirty, but they're both whipped let's be real. Reader knows Clark is superman, but they don't talk abou it. And they're not in a relationship but not..not in a relationship. I don't think there are any content warnings, but let me know.

Summary: In which you can't believe Clark Kent hasn't been to a concert, not even once in his life, and he can't believe he gets to stare at your cherry vanilla glossed lips.

A/N: Man oh man... It's been a while since I've posted any writing, and this time it's not about kpo, so I'm very nervous... Please leave feedback, I would really appreciate it! Thanks for reading!

“Clark Joseph Kent.”

It was almost funny—no, downright absurd—how the 6’4” Kryptonian, a man who could bench press a train and shoot lasers from his eyes, visibly flinched at the sound of his full name spilling from your lips.

What did I do? he panicked silently, apology already locked and loaded behind his teeth, ready to fire.

But then he caught it—the mischievous curl at the corner of your mouth—and the tension in his shoulders melted like butter on a summer sidewalk. Crisis averted. For now.

His reprieve didn’t last long.

“What do you mean, you've never been to a concert?”

“I’ve never bee—”

“No, I heard you the first time,” you cut in, half-scandalized, half-teasing, turning toward the man awkwardly perched beside you on your horrifically uncomfortable, tragically budget couch.

Calling it a couch was generous. It was more like a tortured rectangle of springs and regret. If furniture could commit spine crimes, this thing had a rap sheet.

Everyone hated it—your friends, your ex, your chiropractor. Everyone except Clark.

And maybe that’s why you liked him so damn much. Even if the concept of a rhetorical question still seemed to elude him, as if it were written in some ancient language.

“Oh! Well, it’s just—you asked what I meant, and I thought clarifying would be helpful… clarifying is good,” Clark mumbled into the ether, fingers anxiously nudging his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. A nervous tic. Especially common in your presence.

You quirked a brow, amused. Fascinated, even. How could a man who could literally bend steel be so adorably unsure of himself?

You leaned forward to grab your phone from the coffee table—also thrifted, also possibly haunted. Determination set into your features like wet cement, lips pursed in thought.

Clark stole a glance at you, eyes tracing the arch of your brows, the tiny frown forming on your glossed lips.

Cherry vanilla. His undoing.

His mind drifted—betrayed him, really—back to that rainy night two weeks ago. A rare downpour in ever-sunny Metropolis. He’d offered to walk you home, gallantly holding his jacket over your head like some kind of sepia-toned romance cliché.

You had been fuming. Not at him—never at him—but at the cumulative weight of his relentless, infuriating kindness. Too sweet. Too thoughtful. Too much.

Each small gesture, every word so painfully earnest, pushed you closer to the edge. And when he offered to carry you over a puddle, like you were a princess in a fairytale? Your resolve cracked like cheap lightning.

You’d grabbed him by the tie, yanked him close with stormwater clinging to your lashes, and kissed him like a sentence you’d been dying to finish.

He remembered everything. The scent of your lip gloss. The heat of your breath. The way your lips had fit with his, like puzzle pieces drawn by fate.

Now, as you tapped on your phone, he was blushing again. Crimson bloomed across his cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears and crawling down the column of his throat.

He wanted to kiss you again. Desperately. Wanted to snatch the phone from your hands, toss it into the next time zone, and replace it with himself.

But instead, he sat there. Heart pounding. Palms damp. A 6’4” solar-powered pile of nerves.

Some Superman, he thought. Leaps tall buildings, saves the planet, but turns to mush over lip gloss and eye contact.

When your eyes finally flicked up from your phone, the first thing you noticed was the color climbing Clark’s face.

The second? He was staring at your mouth like it held the answer to every cosmic mystery.

“Clark?” you asked, fighting a grin.

His eyes snapped up—guilty, wide, caught mid-swoon.

Before he could unravel into his usual Clark-flavored babble, you flipped your phone around, the screen’s blue glow lighting up his glasses.

Two tickets. The Mighty Crabjoys. Thirty-five days from now. Meteor Stadium.

“They’re your favorite, right? You mentioned they were coming to Metropolis, and since you've never been to a concert, I figured we should go! Seats kinda suck, but hey—music’s the point.”

You beamed. Bright. Hopeful. Like you didn’t realize you’d just casually handed him the sun.

But he didn’t smile.

Not right away.

Your grin wavered. That sinking feeling crept in—quiet and cold, like a draft under a locked door.

Why wasn’t he saying anything?

He was too still. Too serious. This wasn’t your Clark. Not Big-Smile Clark. Not Nervous Babble Clark. This was some new, unreadable version.

You shrank back slightly, pulling your phone toward your chest.

“Or… you know, you don’t have to go with me. You could bring a friend. It could be—like—a late birthday gift?”

“My birthday was a month ago.” His voice was low. Almost unreadable.

“Okay. Fine. Late-late. No need for semantics, Kansas.”

You threw in the nickname like a lifeline. Trying to coax out a smile, a shrug, anything.

You had no idea that Clark’s brain was currently short-circuiting.

Two minutes ago, he’d been daydreaming about kissing you again. Now you were remembering his favorite band, buying tickets just because he’d said he’d never been to a concert?

That wasn’t just kind. That was intentional. That was you like me coded in Dolby surround sound.

He blinked. Breathed. His chest rose, and the flannel stretched faintly with the motion.

And then—he moved.

Not in the super-speed blur kind of way. But in the quiet, steady way that meant something was about to change.

He leaned in. Not much. Just enough for his breath to ghost against your cheek.

You froze.

Your heart was somewhere near your throat. His gaze was impossibly soft, reverent. Like he was watching a star fall in slow motion.

He searched your face like it was written in a language only he’d ever be patient enough to learn. Every part of him ached to close the space between you.

But of course, he paused.

Because Clark didn’t leap recklessly. He didn’t kiss first and explain later.

He waited. Gentle. Thoughtful. Earnest to a fault.

And so, he asked—quietly, like a secret folded into the air between you.

“May I kiss you?”

[1x1x1x1x1x1x1x1]

What if the reader is a TV host? Like full on 'WELCOME TO THE SHOW' with bright luminous lights in the background kinda guy. you can take the liberty on whether they are a desperate attention seeker or a creepy Mandela catalogue kinda host. But it's just the reader is a big yapper with bright attention seeking colors.

I'm thinking the reader doesn't really know if their killing cuz their desensitized to the show biz and just think everything 'all part of the network folk!'

They might also be one of the worst killers because they are more used to being an omnipotent narrator then an in action kinda host.

I just think it be really funny if reader hits the survivors with the SPARKLE ON! IT'S WEDNESDAY! DON'T FORGET TO BE YOURSELF!!!

HEEEEEELP ME THIS IS SUCH A PEAK IDEA,, wow look at me doing my first both survivors and killers,, this is why this took so long btw 😭😭

ANYWAYS I KINDA MESSED UL THE BANNER SINCE YOU SAID BRIGHT COLORS BUT ILL WRITE FOR BRIGHT COLORS COUGH

defo ooc an typos but idrc 😭

coughs ENJOY

Forsaken Characters × TV Host!Killer!Reader

Noob

well,, they are definetly scared of you, like they are of everyone else that has a job to get rid of them all.

They're not wrong for it too, better be safe than sorry!

Although you are the killer that has probably caused the least harm to them, since your,, killing,, skills are a bit rusty

You randomly pause, come up to them, and ask random questions. Like you're still on stage.

Most of the time, they don't answer, quickly drinking a cola and running away as fast as they can.

Elliot

Hes,, pretty neutral about you.

Not really worried about you being a threat, since most of the time he can easily loop you.

You definitely greet him with something along the lines of "Hello pizza boy !!" With an almost mocking tone, and to be completely honest, he doesnt even mind at this point.

When you randomly ask him questions, most of the time he just ignores you and runs away to heal Chance (again,,)

But there are times when he does actually answer, just for giggles (and he has been wondering what happens if he does)

When he answers correctly, you play loud correct buzzer noises and money sounds which are REALLY obnoxious btw,,, and for the rest of the round, you mostly spare him.

And when he answers wrong,, well,, i think you know how that goes,

Shedletsky

Ah,, its not like he can complain.

It is refreshing to NOT have the creation of hatred targetting him the whole round and making his life a living hell.

And he does find your persona amusing

Probably one of the people that mostly plays along with your stupid gameshow questions, just for shits and giggles

So most of the time when he sees you are the killer, he just lets out a sigh of relief

Also youre easy to stun,,,,, but shhh we dont talk about that!!!

Guest 1337

Its all the same to him.

Wether or not you spare him, he WILL be stunning you and he WILL be protecting his team.

Deadass refuses to answer your questions. Will not be caught interacting with a killer that makes his life here a pain. (like all killers)

Although, you are one of the hardest killers to block-bait. You can pretty much tell right away trough his facade that he just wants to get that punch in. Hes not using that medkit since you didnt hit him. even once.

He doesnt like you. Why should he?? You play games with the minds of some survivors since they see you as 'chill'. He does not like this.

Two Time

i dont think anyone can really talk normaly to this insane motherfucker,

everytime you ask them any question 'for your gameshow' they just laugh manically before STABBING YOU.

Then running away and talking about some "praise the spawn" shit,,

i think the dislike most likely goes both ways

Chance

You and the gambler get along quite well, actually!!

Well, as much as a killer and survivor can even get along.

Everytime youre the killer hes the first to run to you, hoping you ask him one of those questions and he can just chill for the rest of the round if they gets it right.

Probably the one who answers you the most, and you have to respect the gambling,, some of your other tv shows basically involve it too, so yeah

I think they actually watched one of your tv shows a while back,,, so he probably recognized you,

007n7

He actually watched your TV shows and Gameshows before all of this (like the dad he is,,,,) so he recognized you pretty quickly

He was quite shocked when you first randomly decided to stop the chase and ask him a question.

He paused for like almost a minute, completely lost in thought before you went "Time is TICKING!!!" with your robotic voice

And then he answered, wrong.

Which meant he was getting locked onto, (he died like 30 seconds later)

Although, the next time you asked him again, he answered correctly!! And you just,, basically left him. Alone with his thoughts.

Well, he cant really complain, a break is nice once in a while

Builderman

Hes Builderman. The CEO of roblox. Of course he knew you.

Actually, he made a guest apperance in one of your episodes!! So he already knew you (well, kinda) before this.

And he cant really complain that much about your whole 'asking gameshow questions' thing, since most of the time he gets them right, and can help the teammates in peace.

Even though he doesnt always answer, when he does, he gets most of them right. Probably because more than a half of them are about Roblox and its history.

You like to call him your "NUMBER ONE!!!" and he has gotten MULTIPLE dirty looks for that, since some survivors now think you guys had something going on,, not good for his image and reputation. So he was pretty quick to dismiss those rumors,

Dusekkar

DUSEKKAAAAARRRRR🤤🤤

Well, he certaintly thinks youre intresting.

Not only are you asking him easy questions, but you will also spare him if he answers correctly? He cant really complain, huh

Youre quite persistent on asking him a lot of questions, 'gameshow' questions. Which are a piece of cake to him, although sometimes you cant really understand his phrasing quite well,, You just display a blue question mark on the top of your head out of nowhere, hoping that he can redeem himself before you decide that you dont want that answer to pass.

You also call him some stupid 'charmer' nicknames, something along the lines of "Pumpkin!!!!" or even sometimes Matt (since you heard Shedletsky call him that once,)

Hes actually quite shocked, even a bit flustered when he hears you call him by some names that you made up on the spot, or even his real name,

Taph

This fella,

He tries SO HARD to answer your questions correctly in his emoji speech ((i know a lot of ppl heacanon him as a sign language user but just for this fic im using his canon speech)), but you cant really understand it, so he never passes in your eyes,

He does like messing with you!! Youre probably one of the killers that falls for his traps the most out of everyone else

((i dont have anything else to say for him,,,,

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·Killers.

1×1×1×1｡𖦹°‧

You REALLY piss her off,

Bright flashing lights, loud sounds, and that fuckass voice of yours thats always cheerful,, it just gets on his nerves.

And the way you KEEP ASKING THOSE QUESTIONS. They rarely even answer, and she REALLY wants to get rid of you,

But he does entertain your little 'gameshow' vision sometimes, and most of the time, they answer correctly (they are a hater,, not an idiot,,)

Instead of you letting her go and not killing them like the survivors, the killers get little stupid prizes for answering correctly, and they dont really suffer any consequences if they answer wrong.

The prizes range from a stupid bright glittery pen with your face plastered over it, to just random stickers.

1x1x1x1 always keeps the little trinkets in a drawer in his cabin,, what?? you never know when they can come in handy!!

John Doe

as much as you try and try, and try and try and try to get him to even say one word when you ask him questions,, he just doesnt.

Probably cause he geniuenly cant,, the bright flashing lights of your design and your loud robotic voice,, he cant really comprehend what youre asking him in due time,,

Although, hes pretty neutral towards you, you even gave him a pen out of pure pity for him,,

Noli-.ᐟ.ᐟ

You guys actually match eachothers freak really well,,

Both of you guys are loud and obnoxious, bright lights,, and 'annoying' to the others

Although he actually likes your little gameshow host persona!!

The first time you were in a round, he was watching intently, and everytime you asked a question he would immediately stand up and scream the correct answer like a dad watching football,

He really likes answering your questions too!! It keeps him entertained at least,, And the little trinkets!!!!!

You guys actually get along quite well,

Mafioso🂱⚔

He doesnt like you.

Youre loud, bright lights, and obnoxious, while hes calm and reserved,, quite the opposites.

Although HE doesnt like you, his men definetly do!!

Most of the time they all meet up in the cabin next to the table for, basically a competetive game of your questions,

They get a good laugh out of it, and you love to entertain!

The only problem is how loud it gets, instead of big red buttons to signal who answers the question first, they basically just slam their fists on the table,

Mafioso has scolded them for it a bunch of times, but he wont stop them

Its only fair that they get a bit of a break in this hell hole once in a while

And hell, you keep them off his back for once, so maybe just maybe your not that bad after all,,,

im so done with tgis 💔💔

the writing got worse and worse as i went on because i was TIRED 💔

tgis was fun tho,, (also i had to rewrite everything in the killers part because i closed the fucking window,,

also quick question,,

would you guys like me to write for the Spectre too? 😭😭 As in like the headcanons and he would be in the last part of the killers kinda

okay bye bye

[syrecjh]

──★✈️ ̟!! Swipe Error: He’s Right Behind Me

⋆. 𐙚 �� || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

Airports have a strange kind of gravity. Not the kind that keeps planes grounded, but the kind that tugs at your nerves — stretches time thin, stretches patience thinner. You’ve been sitting for over an hour at Gate 34, legs crossed on the uncomfortable vinyl bench—the kind that were designed by someone who clearly hated comfort , headphones dying and patience already declared missing in action. The boarding gate screen glows blue with your flight to New York: delayed by thirty minutes. You nearly throw your iced coffee across the terminal in protest.

You weren’t built for waiting. You were built for movement, for noise, for anything other than scrolling endlessly on your phone under cold fluorescent lighting. You’re traveling solo for the first time — a summer break declaration of independence from university and all its soul-crushing midterms. And as poetic as that sounds, the reality looks more like leg cramps, stale croissants, and a dying battery. Not to mention, you are surrounded by families bickering, kids screaming, and couples who apparently think PDA belongs in an airport.

Out of sheer boredom — or possibly desperation — you open Tinder.

A mistake. You know it’s a mistake. But you tell yourself it’s just to pass time, and maybe to flirt. Definitely not to find love. Just swiping. Just harmless, mindless swiping. You start swiping through profiles with the detached precision of someone sorting socks — right, left, maybe, definitely left. It’s not that you’re picky, it’s just… well, okay, maybe you are. Half the guys look like they’d ghost you after borrowing your charger. A left here, a right there, a brief pause for someone with a decent dog in their profile. Another left.

And then he shows up.

Blond. Fierce-eyed. Hero suit in one of the pictures. Dynamight. You squint. What is he doing on tinder? I mean you don't judge anyone with one but you can't help it. It's him after all. You’ve seen him on news clips before — the explosive pro hero with a temper and a fanbase that probably writes fanfiction about his jawline. His bio is short and alarming: Don’t be annoying. I cook better than your mom.

You raise an eyebrow. Bold. Definitely not your type.

Blond guys never were.

Swipe left.

“Damn,” a gravelly voice says just behind you. “Hard pass for that one?”

Your soul leaves your body.

You whip around like a gust of embarrassment made flesh, and there he is. Sitting directly behind you. Arms crossed, thighs spread, hair as unmistakable as his voice, red eyes glittering with something dark and amused. Katsuki freaking Bakugo. The literal walking embodiment of the profile you just rejected.

You feel your face catch fire.

“Oh my god—” you blurt, mortified beyond repair, trying to stuff your phone in your hoodie pocket like that’ll undo your crimes. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t know it was me?” he says, feigning offense, leaning forward just slightly. “What gave it away, the hero name or the picture of my actual face?”

“I—I don’t even like blonde guys!” you blurt like that somehow helps.

“Oh, that makes it better,” he snorts, and there’s a devilish glint in his eye that says he’s going to be thinking about this for a long time. “So I’m not your type. Got it.”

“I mean—you’re handsome, obviously—” you sputter, digging a deeper grave with every word. “It was just… the vibe. You looked like you’d roast me alive for using the wrong fork.”

He leans back, arms stretching over the seat beside him like a throne. “Not wrong.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “Kill me. This is why I don’t go outside.”

But Bakugo just chuckles — an actual chuckle — and something soft and dangerous unfurls in your chest. You glance up, blinking, just in time to catch the corners of his mouth still curved, his head tilted slightly.

“You’re funny when you panic.”

“And you’re mean when you’re smug.”

“So always?”

You glare at him, cheeks hot, but he just shrugs and props his boots up on his carry-on like he’s settling in for a show. You’re about to fire back when the gate agent’s voice cuts through the overhead speakers, finally announcing boarding for your flight.

You shuffle into line, praying to every deity that fate won’t take this joke any further. But of course, fate is petty.

You're seatmates.

23A and 23B.

You drop into the window seat like a woman being buried alive, and moments later, Bakugo slides in beside you with the lazy ease of someone who’s enjoying this.

“I swear I’m not a bad person,” you mutter as you adjust your tray table.

He shrugs. “Didn’t say you were. Just got a thing for brutal honesty, I guess.”

You blink at him, surprised.

And then he smirks.

“You’re really funny when you panic.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

“I’m not. I just like watching people suffer.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

You both glance at each other — and the tension hangs there, electric and strange, somewhere between playful and unreal. You don’t know what’s happening, not really.

You scoff softly. “I’ve just humiliated myself in front of a national hero and then get stuck next to him for twelve hours.”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

“You could’ve swiped right.”

You snort, unable to help it — and from the corner of your eye, you see him smirk again.

You spend the flight talking, somehow. About trivial things at first — dumb airport food, weird quirks, how babies crying on planes should be banned. Then deeper things — pressure, expectations, what it's like to be known for something before you even figure out who you are.

You talk like people who have nothing to prove. You listen like people who might want to see each other again.

He tells you he plays music while cooking. You tell him you once cried because you dropped a slice of pizza face-down on your only pair of jeans. You exchange Instagram handles. He follows you before you even land.

Somewhere in the middle of the flight, you accidentally doze against his shoulder, he doesn’t shove you off. He just sighs — loud and dramatic — and lets you stay

And when the plane finally touches down in New York, taxiing slow across the runway, you turn to him, smiling despite yourself.

“So,” you say. “Still mad I swiped left?”

He stretches, cracking his knuckles with a lazy shrug. “Not really.”

Why not?”

He leans closer, voice warm like the sun creeping through the airplane window. “Because I’ve got twelve hours of proof you were wrong.”

You laugh, and he actually grins this time. Fully. Briefly. Like the sun rising and setting in one heartbeat.

As you walk off the plane side by side, you don’t feel like two strangers anymore. You feel like a story halfway told — and suddenly, you’re not so mad about the delay.

After all, some accidents are meant to happen.

────୨ৎ────

I actually got this idea weeks ago while scrolling through IG reels. It completely hooked me—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like it really happened to someone! Imagine swiping left on Tinder… only to realize the person you swiped left on is standing right behind you. I don’t know the name of the girl in the video, but yeah—thank youuu!

[tsuma-senju]

DadTojixReaderMom; first date after the birth of babygumi! m.list

Toji let out a low laugh, shaking his head in pure amusement at your response. You, on the other hand, were still focused on mentally going over every detail. After all, leaving your baby with a nanny for the first time was no simple matter.

"Look, his routine is all written down too," you reinforced, pointing to the fridge. "He's been bathed and fed, so he'll probably go to sleep in half an hour. But if he wakes up, there's a bottle ready at the top of the fridge."

The nanny nodded with a patient smile. "Understood, Mrs. Fushiguro. I've looked after babies before, and I promise I'll follow every detail."

"Here are the emergency numbers," you continued, handing her a sheet of paper. "This is the one for the pediatrician, this one for the paramedics and, lastly, the one for the fire department."

Toji, who until then had been watching in silence with that amused look, arched an eyebrow, unable to hold in the joke. "Honey, why would she call the fire department?" His sarcastic tone only made it funnier.

You, without missing a beat, quickly replied: "Isn't it obvious? If it's on fire." You said it as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

The nanny laughed quietly, trying to keep her composure. "Of course, if he starts spitting fire, I'll call the fire department immediately."

Toji shook his head, still laughing. "I don't know whether to be worried about you or impressed by your imagination."

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off your anxiety. You felt a firm hand rest gently on your waist. "Hey," Toji murmured in your ear, his voice low and husky. "He'll be fine. Let's enjoy tonight. You deserve it. We deserve it."

"Easy for you to say, you're not freaking out thinking about a thousand things at once," you retorted.

But you allowed yourself to relax for a second, tilting your head towards his touch. Toji was right. The last few months had been intense - sleepless nights, constant feedings, and that mixture of exhaustion and immense love for a little being who could barely speak, but already had the power to change your whole world. But today… today was about the two of you.

"If you need anything, give us a call. We're only fifteen minutes away," you reminded yourself once again before grabbing your bag.

"Got it," the nanny assured you, heading into the living room, where Megs was in her playpen, playing with a bear-shaped teether. The baby babbled happily, her little eyes sparkling when she saw her.

You bent down, planting a soft kiss on his chubby cheek. "Mommy loves you, baby. Behave yourself, okay?"

"Bye, big boy," Toji said, lightly ruffling the baby's fine hair before standing up again. "Let's go before you come up with yet another list of instructions."

"Funny," you grumbled, but let him guide you to the door, feeling a chill in your stomach from nervousness mixed with excitement.

Toji's car was parked in front of the house, glowing under the soft streetlights. He opened the passenger door for you, and as you settled into the seat, you couldn't help but smile a little. It was rare to see him like this - more relaxed, with a fitted black dress shirt and his hair a little tidier than usual. And, of course, that always predatory look, which analyzed you as if he already knew exactly what he wanted from your evening.

"You look beautiful," he commented, sliding into the driver's seat.

"You don't look so bad yourself, Mr. Fushiguro." You joked, but the tone of your voice gave away how irresistible you really found him.

"If I'd known that winning this title would get me a date with you, I'd have gotten married sooner," he teased, as he started the car.

As the car glided through the illuminated streets, you felt the mood change - less tension, more anticipation. The evening was just beginning.

The restaurant Toji had chosen was sophisticated but cozy. The low lighting and soft music in the background created the perfect setting. He pulled out a chair for you before sitting down facing you, leaning his strong forearms on the table, watching you as if he had all the time in the world.

"I think I'm a bit out of practice with these dates," you confessed, playing with the rim of the wine glass the waiter had just poured.

"Are you kidding?" Toji laughed quietly. "You're doing very well." He leaned a little closer, his voice becoming more intimate. "But if you need help remembering how to do it, I can refresh your memory."

You laughed, feeling your face heat up slightly. The way Toji always managed to leave you breathless, even after years together, still amazed you.

"If I forget, I already know who to call for help," you retorted, arching your eyebrow in amused defiance.

The conversation flowed easily - between laughing about the things Megs did and the chaotic moments at home, you realized how nice it was to have a moment of just the two of you. Toji, despite his tough image, had a unique way of making you feel safe and wanted at the same time.

When dessert arrived - a chocolate fondant that you shared - he took your hand across the table, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin.

"Having fun?" he asked, his dark green eyes fixed on yours.

"A lot," you admitted. "I needed it. I needed you."

His smile became softer - and for a moment you saw the side of him that hardly anyone else saw: the Toji you loved intensely, even without having to put it into words.

When they returned home a few hours later, you felt your heart race a little as you opened the door. But everything was silent. The babysitter was sitting on the sofa, reading a book, and when she noticed you, she got up with a quiet smile.

"He went to sleep shortly after you left. He hasn't moved since," she informed you.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. Everything had turned out better than you thought.

After paying the babysitter and saying goodbye, you walked up the stairs in silence, peeking into the crib. There he was - your little treasure - sleeping peacefully, his little hand resting on your chest.

Toji approached from behind, wrapping his waist in a firm hug. "I told you everything would be all right," he murmured against your hair.

You turned in his arms, resting your hands on his broad chest. "Thank you for today," you said softly. "I needed to remember that, as well as being a mother, I'm still yours."

His eyes shone with something warmer and deeper. "You've always been mine," he replied, before pulling you into a kiss that promised to extend that evening far beyond dinner.

[eye4katz]

She likes a boy, and I'm not a boy || Daniela Avanzini

Pairings: D. A. x KATSEYE 7th Member Fem!Reader

Genre: fluff and slight angst

Content Warning: light cursing, mixed signals 🥶, unrequited (?), indenial!reader, possible slowburn

Synopsis: Being in a global pop group was already a dream come true, but getting close to someone you once admired from afar was the last thing you expected. All moments with her feels warm and platonic, until a member's teasing lead to a realization that Cupid already pierced your heart long ago. Does it hurt because you're falling for her? Or because you know that you're not a man?

part 2 | part 3

It has been a year since Y/N joined Dream Academy and became a part of KATSEYE.

While she was a trainee and was a contestant on the show, she immediately caught Daniela Avanzini's presence. The girl was often quiet around Dani, too shy to blurt out words towards her.

Soon after the final line-up was announced, Dani and Y/N got surprisingly close with each other. Daniela would hug her from behind, kiss her cheeks every time she had a chance, and—of course—shower her with compliments.

Daniela can't sleep without cuddling her plushies, and that's a fact. So, Y/N just became her own human plushie.

Y/N, being Y/N, didn't know how to respond to that. Instead, she just reciprocates all the actions Dani did.

They would cuddle at night and let out a soft sigh in their sleep, contented at each other's presence. Or, if they can't make their way to dreamland, they would just stay up late to talk about random experiences—still while cuddling.

Y/N thought it was a normal thing that friends would do, not until Manon's gaydar made her think twice.

"You two seem like a couple," Manon whispered to Y/N as they took a couple of minutes' break from their choreo practice.

"The heck?" Y/N's head turned toward the older woman. Confusion was painted on her face.

Manon laughed slightly at the expected reaction. "Oh, you know. You've been staring at her like you two are already married."

"E-eh?! I'm not staring at Dani!" Y/N exclaimed quietly.

"I did not say a name~"

"But you're implying it!!"

Manon couldn't help but laugh at Y/N again, amused at her flushed face just from her teasing. "You can't fool me. It's obvious that you like her."

The other woman groaned. "Oh please, even if I like her, she's straight. Lara literally helps Dani compose break-up texts, and guess what? None of those messages went to a girl!"

She couldn't help but sigh. "She's straight, you know."

"No, I don't know that. We don't know that! She hasn't even confirmed or said she was straight!"

The younger member couldn't help but groan again. "She literally uses the 'Tears of Joy' emoji (😂) as an indication of something funny instead of the crying one! No sapphic—or any wuhluhwuh person would use that!

"Okay. Well, if she's straight, so is spaghetti—"

The Swiss woman got interrupted by her member, knowing the golden quote people used to flirt with straight gals. "Oh, please! Keep it PG!"

Manon couldn't help but laugh. She then turned serious and a little soft minutes after.

"Why not take a risk? In the end, we only regret the chances we didn't take."

Y/N just shrugged. "It's not like I have a crush on her to even take this invisible chance."

"Denial is a river in Egypt!" were the words from the older woman, making Y/N glare at her.

Manon just sighed, turning serious again, not wanting to put pressure on the younger member. "Okay, okay. Sorry."

"But if something happens, I'm always here for you," she added as she gave the younger one a good squeeze on her shoulder. This made Y/N's heart lighter.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

A week later, four of the girls: Manon, Dani, Y/N, and Lara were in the middle of their livestream. A bunch of banter, teasing, and laughter could be heard inside Danon’s room.

Lara and Manon were lying on their stomachs as they watched the comments fly across the screen, sandwiching Y/N, who was also in the same position as them.

Dani was trying to get herself into the camera frame, grunting as she shifted on top of Y/N’s back and sat there.

Lara noticed this and laughed softly. “Omg, Y/N’s back is so strong.”

Manon looked at the two, smirking teasingly, which is something Y/N immediately caught.

“Am not.” Y/N just shrugged off Lara’s statement.

“She’s used to being under Dani every night. That's a no wonder,” the Swiss woman rebutted.

The other three gasped before scolding her.

“You’re gonna make me have a scandal, Manon!” Y/N exclaimed.

“I’m straight, guys, chill!” The Latina laughed a little too loudly for Y/N’s liking.

The room went slightly silent. Manon, being the eldest and the one who was aware of her member’s feelings, noticed Y/N’s change in energy. She took the initiative to break the uncomfortable tension.

“Congrats, Dani! Congrats on coming out straight!” she said. Lara also joined the teasing, making Daniela laugh.

Y/N didn’t want to look like it affected her. Thus, she went in on the joke with her members.

After about two hours, they finally ended their live.

“Dayum, my vocal cords feel like they’re gonna rip out every time I speak,” Manon said before letting out the most diabolical cough a human had ever heard.

Y/N then barked out laughing, still not over the chaos they caused during the livestream. “Babes, you kept bantering with Lara and the eyekons.”

“WELL, THEY KEPT SAYING I LOOK LIKE ELPHABA AND GLINDA’S LOVE CHILD!”

“BAE, IT’S A COMPLIMENT—”

Lara just watched the scene unfold before her eyes, laughing at the two women’s banter. She might literally develop abs just from laughing so hard at them.

Dani, sitting on the edge of the bed, was somehow lost in her phone. She grinned at the screen as she typed, perhaps constructing a message—until the words that came out of Y/N’s mouth made her look up.

“Nuh-uh! Lara and I aren’t gonna sleep over here anymore since you’re against us!” she exclaimed seriously. (It’s obvious they’re teasing each other, duh.)

“OH, SEE IF I CARE!” Manon replied, her tone just serious enough to mask the playfulness in her voice.

Dani looked at Y/N before muttering, “Are you being for real?” As if she were quietly yearning for Y/N’s time, affection, and maybe… her love.

Her eyes searched for something that would reassure her that Y/N was going to stay with her—with Manon and Lara, of course.

Y/N heard the Latina’s soft voice, making her stop mid-sentence, even though she still hadn’t fully recovered from the official declaration Dani made during the live.

She then looked at her favorite member, her voice mirroring the softness Dani had given her.

“No. Of course not, Dani.”

Dani sighed contentedly.

Was she relieved because the argument wasn’t serious?

Or because Y/N would be staying with her?

Well… that’s what Y/N wondered, too.

They stared at each other for a moment before Manon hit Y/N’s back with a pillow, noticing and breaking the two girls’ longing eye contact.

“Move, bitch. We’re gonna sleep,” Manon said playfully, her statement followed by Lara’s giggle.

“Old people really need their eight hours of rest, huh?” Dani joked at Manon, as if she hadn’t just shared a deep connection with Y/N—or what Y/N thought was deep.

Manon groaned. “Oh, you three are ganging up on me. I see.” Genuine laughter then filled the room.

The two girls climbed onto Dani’s bed and made themselves comfy, Lara and Manon also did lay on Manon's bed.

“Night, girls!” Lara chimed in.

The other three greeted each other good night in return.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The room would have been pitch black if it weren’t for the moonlight seeping through the curtains. It was quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional soft sighs of those already asleep.

While Manon and Lara slept comfortably on a single bed, Y/N felt like Dani's bed was a battlefield.

How could she possibly fall asleep when Dani’s arms were wrapped around her waist, the Latina’s nose nuzzled against her neck, and the curly-haired girl’s leg draped over her thighs?

It’s not like she wasn’t used to this after the times they went through, right? But she had become hyperaware of their closeness ever since Manon pointed out something she had never even considered. Thanks, Bannerman!

Y/N shifted into a couple of positions to find the most comfortable one, hoping not to wake the person beside her.

Well, to be fair, she wasn't even asleep.

"You fine there?" Dani suddenly whispered right when Y/N turned to lay on her side, facing away from Daniela.

Y/N's body jolted from the sudden voice. Her tongue got tied for a second, "A-ah- yeah, uh- I'm fine." She then turned around and lay on her back.

Dani took this chance to put her head on her member's chest. If the room wasn't too dark, Y/N's flustered cheek would be visible by now.

"Did I disturb you?"

"Nah, you're good. I just can't sleep."

"Mhm, me neither."

"..."

"..."

"You look pretty in tonight's livestream."

This made Y/N's throat tighten and go dry, as if it's her first time receiving compliments from Daniela all over again, even though it really never stops feeling like that.

"Thanks, Dani." She finally managed to reply.

Dani smiled lazily, drawing faint circles on her member's waist. "I might not show it all the time, but you're like my favorite friend in the world."

Shit, right. Friends! She likes a boy, and I'm not even a boy! We're just friends!

Y/N thought, bringing herself back to reality.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” she managed to say quietly.

As Daniela fell asleep on Y/N’s chest, she stared at the Latina’s face. The moonlight helped her see a few of Dani’s beauty marks—adoring and admiring how perfectly they were placed. Yet, Y/N couldn't help but let her mind wander off.

Why did it affect her so much that she and Dani were only friends?

Would things be different if Y/N were a man?

These were questions she shouldn’t be asking herself about a friend.

"In the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take." Were the words from her best friend echoed in Y/N’s mind that night. She couldn’t deny the truth in them.

That’s when she realized... Manon was right. Y/N really did liked Daniela, loved her even.

The Swiss woman would definitely go off celebrating because she was right… and she’d probably got her ego boosted about all her intuition shits, too.

Y/N groaned internally, knowing how messy it would be to deal with feelings that were burning slowly, especially when they involved a friend slash a co-worker.

She hated not being able to predict the future. She hated not being sure of the consequences of her own feelings.

Y/N hoped that even if she's not a boy, she would still be Daniela's favorite, but not as a friend anymore.

The chances—well, they’re 50/50.

Would she take the risk and trust the odds?

Or would she keep carrying the weight of the baggages of her feelings?