#WHY DOES HE LOOK SO CHUNKY

[mycoffeeobsession]

my brother was showing me all these cute animal onesie things so I present

…

XANXUS IN A LIGER ONESIE (STILL A WIP LOL)

[maximura]

Andy Serkis as Ulysses Klaue in Age of Ultron (2015)

[cattysapien]

Idk if this is a controversial take or not but I’m gonna say it

I don’t care for the skyward sword art style

[sabxynsweet]

sweetheart!reader is tipsy at a party... mattheo comes to the rescue

content warning: underage drinking, mentions of reader being drunk

thank you to the anon who gave me this idea <3 here's a look into situationship!mattheo !! also gilmore girls/jess mariano reference because i love him

You're chatting and giggling away at Theo in a secluded corner of the loud Slytherin party, you're two drinks in and much more than a little tipsy.

"It's, like, you don't even understand how sad it is," your hands are moving around wildly, matching your wide, impassioned eyes as you continued to ramble, "Jess was literally perfect for her when he got older 'cause he, like, totally matured! You know? He convinced her to go back to Yale and he read books!"

Theo nods along from his place on the couch, his eyes following your movements as you pace in front of him, he's only half following what you're slurring together, before he catches the eye of his friend.

Mattheo walks over until he's only a few inches behind you.

"Sweetheart." Mattheo calls, you turn around to see him standing behind you with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Matty!" She giggles, practically jumping into his, now open, arms.

"Your girlfriend's a lightweight." Theo muses.

"M'not his girlfriend." You pout.

"Not yet." He corrects, making you beam. He didn't like to give false hope but he knew you most likely wouldn't remember this by tomorrow morning.

As he watched you sway, balancing in your chunky high heels, he wasn't sure you would remember most of this in five minutes.

He turns his attention to Theo. "How much has she had to drink?"

"Not too much, like I said, lightweight." Theo laughs, "I was watching her 'till you came, figured you'd be worried."

You were too enamoured by the hem of Mattheo's shirt to hear what Theo was saying.

"Thanks, man." He says, there's a beat of silence filled only by your quiet giggles at nothing, "Well, I'm here now."

"And! That's my cue to leave." He stands from the couch.

"Bye Sweetheart!" He waves goodbye to you like a kindergarten teacher would to a child, bending a little to the height of your slightly slumped over form. Mattheo nods as a sort of farewell and you wave your fingers absentmindedly, still focused on Mattheo's clothes.

Mattheo turns to you, again, and gently guides you to the couch.

"Your eyes are so sparkly." You murmur, bringing a hand up to his face clumsily.

"Sparkly?" He asks, amused.

"Yeah, it's like there's glitter in it." You say, giggling more, "I love glitter."

He laughs, you attempt to scowl.

"Don't laugh." You whine, "M'trying to flirt."

At least some things never change.

"Well, then, thank you, Sweetheart." Mattheo said, "I think your eyes are sparkly as well."

You squealed at the compliment, too drunk to keep your reactions inside where they were usually kept.

"Matty, Matty, Matty." You call suddenly, tugging on his arm.

"Yes, Sweetheart." He says patiently, putting one hand on top of yours to settle her down.

"I love y-" your words muffle when he puts a finger on top of her lips, you make a sound of protest.

"Shh, you can't say it yet."

"Why not?"

"Because I want you to remember the first time you say it." He says, "I want you to mean it."

You’re too tipsy to understand what he means by that so you simply look up at him with your wide heart eyes.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He says, squinting his eyes at you.

You smile at the compliment, it reminds him of sunshine and sugar.

Your head lolls and Mattheo reaches out, like an instinct, to stabilise it.

"Careful." He murmurs, "You're gonna have to keep that head steady there, Pretty Girl."

"Can't." You mumble, eyes fluttering close, "too heavy."

You lean closer him, at least, you try to. You lay all your body weight on him and almost fall before he catches you with one arm wrapped around you and a laugh.

You gaze up at him, doe eyes all glassy, before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“You’re really nice to me.”

"Well, you're very lovable, you make it easy." He boops your nose once prompting you to giggle again.

"No, m'serious, you're always playing all tough guy around everyone else but you're very, very nice to me."

“You think so?” He asks, with an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked me.” You giggle, flirting shamelessly.

Oh, you have no idea.

taglist: @fallingwallsh @espressqe @theodoresvalentine @fanfictiononly4 @genuinelyfloatingsouls if your name is crossed out, it’s cause tumblr won’t let me tag you :(

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Still not over the “Captain Marvel is 8’5” to Billy Batsons 5’4”” reblog and thinking of someone seeing this unit of a man with all the kindness and positive radiance of a pure hearted child stopping a giant robot from crushing them like “sorry to bother you, I’ll get this out of your way lickety split!” And when he’s done demolishing the robot and looking like the wrath of god while doing so he just pops back down to ask if he can pet someone’s dog he saw while fighting.

The dog loves him, people are slightly perturbed bc he doesn’t even look human, he does but he’s uncanny. Just perfect symmetrical face with no blemishes and hair that refuses to budge but so unapologetically sweet and courteous Fawcett gets used to him and just get used to him being a home grown sweetheart.

Cue anyone else seeing him, like the League, and its alarm bells. He’s too good, he’s too perfect looking, and by god why is he so big.

First day? Batmans is upset he can’t find a facial match, Clark is suddenly in everyone else’s shoes at having to crane his neck to talk to the guy most the time, and Barda challenges him to a few strength tests he stalls out to have pleasant conversations with her during.

Diana just rings up the Olympians like “hey, did you guys make someone because this guy doesn’t look human right and says he works for Zeus.”

Again, down the line, identity reveal after the JL just got used to him after a week, and they are staring down at this scrawny teenager with chunky glasses, hearing aids, a face only a mother could love with all the scars, and rope burn scars on his wrists as he politely waves and introduces himself as radio host Billy Batson.

[thereweredragonshere]

Pleeeease redesign the other fucks from the nine realms.

Oooo this was such a fun little project! Not a fan of the nine realms which is pretty standard within this fandom, but I do like the uh. Vibe. Of some dragons. The designs are always a miss apart from like. One or two.

Starting off with Thunder - species Night light:

Thunder being so night furyish makes little sense if we’re taking Toothless being the last night fury as canon. Either that mother fucker had the strongest genetics known to man, or dragons live for hundreds and hundreds of years, which considering httyd likes its realism(sometimes), I doubt is the case for a species like the night or light fury. So, I made his design lean way way more into being a light fury, but still making it clear that he is actually a night light.

Also, didn’t include any of the weird fucked up ‘evolution’ to the tail/wings/earnubs, because little short from it being a birth defect or cross breeding with a non-fury dragon (Which genetically speaking is 99.99% impossible) is absolutely NOT possible at all. 1000 years is fucking NOTHING for evolution. Maybe you’d get a slight gene change or something but you are not getting anatomical shifts that fucking visible in only 1000 years.

And anyway, the evolution Thunder supposedly went through is so stupid?? What’s the point of his wings’ surface area being decreased?? He can catch marginally less draft with those shit fuck wings??? And his PROPORTIONS OH MY LORDDD. He’s just inbred I have no other explanation. And his stupid fucking snout. Pugification of the night light. And I’m not even going to comment on the stupid ass tail there is literally no point. Why did they give him an aeroplane tail. They took one of the most recognisable features of the fury species and just fucked it. He can’t fucking shift air flow and change direction with that shit oml😭

Anyway moving on before this post just turns into a tnr night-light rant,

Feathers!!! - Species Featherhide (how creative)

Feathers is probably my favourite design from the canonical tnr dragons. I’m a massive fan of the parrot theme they went with!!! But one gripe I have is that she does seem just a bit too generic. She has pretty colours and some feathers on her head and tail. But like. That’s it. They didn’t really do anything else with the chameleon crap she’s got going on (for those who don’t know, her species has the same camouflaging ability as the changewings).

So, I went a lot more traditional reptile looking with her, and added way more feathers and general details to her design. I did consider making her eyes chameleon like, but it ended up looking a bit off. I like to think she scampers around and constantly licks her eyes, even though she’s perfectly capable of blinking.

Next up, Plowhorn - Species Gembreaker

I love love LOVE the beetle thing going on with her wings!!. It’s just incorporated into the design in such an awkward way😭 There’s so much space Beneath the beetle shell and her back, which makes them look glued on.

Anyway for the redesign I leaned more into the rhino theme they got going on, tough skin and big chunky face horns. (By the way- the placement of the horn on her face is SO off putting and I can’t quite explain why. It’s just. ????. Why is she an extremely scaly unicorn that got the pug treatment???) and I gave her ears cuz her canon design looks insanely bald.

I also attempted to un-derp her a bit. Cuz. I mean fucking look at her bro that shit is NOT scary😭

Neeeeeext is Wu & Wei - Species Mist Twister

The eastern zippleback

I really like the idea of half blue half red on this guy (I think it’s a he?), it makes for a cool Fire and Water theme.

My main problem with the canon design is how forced the colours kinda feel. Hard red to yellow to blue with a slight fade transition. Come on guys, incorporate your colours into the design!

Their heads as well. They’re just. Not nice to look at. The ends of their noses are making me incredibly uncomfortable. They look like spoon billed borzois

Anywho, I really enjoyed designing those guys!! Maybe I’ll do some of the other tnr dragons in the future lol

[kuidore]

#EyeHaveLostCount Zoeystery headcanons ✧ KPOP Demon Hunters ✧ Zoey x Mystery

✧ Zoey is the friend who disappears when they’re out clubbing, so Mystery constantly has to keep hold of her or even chase after her.

✧ she never gets far enough for it to become an actual issue so they just sorta let her have her fun

✧ Mystery catches up very easily and always carries her back while she giggles and kicks her feet

✧ If they’re at an event and someone can find one, you bet your ass she’s being bought a themed headband or hat so they can still see her tiny ass over the heads of the crowd

✧ She wears super chunky sneakers or boots so she can be at least a little taller, sometimes she can even see over the crowd

✧ Rumi has genuinely considered getting a harness and a leash for her but she also can’t figure out how to do it without looking like it’s a kink thing

✧ So mystery just locks their fingers together and refuses to let go the whole night. She is allowed to go pee with Rumi or Mira or both, and Mystery will stand outside the bathroom to wait and grab her so she can’t try and run off (she still tries)

✧ She’s half doing it just so he’ll chase her at this point (not getting distracted or lost in the crowd like before), and Mira and Rumi note that she does it much more once they start dragging the Saja boys out for drinks with them

✧ He thinks it’s cute, but he is also genuinely worried that one day she’ll manage to actually slip away

✧ it’d be fuckin impossible because that boy is always watching her like a hawk whether they’re in public or not but. still.

✧ She thinks it’s absolutely hilarious because she can never get far, her ‘disappearing’ gets her at most fifteen feet away before Mystery grabs her

✧ Zoey would absolutely smoke weed if given the chance but that girl also does not know how to get that shit in places where it’s illegal and she’s too scared to try

✧ her idea of ‘try’ is approaching a random person in an alley because that’s what her brain tells her drug dealers are, so this is very much for the best

✧ Mira could probably find it if she tried

✧ Baby sells it

✧ Zoey’s a total lightweight, two drinks in and her cheeks are flushed while she giggles and clings to Mystery

✧ not much different than normal, aside from a bit more slurring and hiccuping

✧ On the plus side it means she gets so ‘floaty’ (her words) that she can’t run, so usually her runaway antics last an hour or two max

✧ drunk or sober, she has the best sense of direction out of both idol groups, she’s the official group leader almost everywhere they go which is why her running off is like, double bad

✧ everyone else will get so turned around without her she is the only thing stopping that entire group from getting horribly lost every time they leave the house

✧ The first time they go to a concert she gets on Mystery’s back so she can see

✧ Even though her face is right beside his and he hasn’t gotten any taller, some guy behind them starts being an asshole about it

✧ Mystery fucking snarls at him. Not words. Animal snarl. Some sort of violent mix of a roar, a growl and the snapping of a dogs jaws when it lunges, and he gets so close he’s a hair away from sinking his teeth into the guys nose, and the guy looks like he’s gonna piss himself

✧ strangers are actively keeping their distance after that but their huge group sorts hides it

✧ Rumi just shifts so she and Jinu are on the outside and Mystery is safely contained within the circle

✧ they do not need the added expense of ‘Mystery’s bail’ again

✧ Him not having any identification or record of existence was a major hassle the first time around

✧ (Abby and Baby bribed the cops and Rumi and Zoey still don’t know)

✧ (Mira does)

✧ He hit a man in the face with a plastic pitcher because he tried to grope Zoey, so. None of them were particularily mad at him for it.

✧ “Mystery didn’t even break the guys jaw, so honestly the freak got off easy.”

✧ That’s a quote from Mira’s witness statement, one of maybe three? sentences she said before she stayed silent and just glared the rest of the ‘interview’

✧ she also gives Mystery a very (not) discreet fist bump the next time she sees him. they haven’t even taken the handcuffs off him yet at that point.

✧ She will not shut up about his reaction time, he barely got his arms around Zoey’s waist before there was the crack of an empty plastic jug shattering on his stupid thick skull *and* he didn’t hit her or anything else in his swing

✧ “Dude you gotta teach me how to do that shit”

✧ Romance and Abby are like ‘please don’t. (maybe do? wait no don’t)’

✧ Zoey also elbowed him in the ribs at the same time as Mystery landed his pitch(er), so the guy went down down wheezing and bleeding from the mouth and nose

✧ Before the guy even hit the ground Zoey was turning and cussing him out

✧ even beyond hunter training her instincts have always chosen fight above all else

✧ She rapidly switches between korean and english when she’s angry, sometimes even combining one word from each language into an amalgamation she feels can accurately convey her sheer hatred

✧ She is an angry crier but you bet your ass she does not let it make her any less intimidating

✧ She can keep back her sobs, so it’s just rage and rivers of tears. She’s still just as eloquent though, there’s no tripping over her words or shaky breathing

✧ That tends to come after, when she’s no longer engaged in combat

✧ She was so loud and they were so close to the DJ that the music actually paused because the guy thought someone had been legitimately stabbed or something

✧ They were seconds away from it. Mira carries a hot pink butterfly knife with her everywhere and she was itching to use it

✧ Literally the only thing stopping her was that Rumi and Zoey were both in between Mira and the dude on the ground, and security was right there

✧ Instead Zoey just stomped on his balls and then ran after Mystery, who was being dragged out by security at this point

✧ He got off with a ‘warning’, and Rumi still just doesn’t think about it enough to ever be suspicious which. is honestly for the best. what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her

✧ Mystery is actually a little worried that Zoey is gonna be scared of him after that. beyond just the violence he showed in such near proximity to her, he’s also covered in quite a bit of blood

✧ He knows they’ve ’fought’ each other before but that’s the first time she’s ever seen him land a hit. and he definitely hit that man harder than he ever tried to hit Zoey

✧ he physically couldn’t bring himself to go all out against her

✧ That pitcher had a lifetimes worth of rage packed into its swing, and Mystery would’ve been happy to provide many more if it didn’t shatter upon impact

✧ Zoey is not at all scared by it in the slightest, she immediately launches herself into her arms and thanks him for protecting her

✧ “Protecting you would’ve been stopping it before it happened. but he grabbed you like that without your permission, so I wanted to hurt him.”

✧ She shakes her head a bit in exasperation but thanks him for “avenging me then”

✧ That’s a thanks he’s willing to accept.

✧ Baby fake pukes when he says something about always avenging her.

✧ Rumi is momentarily concerned but honestly, not that much and it’s gone fast. she also wanted to see the guy bleed and she would also avenge Zoey if it came down to it.

✧ Mira just nods along sagely, as if she’s a wise teacher impressed with a student. that’s basically what she feels like. she’s been slowly radicalizing all the Saja boys the same way she did to Rumi and Zoey in high school.

✧ Most of them are doing great!

✧ Baby’s still gonna take some work.

✧ Zoey pinches Mystery’s cheeks while they’ve still got the creep’s blood on them, grinning

✧ she teases him about ‘oh so it would’ve been fine with my permission? you wouldn’t get jealous?’

✧ he says yes, “because I’m the only one you’d give that permission to” as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world

✧ He’s right but she still blushes and rolls her eyes and mutters something about him being a “cocky fucker”

✧ She can see the gears turning in his head behind those goddamn bangs as he’s trying to find it and immediately regrets both her word choice and teaching him slang

✧ he’s always got a smartass comment locked and loaded, ready to deliver in the most deadpan tone you’ve heard in your life. this boy is surprisingly hilarious. despite having mostly the humour of a frat boy (but less misogynistic)

✧ maybe it’s because Zoey laughs at all his jokes, and Zoey’s laughter is so contagious it could bring the mona lisa to tears

✧ Once he’s gotten over his general unfamiliarity with socializing, he just has zero filter. ever. if he thinks it he’s probably gonna say it, even if it’s just muttering it to Zoey.

✧ he could probably be a stand up comedian if he didn’t only tell jokes to zoey and no one else

✧ Zoey is this man’s moral compass, last brain cell, guiding star, muse, every other disgustingly sappy analogy, allusion, and metaphor a person could come up with

✧ But. She is not his impulse control. She’s not even her own impulse control.

✧ she has to slap a hand over his mouth before he lunges at the very low hanging fruit. They are still in the police station

✧ He licks her hand

[thatonegrimm]

So, we all know who the divas are in the saja boys, but which ones would give you the absolute WORST hair colour to try and think it would be absolutely perfect?

This is perfect LMAO 😭 After I saw this, I was like “oh no—Romance is totally first.” 💅 He would hand you the brightest box dye in existence and call it a “life-changing moment.”

Who Would Give You the Worst Hair Color (and Think It’s Perfect)

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

💋 Romance

Gives you: Fire engine red with chunky black streaks and glitter scalp gel. Why: He saw it on Pinterest once. But like… from 2011.

“It’s edgy. It’s dangerous. It screams ‘kiss me or fear me.’”

No, Romance. It screams “Hot Topic sale bin.”

He means well, truly—but the second you say “I want a change,” he acts like he’s styling a music video.

He’ll pick a color based on your “aura.” Not your skin tone. Not your undertones. Just the vibe. You’ll look like a color-coded warning sign and he’ll cry at how “powerful” it is.

Confidence level: 100% Taste level: ??? Accountability: “I take full credit for this masterpiece.” Would defend it forever.

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

🔥 Baby

Gives you: Neon green. With orange tips. And possibly glow-in-the-dark streaks. Why: “It looks cool in the dark.” (It does not.)

He’s not trying to ruin your look—he just picks colors based on instinct and impulse.

“What if you matched the inside of a toxic soda bottle?” “What if your hair… was lava?”

He thinks it’s iconic. You look like a melted marker.

Bonus: He will dye half of his own hair to match you and claim it's couple goals.

Confidence level: “You’re a walking Supernova.” Taste level: “I don’t believe in limits.” Would absolutely post you on TikTok with a thirst trap song and zero shame.

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

📚 Mystery

Gives you: Ash grey, storm blue, or void-black, dyed in a pattern that accidentally looks like runes.

Why: He says it “called to him.” That’s not comforting.

He won’t explain what color it is. You’ll only know when it’s already in your hair. He mixes tones like potions. You ask what brand he used and he says “...moonlight.”

The result? Honestly… kind of stunning, but your hair now whispers at night.

Confidence level: Low volume, high intent. Taste level: Immaculate, if you survive. You look amazing, but also haunted.

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

💪 Abby

Gives you: Whatever box dye says “natural brown” but somehow it turns orange.

Why: He wanted to keep it “simple.” He tried to match your eyebrows. You don’t know how it went so wrong.

“It said chocolate! This looks like rust!”

He feels horrible about it. Tries to fix it with a conditioning mask and a pep talk. You forgive him because he literally cries and offers to wear a wig in solidarity.

Confidence level: “I read the instructions twice.” Taste level: Tragically sincere. Would help you re-dye it at 2am with the gentlest hands and snacks.

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

🧿 Jinu

Gives you: Lavender, with cool silver undertones… for winter. Except it's June.

Why: He read three beauty blogs, printed out swatches, and made a chart. Unfortunately, he over-calculated and now you look like a cursed anime princess on laundry day.

“This technically complements your aura and birth chart.”

“Jinu, my roots are blue.”

“That was intentional. Probably.”

He stands by it. Proudly. Even as you wear a hat for the rest of the week.

Confidence level: “I did research.” Taste level: Better in theory. Would lecture you on undertones while booking you a salon fix behind your back.

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

💀 THE VERDICT:

🏆 Worst Offenders:

Romance: Fashion-fueled overconfidence.

Baby: Chaos goblin with color vision vengeance.

😬 Dishonorable Mention:

Jinu: Dangerous in his delusional precision.

Abby: Innocent, well-meaning disaster.

🧪 Shockingly Good?

Mystery. You look cursed… but you also slay.

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

M-List

[houseofhyde]

Hiii !! It’s insane how I’ve been thinking about manchild!Bucky non stop for two days now .

Like manchild!Bucky that has a bike . That’s got you a badass helmet with your name on the back for when he picks you up . And boy does he pick you up . After your work , looking badass and tall . So so tall and towering over you . Your coworkers are pretty much drooling over him and are stunned when they see you head his way and how he’s pulling you in for a kiss before securing your helmet on your head . Uuugh I love men in bikes and I love manchild!Bucky

Am I lowkey scared of motorbikes? Yes. Would that stop me from happily hopping on the back of Manchild!Bucky's bike? Listen to me, your honour: you'll have to pry me off of him it.

Bucky's bike is a paradox: the worst and, yet, the best thing he's ever purchased.

'Why is it the worst?' I hear you ask (and by you I, of course, am talking about the over-imaginative voices in my head). Well, because it somehow achieves what you're already sure should be impossible: it makes Bucky hotter! And, boy, does he know it. He exploits it, in fact, finding every excuse to get you sitting pretty on the back of his bike.

You run out of something inconsequential that you could realistically go a few days without? Say no more! Bucky's already clipping your helmet into place and dragging you down to the building's garage. You let out one (1) sigh of boredom while lounging on the couch on a Saturday afternoon? Bucky literally manifests before your eyes, picnic bag in hand and an invitation (demand) to let him drive you out to a lake he stumbled upon (aka found at 2 am in a reddit thread whilst googling 'top ten obscure must-see date spots in the NY state'). You accidentally sleep in? Bucky's waking you up, keys in hand and a guilty smile that definitely isn't there because he turned off your alarm all in the hopes of giving you a ride to work.

Speaking of work...

You make a mistake, do a little oopsie-daisy, and accidentally let it slip that one of the new interns gave you his number. The regret is instant, washes over you like a sneaker wave. You're fully expecting him to crash out and somehow spin it to be your fault, something you caused by simply being nice to a co-worker — that's exactly what all the men before your soldier have done. But Bucky's nonchalant, unbothered, doesn't even bat an eye at it.

So you assume it doesn't bother him and move on, forget about it — even if there is the teeny tiniest part of you that's toxically disappointed you won't get to relish in the sight of a jealous super soldier.

It happens a few weeks later, after you've already let the poor intern down and made it clear that while you're not explicitly taken, you're certainly not available.

The sweet taste of freedom is in the Friday air, putting a little extra pep in your step as you pack up your things and head out from the office. After what feels like the longest elevator ride of your life — time always seems to drag when you're desperate to get home — the metal doors open onto the sight of a buzzing lobby.

A crowd of your co-workers stand huddled by the building doorway, giggling and pointing out the tinted windows at something on the street. You don't technically mean to eavesdrop but, hey, they are the ones standing in the way!

"How nicely do you reckon I'd need to ask to ride that bike?"

"Never mind the damn bike, look at him!"

"What are the state laws on filming strangers? I need to post this on tiktok, the book girlies are gonna love him!"

Safe to say that the last thing you expect to see as you step out onto the street is Bucky — clad head-to-toe in black, helmet in hand, biceps on display and threatening to tear his t-shirt's sleeves in half — leaning against that damn bike.

Be still thy racing heart! And just when you think he couldn't possibly look any better, Bucky looks up from that chunky Nokia he barely knows how to use and you watch him physically melt at the sight of you.

Before you can run and jump into his arm — judgy stares be damned— someone calls out your name.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to yell, it's just-" Aww, it's that poor, sweet, naive intern, desperately trying to catch his breath. "I saw you leaving and- Well, uh, you forgot this."

You’re about to accept your bag from him when a gloved hand reaches out from behind you and takes it.

"D'you see what I mean now when I say you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to you, doll?" You can't see him but you can feel him and all that six foot smugness, a forcefield of warmth hovering inches from your back. "C´mon, be polite and thank the kid for running all the way down here."

Safe to say, you stutter over every word of gratitude.

"Oh, yeah, uh-" Again, bless this poor intern — I mean, can you imagine just having an innocent crush on a pretty lady and then boom! A possessive super soldier delivered right to your (work) door, staring you down with a smile on his face. Yeah, I'd be handing in my resignation and moving states. "You don't need to thank me, it's no bother."

"Well, ain't that sweet," Bucky curls his free hand around your waist, squeezing you against him. "We better get going, baby. Don't want to still be on the road when it gets dark."

You're so frazzled by the entire exchange that it's only once he's picking you up and plopping you down on the back of the bike that you realise what he's just said.

"Late?" You echo, and almost swear you can see the outline of your nosy coworkers watching you both through the windows. "For what?"

"Didn't I tell you?" The soldier asks, knowing full-well his plans were booked on a whim like 30 minutes ago, just before he left to pick you up. "I booked us a few nights at that little cabin you showed me. The private one, down by that lake you like."

Which brings us to why the bike is also the best thing he's ever purchased: because it makes Bucky hotter! I told you it was a paradox.

But Bucky + hotter = wilder sex. Best believe that man will not hesitate, if you ask nicely enough (aka ask at all), to pull over on the highway, cut the engine, and let you ride him right then and there. While logically one would think he'd be too possessive to risk passing drivers seeing you fall apart, the cocky bastard gets off on the thought. Because, who cares if some loser behind a windshield sees your ass if it's his dick you’re bouncing on?

Okay I'm almost done (because, honestly, this whole thing is just one big rambled mess put into a post and I need to learn when to shut up) but the one thing Bucky never tells you is that the reason he's so insistent on taking you out on his bike is because he gets to relish in having your arms wrapped around him, seeking protection and trusting him wholly to keep you safe. That's okay though, he doesn't have to say anything, because you already know that and him, deep in your bones.

[screamlet]

19 for the cuddling prompts please 🫶🏻

hey thank you to everyone who submitted a prompt and has been putting up with letting me shape a bodyguard au around them. ❤️ here's another installment, set directly after this one. this is cuddling while someone's sick (19). about 1.2k. find all parts of the bodyguard au here (tagged "bodyguard au (screamlet)").

---

Buck didn't think his eyelids could feel heavy, but they do.

"Sal, Emilia needs help with her homework and I need to stop looking at my phone, so stop looking at your phone and—thank you. We'll talk after bedtime. Yes, your bedtime. Goodnight. Say hi to everyone, tell them I miss them."

Someone who sounds like Maddie says, "You two are funny."

"Yeah. He's a character, for sure, and a great friend. No one I'd rather have with me."

Buck grumbles. He can't help it. Sal always gets Tommy's big compliments, probably because he squirms and that makes Tommy laugh. If Tommy told Buck that, he'd appreciate it way more.

"I think he's coming around."

"Evan? Hey, are you with us?"

When Buck finally opens his eyes, he sees Tommy and Maddie sitting at his bedside. Tommy's suit jacket hangs on the back of his chair and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, half his buttons seem undone, and his hair's messy like he's run his hands through it. He looks happy to see Buck.

Maddie—oh, something bad happened.

Buck knows he sounds groggy as hell, but he doesn't care: "Make me your best friend. I wanna—make me chief of friends. Chief friend. Friend-in-chief. That's—that's me."

Tommy chokes out a laugh as he squeezes Buck's bicep. "Yeah, of course, anything you want. I know a guy who prints muscle shirts. You'll get all the friend-in-chief shirts you want. We'll get them for the whole team. My treat."

"Just me," Buck mumbles, then tilts his head to Maddie. "Hey, uh. Did I—get hurt?"

Maddie smiles a little less now. "Yeah. Yeah, we're in the hospital," she says quietly. "But you're okay. Does it hurt?"

"Everything feels great," Buck says, then thinks about it. "No it doesn't. Why—"

He hears it in his head, the sharp sudden bang of a gunshot, and it startles him. His mouth is so dry and then Tommy has a cup of water up to his lips.

"Yeah, drink first, just a little."

Buck does, then asks, "Hey, did I get shot?"

Maddie hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. You did."

"But I'm gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," she says. "You'll be out of work for a while, but it—it could have been worse."

Buck feels his eyes slipping shut again. "Could've been better?"

"Like as far as gunshot wounds go?" Tommy asks, sounding confused.

Buck opens his eyes again. "Were you worried about me?"

Tommy seems to stare at him forever, then finally nods. He wonders if he really did take a long time to think about it, or if it just seems like longer. Time feels kind of soupy right now, like his bones are liquid but his flesh aches. Maybe he shouldn't be talking.

"Evan. Of course. Of course I was worried. I am. We all are."

"Did you get the guy?"

"Yeah, they got him."

"Did you get him?"

Tommy looks down at his hands, so Buck looks, too. He's still holding the cup of water and straw, but his thumbs are pressed together hard. "The threat was neutralized. You don't have to worry about it."

Oh.

"Are you gonna get in trouble?"

"Evan," Maddie interrupts. "Buck, how do you feel? Are you in any pain?"

"Um, not really? Maddie, I kinda feel like I'm made of soup. Not chunky soup but not broth. Like. Cream of mushroom. I kinda want a casserole."

Tommy sits back and laughs. He's wiping his face as he looks at Maddie. "Is he always like this?"

"No, sick Buck is special," Maddie says. She's rubbing her hand along his shin, and he realizes he has bandages wrapped around his right calf.

"Maddie always took care of me when I was a kid," Buck says. He reaches for her hand and twists to reach her, but—shit that hurts. He doesn't realize he's yelling as he slips to one side, the pain in his back and shoulder piercing through his soupy fog.

"No, don't do that," Tommy says as he stands and tries to settle him on the bed again. "You got hurt in a couple of places so don't—don't move too much, okay? Just lie here. Be a good little casserole, okay?"

"No, I'm not a casserole, I want a casserole," Buck protests. "Ow, ow, ow—"

Tommy's—it's not manhandling, exactly, but he's—strong. His arms are wrapped around Buck in a weird and definitely not senatorial/boss way, and he lifts Buck back into bed. It would hurt more if he'd tried to do it himself and Maddie can't lift him like this. When Buck's settled in the bed again, Buck misses his arms and that strength, that solid body against him.

"Hey, Maddie, he's my boss." Buck laughs suddenly. "He's Sen—Senator Tommy. From the Garden State."

Tommy shakes as he laughs. "Golden State," he gently corrects.

"What? We got both?"

Maddie's smirking so hard. "Both what?"

"We got—like a garden state and a golden state?"

"We do," Tommy says. "We've got like, fifty of them, Evan."

Buck laughs to himself and shuts his eyes again. "Sorry I—I didn't mean to get hurt. I—"

"Evan—"

Maddie whispers something, shushes Tommy, and that has Buck open his eyes again. "What? What are you saying?"

"You need to rest some more," Maddie says. "I'm going to find a nurse and let them know you're awake, so sit tight."

He nods and feels himself drifting off again. Through half-lidded eyes he watches Tommy, who's watching him. Buck says his name and waits.

Tommy's quiet, then rubs a hand against his face. His stubble's coming in, the silver and grey catching Buck's eye. It's like he brought some of that cold, snowy cemetery with him, here to Buck's hospital room. That doesn't make sense, but then Tommy looks at him and Buck doesn't care.

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm—I'm glad you're okay. You're safe."

"Yeah, me too," Buck says, and makes Tommy laugh. Makes himself laugh, too. Or, maybe making Tommy laugh makes him laugh. It makes him happy. "I'm happy you're here."

"Yeah, well, I'm not." Buck wrinkles his eyebrows and that makes Tommy shift in his seat. "No, no, I wish—I wish we didn't have to be here. I should be turning off the TV in the main office about now while you complain that I never let you watch The Wheel. I'd never heard anyone call Wheel of Fortune that before I met you. And you'd tell me about a new recipe you wanted to try at home, that your boss at the bureau sent you. And I'd get home and think about how good it must taste before I crack open one of those pre-packaged meals taking up all the space in my fridge." Tommy looks away as he wipes his face again. "And neither of us should be here."

"Okay," Buck whispers. He holds out his hand, but Tommy's hunched over in his seat and hiding his face. Buck flicks the top of his head and surprises him as he sticks his hand out. "Hold my hand."

"Okay?"

"Bobby makes a good casserole," Buck says. "He's from Minnesota, they do casseroles there."

"Yeah, I heard. The Casserole State. It's on their quarters. 10,000 lakes of cream of mushroom soup."

His eyes are red and sad, and that makes Buck sad. He pulls Tommy's hand to his chest and holds him tight, even if he looks stupid and like he's falling out of his seat. Maddie used to say when he was sick that he could get whatever he wanted; right now, he wants this.

"Don't be sad," Buck says. "Hey, I think The Wheel's on. We should watch."

"I need my hand back."

Buck pouts as he closes his eyes again. "No wheel, then."

[teddybeartoji]

film professor!toji, who always wears dark colored slacks and a button-up shirt, alongside with a tie loosely hanging around his neck and a pair of glasses that keep sliding down his nose. the watch on his wrist is always the same one, a relatively chunky silver one that surely can only look normal on a man his size. 

sometimes he rolls up his sleeves, sometimes he unbuttons a few buttons of his shirt; sometimes he ditches the tie entirely and goes for a less sophisticated look. the material wrapped around his biceps looks like it’s about to tear open whenever he folds his arms over his chest and his pants aren’t doing any better, his thick thighs are just bulging out whenever he decides to lean his ass against his desk. and he’s confident, he’s cocky. he looks tired as fuck and his hair is more often than not a complete mess, but needless to say, he always looks very, very good. 

film professor!toji, who’s got a habit of fidgeting with his pens. he’s either simply toying with them in his hands as he introduces the next film you’ll be watching or he’s got one between his teeth as he watches you guys do your presentations. and he usually tucks the thing behind his ear when he’s done playing with it. 

film professor!toji, who’s constantly throwing his legs on top of his desk when he’s listening to the class or when he’s showing you something from the projector. with his hands behind his head, he leans so far back in his chair that it has all of you placing bets on how long he’ll manage to hold that pose before he falls. he never does. 

film professor!toji, who’s an absolute sucker for films from the 80’s. indiana jones, alien, blade runner, scarface, evil dead etc etc – you name it, he’s seen it. has multiple big posters of said films in his classroom too btw. he’s not actually picky though, he’ll watch just about anything because well, why not. he’s not really pretentious either, though he will tease you if you claim a ‘silly’ film as your favourite but he won’t put you down for it. he’ll push you a bit, asking questions to test how sure you are of your answer and then just proceeds to watch you defend yourself with a long ramble with a sly little grin on his lips. that’s what he wants to see after all – that his students love films, no matter what kind. 

film professor!toji, who knows a lot of random facts about the most random films and is not afraid to very casually blurt them out during his classes. some of them are very informative and then some of them are rather questionable, leaning more towards a piece of gossip if anything else. but it’s not like anybody’s complaining.

film professor!toji, who asks what you guys have watched since your last class with him at the beginning of every single class. doesn’t spend an entire hour on this topic but it’s always a certified fifteen minute break from the actual studying because he thinks it’s important for his students to talk about films. to talk about what you saw – if you noticed any peculiarities or mistakes, whether you liked the thing or not. and he always listens; he sips his coffee with his pencil stuck behind his ear, and then proceeds to ask very specific questions. he seems to have seen, or at least to know, every single film ever made and it’s kind of ridiculous(ly hot).

film professor!toji, who's still somehow not entirely used to people calling him 'sir'. mr. fushiguro is what he usually prefers but the 'sir' still pops up every so often and it always catches him so off-guard that it takes him a second to realize that he's the sir.

film professor!toji, who rants in front of the whole class about how much it sucks to watch movies from your teeny tiny laptops. he’s a cinema guy, through and through. and of course, he understands if it’s like a money thing because well, it’s not the least expensive thing to do on a weekly basis but he just tries to emphasize how much better it is to watch things on the big screen. he urges all of you to always take the opportunity when it comes along. 

film professor!toji, who fucking hates grading any sort of papers. he just despises it. he huffs and puffs behind his desk with his head in his hands, contemplating whether this is the right job for him or not (he will never quit). 

film professor!toji, who mostly hangs out with his buddy down the hall, the loud-mouthed history teacher with pink hair. they go on smoke breaks together, laughing together over some stupid answer they saw on a test. 

film professor!toji, who throws his head back with an exasperated sigh every time he spots the white-haired physics professor staring into the hall from the small window on the door with a stupidly big grin on his face.

film professor!toji, who’s schedule falls just in line with the sly literature professor and his brother, the freaky philosophy professor. toji refuses to sit next to the latter, he finds him too off-putting. but with mr. geto – they like to drink their morning coffees together in silence in their own little corner, and it’s surprisingly comfortable. sometimes they talk about films as well, but they almost always end up bickering like some old people because their tastes do not align at all.

film professor!toji, who doesn’t miss the way some of the students seem to swoon over him – he finds it very amusing. he doesn’t really see the appeal, he thinks he’s way too old anyway.

film professor!toji, who’s eyes do seem to linger on you just a little longer than they do on others though. who does a very subtle double-take whenever you enter the room and who steals glances at you when he sees you in the halls. it’s not like he’d ever try anything, of course – that’d be incredibly inappropriate. you’ but he sure does think you’re pretty, there’s no denying of that… 

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to your bad cooking

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, higuruma, shiu

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: request from this ask!

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

It started the day you proudly handed Gojo your newest culinary creation. A dish you confidently described as 'innovative'. Gojo, sitting at your kitchen table like he’s about to be on Hot Ones, stares down at the plate you just served like it’s an unexploded landmine.

You made spaghetti. Or, rather, a version of spaghetti that would legally have to be called 'Tomato-Inspired Pasta Chaos' in 36 different countries. The noodles are sticking together. The sauce? Questionable. Chunky in places it shouldn’t be chunky. Is that… is that cinnamon?

Gojo pokes it with his fork like it’s going to fight back. “So, like, was this cooked under normal human conditions? Like, with fire? Or a curse technique?”

“I followed a recipe!”

"Is it supposed to be smoking?"

"That's steam," you assured him. It definitely wasn't steam.

He takes a deep breath and dramatically scoops up a forkful with the bravery of a man about to bungee jump into an active volcano.

The second the food hit his tongue, he paused. Like, really paused. Statue-still. Then, ever-so-slowly, he chewed. And chewed. And continued to chew.

"Is it good?" you asked hesitantly.

He swallowed with a visible struggle. That bite physically transported him to the astral plane. He saw God. God told him to DoorDash. "Define 'good'."

₊⊹. From that day forward, Gojo developed an impressive array of tactics to cope with your cooking. He masters the art of distraction, pointing dramatically out the window, yelling, "OH MY GOD, IS THAT A CURSE?!" When you inevitably look away, your carefully cooked food mysteriously teleports from his plate into a potted plant or the bin. After a while, you begin to wonder why all your houseplants suddenly keep dying.

₊⊹. When Yuji enthusiastically comes over for dinner once, Gojo immediately redirects your culinary efforts onto the unsuspecting student. And Yuji, gullible and perpetually hungry, bites in, only to instantly make eye contact with you, looking betrayed, scandalized, and utterly tragic. Gojo laughs, completely unfazed, and offers a sympathetic pat. "It's a growth experience!"

₊⊹. At one point, your cooking gets so atrociously bad that Gojo begins miming Oscar-worthy death scenes every single time he takes a bite. He staggers across the kitchen floor, clutching his throat, gasping, "Tell... Megumi... I’m proud of him... and Yuta... he was always my favorite!"

You just sigh, rolling your eyes while he fake-collapses on the floor, legs sticking straight up like a cartoon character. After about ten minutes of complete silence, he peeks one eye open and whispers, "Are you grieving yet?"

₊⊹. Eventually, after another disastrous culinary experiment leaves Gojo dramatically collapsed against your kitchen chair, you cross your arms with an exasperated sigh. "Satoru, seriously, it can't be that awful every single time."

Peering at you over the rims of his sunglasses, Gojo groans theatrically, as if the very idea pains him. "You’re right. Sometimes it’s worse."

You glare at him, mock offended. "It's not THAT bad."

He scoffs, draping himself across your lap like a giant, overly dramatic cat. "The curses I’ve fought pale in comparison. But don't worry," he smirks, eyes twinkling behind his sunglasses, "I'll always heroically sacrifice myself to your cooking disasters. It’s what the strongest sorcerer does."

"You’re an idiot," you mutter, gently running fingers through his messy hair.

He smiles smugly, tipping his head back to meet your eyes. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

When you first present Geto with your cooking, he observes the plate with his typical calm, pleasant smile. The one that hides a thousand judgmental thoughts. His eyes flicker subtly to you, then back to the suspiciously grey lump on the plate.

"Interesting," he starts slowly, cautiously prodding the meal with his chopsticks as though testing a highly volatile chemical. "Did the recipe specifically mention this color?"

"Well... it said golden brown," you mumble sheepishly. "I improvised."

He nods gently, like a supportive parent acknowledging a child’s drawing that looks suspiciously like nightmare fuel. "Ah, creative liberty. Bold choice."

Then, without hesitation, he pops a chunk into his mouth.

You hold your breath, watching anxiously as he chews. But Geto’s face doesn’t change. Not a single twitch, not the slightest grimace. He swallows smoothly and nods at you approvingly. "Interesting texture. Reminds me of... something familiar."

₊⊹. From then on, it becomes painfully clear that your cooking doesn't faze Geto at all. No matter how horrendously bad your dishes are, Geto remains unfazed. One day, after tasting a stew with the exact consistency of glue, he remarks calmly, "You know, this might actually pair well with zaru soba."

When you doubtfully ask, "Really?", he smiles peacefully, eyes closed. "No, not at all. But it's the thought that counts."

₊⊹. At one point, he decides to teach you basic recipes. Simple stuff like miso soup or rice balls. Unfortunately, his instructions become increasingly cryptic and philosophical, like, "Cooking is much like life. Just throw it all together and hope no one notices the mistakes."

You stare at him blankly, ladle in hand. He smiles reassuringly. "Just kidding. Please follow the recipe exactly. I'm begging you."

₊⊹. You start finding mysteriously placed cookbooks everywhere. On your pillow, in the bathroom, even tucked inside your bag. When confronted, Geto merely shrugs, sipping tea elegantly. "It must be fate gently nudging you toward culinary salvation."

₊⊹. One night, Nanako and Mimiko visit. Your attempt at cookies turns into charcoal disks. The girls stare, wide-eyed and silently horrified. Geto, completely unfazed, picks one up and crunches loudly, maintaining full eye contact with you. "Crispy. Like edible charcoal. Good for digestion."

Nanako whispers softly to Mimiko, "He’s built different," as if witnessing a supernatural feat.

₊⊹. Finally, you corner Geto one day, genuinely confused and slightly insulted by his immunity to your horrible cooking. "Suguru, seriously, how are you never grossed out? Are your taste buds, like, broken?"

He looks at you fondly, calmly setting down his tea. "Nothing you could ever make would come close to the culinary horrors I have willingly endured. Trust me, this is child's play."

You gape at him. "What kind of culinary horrors have you experienced?"

He pauses, serene smile unwavering. "I have eaten things," he says carefully, "that make your cooking seem Michelin-star worthy."

You don't fully understand, but he seems so genuinely sincere that you grudgingly accept the compliment.

Geto pats your head affectionately, amusement glinting softly in his eyes. "But if it makes you happy, keep experimenting. I will endure it all. For science. And love, of course."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami always imagined a peaceful life: coming home from work, cooking dinner, sipping whiskey, and peacefully reading a book. Until he met you. Now, coming home meant playing culinary Russian roulette and hoping tonight’s dinner wouldn’t send him directly to the ER.

The first time you cook for Nanami, he walks in looking uncharacteristically hopeful. He neatly folds his blazer, rolls up his sleeves, and sits at your tiny kitchen table like a polite guest at a hostage negotiation.

You place the food in front of him. “Tada!” you announce proudly.

Nanami’s eyebrow lifts slightly as he observes your creation with the intensity of a forensic scientist. He quietly adjusts his sunglasses, then softly mutters under his breath, “Well… it certainly has personality.”

You beam at him. He sighs internally, offering a solemn prayer to whatever god looks after tired salarymen-turned-sorcerers.

He takes a bite, chewing carefully. His expression barely shifts, except his jaw tenses slightly. Finally swallowing, he sets down his chopsticks, clears his throat, and nods solemnly. "It's edible."

“That’s it? Edible?” you pout.

He stares at you very seriously. “Edible is good.”

₊⊹. Your dishes become a battlefield. Each night, Nanami quietly eats, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, face unreadable. It becomes almost impressive how calmly he approaches your meals, treating them like yet another inevitable overtime shift. When Gojo asks how he survives, Nanami calmly responds, "My previous job prepared me for this level of suffering."

₊⊹. You ask for feedback once. Big mistake.

After thoughtful chewing, Nanami calmly delivers his verdict. "Your meal tastes like how overtime feels. Painful, unnecessary, and slightly disrespectful."

You stare, offended but strangely impressed. He pats your hand reassuringly. "I appreciate your effort. But next time, let's stick to recipes."

₊⊹. One night, after tasting yet another questionable casserole, Nanami hands you a fancy cookbook wrapped neatly with a bow. "What's this?" you ask, smiling sweetly.

"A gentle suggestion," he says plainly. "For the safety of our digestive systems. And relationship."

You stare blankly, and he nods solemnly, "It's a romantic gesture. Trust me."

₊⊹. You overhear Nanami murmuring quietly to himself as he suffers through another of your meals.

"Malaysia," he sighs wistfully, eyes distant and dreamy. "White beaches. Street food stalls. No kitchen appliances. Peace."

₊⊹. One night, after yet another tragic dinner, you sigh dramatically, slumping across from him. "Kento, I appreciate that you put up with this every night. Why haven't you left me yet?"

He pauses, carefully setting down his utensils, face impossibly serious. "If I survived being a salaryman and daily exposure to Gojo Satoru, surely your cooking won't break me."

You frown. "That's sweet but… rude?"

His lips twitch into a tiny, almost invisible smile. "Take it as a compliment. My continued survival speaks volumes about my dedication to you."

You can't help but laugh. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand gently. "Besides," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly warm, "a life without minor inconveniences wouldn't be realistic."

You smile softly. "Are you calling me inconvenient?"

"Only your cooking," he clarifies immediately. "You, on the other hand, are extremely worth it."

You're stunned into silence. Nanami clears his throat awkwardly, avoiding your eyes, the tips of his ears slightly pink.

"Aw, Kento!" you tease, "That was almost romantic!"

He sighs deeply, pretending to be irritated. "Don't get used to it."

You lean forward, grinning smugly. "Too late."

He groans quietly, but the tiny smile that quirks his lips betrays him entirely.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

Choso is… different. Sweet, earnest, adorably intense, but still fundamentally… different. Because even though he theoretically knows how being a human works, thanks to the vessel he took over, he still hasn’t quite mastered the whole actually existing as a human thing. And it really shows when it comes to your cooking.

The first time Choso experiences your culinary 'skills,' he sits stiffly at your dining table, staring blankly at the plate in front of him with a carefully neutral expression. You smile proudly at your concoction: it's grey-ish, ominous, and vaguely smoking, but hey, you tried.

He frowns slightly. "From my vessel’s memories, I remember food typically being... less aggressive?"

"Choso, it's not aggressive. It's innovative," you insist, holding a fork up to his mouth encouragingly. "Go on, try it!"

He stares suspiciously at the fork like it personally insulted his brothers, before dutifully opening his mouth. His eyes widen slightly, eyebrows furrowing as he chews slowly, cautiously. Then he swallows and takes a deep, slow breath.

"I see. My vessel's memories must be incomplete," he murmurs very seriously, meeting your expectant gaze. "I don't recall humans regularly eating food that tastes like cleaning agent?"

Your horrified look makes him pause. "Ah. Social tact. I apologize, I’m still adjusting."

₊⊹. Yuji stops by unexpectedly and reaches to try a bite from your suspicious casserole. Choso instantly intercepts his hand, expression gravely serious. "Little brother, you mustn't. Your human body can’t withstand this."

Yuji looks bewildered. You look betrayed. Choso calmly explains, "It's my duty as eldest to protect you."

₊⊹. Choso, genuinely concerned, secretly browses the internet for solutions. You catch him on your laptop at 3 a.m, gravely searching 'is cooking supposed to make people sad'.

You sigh dramatically and close the laptop gently. "Choso, please stop."

He nods solemnly. "I understand. Truth hurts."

₊⊹. Gojo casually jokes, "So, did their cooking try to assassinate you again?"

Choso instantly goes rigid, glaring intensely at Gojo. "Do not speak negatively about their efforts."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? So you enjoyed it?"

"Absolutely not," Choso deadpans. "But only I can acknowledge their food’s threats to my existence."

₊⊹. After an especially questionable meal, you jokingly sigh, "Maybe cooking just isn’t for me. I'm a failure."

Choso looks genuinely distressed, immediately reaching across to grip your hand. "Please don't be upset. Failure is natural. Humans fail constantly."

You blink slowly. "Thanks?"

He squeezes your hand encouragingly. "Yes. Failing is part of human charm."

₊⊹. Eventually, feeling guilty for repeatedly poisoning your sweet (if socially inept) partner, you timidly ask, "Choso, do you actually enjoy anything I cook?"

He takes a long pause, genuinely thinking, before responding solemnly, "Humans appreciate effort more than results."

You sigh. "Choso, that's not answering my question."

He tilts his head thoughtfully, dark eyes softening slightly as he looks at you. "I enjoy that you try. I believe that's very important. I will eat anything you create."

"That's sweet," you mumble shyly.

He shrugs earnestly. "It’s simple logic. If Yuji can withstand Sukuna, surely I can survive your cooking."

You burst into laughter, feeling strangely comforted that no matter how badly you fail in the kitchen, Choso will be there. Awkwardly and confused, but unwaveringly supportive.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

Toji is many things. Cold assassin, ruthless gambler, the bane of the Zenin clan's existence. But above all, he's a man who appreciates good food. Meat, offal, a juicy steak grilled just right. Your cooking, however, is none of those things. Your cooking is the culinary equivalent of stepping on a Lego. Painful, distressing, and definitely not something you signed up for willingly.

The first time Toji sits down to dinner with you, he eyes the questionable lump of 'food' you've proudly placed before him, dark brows furrowing skeptically.

"You made this?" he asks, voice devoid of emotion, poking the dish suspiciously as if it might leap up and attack him.

You nod excitedly. "It's my special recipe!"

He leans back, crossing muscular arms over his chest. "Huh. Special. You sure that's the word you wanna use?"

You glare. He shrugs casually, picking up his chopsticks and bravely placing a bite into his mouth without hesitation. The moment he tastes it, you see a rare expression flash across his usually unbothered face.

Genuine shock.

"How is it?" you ask nervously.

Toji slowly swallows, locking eyes with you seriously. "Y'know, people've paid me good money to assassinate others. Next time someone hires me, I'm just gonna send you with this instead."

"Toji!"

He smirks lazily, raising an eyebrow. "What? It's more efficient than knives."

₊⊹. One afternoon, you discover Toji suspiciously packaging leftovers into small containers. When confronted, he smirks calmly, completely deadpan. "Selling 'em on the black market as poison. Client said it's more effective than cyanide."

You glare at him flatly. He chuckles dryly. "Relax, I'm kidding. Not about the poison part, though."

₊⊹. Even the worm-like inventory curse that literally lives inside Toji’s body refuses to consume your cooking. The first (and only) time Toji tries feeding it leftovers, the creature spits it back out immediately, squirming dramatically on the floor.

Toji just stares at it blankly. "Traitor," he growls.

₊⊹. After another catastrophic meal, Toji sighs, rubbing his temples like he just lost yet another bet. "Eating your cooking is like gambling. Low odds of survival, but damn, what a rush."

You roll your eyes. "Thanks."

He smirks. "Welcome. I'm starting to see why I keep losing all those horse races. I'm using up all my luck surviving dinner."

₊⊹. One night, after forcing down yet another questionable casserole, Toji leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

"You know," he begins dryly, "the Zenin clan threw me in a pit full of curses when I was a kid. Thought it was the worst thing they'd ever done to me."

You pause, staring at him. "And?"

He smirks lazily, dark eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "Then I tasted your food."

You toss a spoon at him in outrage. He dodges smoothly, chuckling softly. "Relax. I’d still pick you over them any day. At least your cooking doesn't monologue about cursed energy."

You pout, reluctantly softening. He notices and reaches across the table, tapping your chin gently with his finger, voice low and teasing. "Besides, I thrive in dangerous environments. Keeps things interesting."

"You mean dangerous because of the food or dangerous because I'm gonna kill you if you don't shut up?"

He grins slyly. "Bit of both."

₊⊹. Hiromi Higuruma

Higuruma has always had a knack for calmly handling high-pressure situations. Defending impossible court cases, facing certain doom within cursed games. Piece of cake. But facing your cooking? That might actually kill him.

The first time you cooked for him, Higuruma’s weary eyes regarded the food with gentle apprehension. He politely inspected it from all angles, as though carefully examining an obscure piece of evidence.

You nervously watched him. “Is it alright?”

He paused thoughtfully, tilting his head, brows knitted slightly. "Interesting."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Interesting… good?"

"Interesting," he repeated carefully, "in that this dish defies several established laws of physics."

"It's supposed to be pasta," you admit, deflating slightly.

His eyes widen just a fraction, a hint of panic briefly flickering across his tired face before he schools his expression into a supportive, blandly reassuring mask. "Of course," he murmurs smoothly, gently patting your shoulder. "Let's... try it together."

You both eat silently. After an incredibly tense pause, Higuruma slowly swallows, sets down his fork, and politely coughs. "Creative," he states seriously. "Certainly breaks conventional culinary laws."

"Is that good or bad?" you ask anxiously.

He smiles tiredly, but fondly. "We'll call it a mistrial."

₊⊹. Higuruma starts keeping a small notebook near the kitchen, diligently taking notes after each new dish.

You sneakily peek one night, horrified at what he’s written: "Experiment #26: Soup (?). Temperature: Lukewarm. Flavor profile: Deeply unsettling. Observations: Possibly sentient."

You gasp loudly, "Hey!"

He looks up calmly, “It’s purely objective documentation. I’m sure the food appreciates my honesty.”

₊⊹. When asked how your meal tastes, he often sidesteps elegantly, offering cryptic answers instead.

"This stew," he begins thoughtfully, holding a spoon dramatically, "makes me question if objective reality even exists."

You blink suspiciously. "Hiromi. Did you just say my stew makes you dissociate?"

He nods gravely. "Precisely. Quite impressive, actually."

₊⊹. “Sometimes,” he murmured after a particularly unhinged omelet, “I think your cooking represents the postmodern condition.”

You stared. “What?”

He motioned vaguely with his chopsticks. “Chaotic. Absurd. Unapologetically hostile to meaning. I respect that.”

₊⊹. One evening, genuinely frustrated, you slump across from him. "Hiromi, just admit it. My cooking sucks."

He carefully sets down his utensils, eyes softening slightly. "Perhaps. But everyone has their strengths. Yours simply… manifest in areas other than cooking."

"Like what?" You challenge, skeptical.

He pauses, then gently answers, "Like persistence. It takes remarkable tenacity to continue creating edible tragedies night after night without losing hope."

You groan, laughing despite yourself. "That was the weirdest compliment ever."

He smiles faintly, one of his rare, genuine smiles, and quietly admits, "Truthfully, your enthusiasm makes even the most terrifying meals bearable. At this point, I’d miss it if you stopped."

You smile softly, genuinely touched. "Really?"

He nods solemnly. "Yes. My life would feel disappointingly stable without your daily culinary chaos."

"Aww," you tease. "You’d miss the food poisoning?"

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with quiet humor. "I’d miss the thrill of surviving it."

Laughing, you throw a napkin at him, which he catches effortlessly, setting it down carefully, lips twitching upward gently.

₊⊹. Shiu Kong

Shiu Kong is a man of questionable morals, minimal expectations, and plenty of street-smarts. In his line of work, he’s seen some serious stuff: curses, assassins, shady deals, Toji Fushiguro’s unpaid ramen tabs. But none of that could’ve prepared him for your cooking.

Your cooking is… controversial. Shiu knows it, you know it, the smoke alarm in your apartment (which screams in agony every night) knows it. Yet somehow, against his better judgment and entirely by accident, Shiu has become your unofficial food critic.

Shiu sits at your tiny table, suit jacket carefully hung on the chair behind him, cigarette extinguished (mostly out of concern that your food might spontaneously combust if exposed to open flame). He stares at the plate you present him, face unreadable.

“Wow,” he finally says dryly, raising an eyebrow at your oddly gelatinous creation. “Did your fridge explode, or was this deliberate?”

You pout indignantly, arms crossed. “It’s an authentic recipe from the internet.”

He hums skeptically. “Was the internet angry at you personally?”

You glare at him, and he sighs deeply, picking up the fork cautiously, as though it might detonate upon contact.

“I better get hazard pay for this,” he mutters, bravely stabbing a fork into the dish. He hesitates, briefly staring at the forkful as though making peace with his life choices, before finally taking a bite.

Chewing slowly, he nods thoughtfully. "Honestly? Tastes like crime."

You glare. "Excuse me?"

"Crime," he repeats casually, shrugging. "Illegal. Punishable. Possibly violates human rights."

"You're exaggerating," you mumble, arms crossed.

He gives you a genuinely amused half-smirk. "Sweetheart, I've worked with criminals for twenty years. Believe me, this is criminal."

₊⊹. From then on, Shiu’s sarcastic yet charmingly detached responses become a routine part of your questionable cooking.

He watches you cook once, genuinely puzzled.

"Strange," he muses out loud, "I always thought curse users were my most dangerous clients."

You look up, offended. "I'm not dangerous!"

He gives you a deeply skeptical look. "That's exactly what someone dangerous would say."

₊⊹. One evening, Shiu walks in, cigarette dangling from his lips. He pauses at your kitchen doorway, staring blankly at the mess. Pots, pans, unidentified stains everywhere. He whistles softly. "Wow, I’ve seen actual murder scenes cleaner than this."

You turn, unamused. "Very funny."

He shrugs easily. "I'm serious. You want me to call a cleanup crew, or is the carnage still ongoing?"

₊⊹. Shiu, ever the career criminal, genuinely ponders using your dishes to extort information from his underworld associates. After tasting another tragic attempt, he eyes you seriously. "You ever considered a side job in interrogation?"

You roll your eyes. He insists gravely, "I know guys who’d spill their guts after one spoonful."

₊⊹. Eventually, your bad cooking becomes weirdly endearing to him. Somehow, choking down your meals each night becomes his strangest, most irrational sign of affection.

"You don't actually have to eat this, you know," you say softly one evening, watching him calmly choke down burnt stir-fry.

He glances up, eyes surprisingly soft. "I've willingly babysat Toji’s kid. This isn't even top ten worst decisions I've made."

You laugh despite yourself. He sets down his fork and reaches out, awkwardly patting your hand with surprising tenderness. "Listen, I handle curse users. Compared to that, your cooking is... charmingly manageable."

You snort loudly, shaking your head. "Shiu, that's literally the worst compliment ever."

He smirks gently, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Fine. Your cooking sucks, but you're kinda cute. Better?"

You grin, nudging him playfully. "Better."

He sighs dramatically, lighting another cigarette. "Just promise me you'll never cook professionally. I don’t have enough shady connections to bail you out from mass poisoning charges."

[luveline]

hiiiiiiiii jade! <3

would you be willing to write a fic about girl dad!spencer x bombshell!reader? i can only imagine what an adorable riot their daughter would be!!!

tysm!

ty for requesting!! mom!reader

Spencer always thought you were too beautiful for him. Too funny, too brave, too confident. For years he feared he’d never be anyone you could love; he was the opposite of all your best parts, he talked too much about the wrong things, he went red whenever you so much as looked at him, and he couldn’t flirt back, not for anything. 

But it’s been a very long time since he felt that way. What good is a father who doesn’t believe in being yourself? Amanda deserved to be loved from the moment she drew breath, and he shouldn’t have been any different. 

Now, though, he’s wondering if he shouldn’t be so accepting of all her whims. “I am not wearing that, daddy,” she says. 

She’s just old enough to put together sentences but young enough that the individual words sound like building blocks, chunky and clumsy on her little mouth. Her lips are yours, her smiles and frowns one hundred percent you. (Though you argue with him often that the quizzical pout she does is all his.)

“What do you mean, angel?” he asks, bent over her sock drawer looking for a matching pair. 

“This is pink, and this is purple.” She points. 

“Yes, and you like pink and purple!” 

“I like pink… and I like purple,” she says. 

“But not together?” he asks knowingly. “You want them at different times, is that it?” 

She runs for his legs, hugging them tightly. “Thank you.” 

“You’re so much like your mommy it’s scary,” he whispers playfully, leaning down to pat her small back. “Okay, angel. I’ll find you a different dress to wear. Or maybe the dungarees!”

She lifts her chin up to smile at him. “Y’okay.” 

“Spencer, Amy!” you call, voice carrying from the kitchen. “Are you guys ready? We have to go soon and you haven’t even eaten!” 

Spencer used to sit at his desk daydreaming about you. He’d drink five cups of tea a day to get to walk past you for the kitchenette, hoping you’d be making a coffee, that you’d flirt with him over corporate rewarded donuts. Now you’re making him breakfast as he persuades your daughter into jelly shoes because she wants tall shoes like mommy. They compromise —Any will wear the wrong shoes if Spencer agrees to carry her to the kitchen table. 

“Sorry,” Spencer says as he pushes open the door into the kitchen. He's trying to be the best dad he can be all the time, but he doesn’t have a knack for the mornings like you do. “We won’t be late.” 

“That depends on how agreeable my lovely girl is feeling today.” You pick up the pink plastic plate you’ve filled with eggs, toast, and a mix of washed berries. “What do you think, Amy? Looks nummy?”

“Chocolate chip?” she asks, eyes already widening. 

“It’s breakfast, honey,” you say, scooping her out of Spencer’s arm to carry her to the table. “Chocolate chips are for dinner.” 

“Please?”

“If you promise to be really super duper good at Uncle Derek’s, then yes, you can have some chocolate chips,” you say, tucking her chair in, and kissing her chubby cheek. “You want me to make you milk or juice, mm?”

Spencer spots the two plates you’ve made up for you and him on the counter and quickly brings them to the table, sliding yours in front of you with a long-pronged fork, his hand on your shoulder to keep you in your seat. “I’ll get it,” he says, ducking down to kiss you on the side of the mouth. 

You turn to Amy. “See that, sweetheart? See how nice and kind your daddy is to me? He’s soooo nice. This is why we love him so much, and we appreciate him so much.” 

Amy nods emphatically, blueberries tumbling off of her plastic fork. “So much,” she echoes, her voice like melting sugar. 

He has a weird moment by the fridge where he has to grip the handle. “You know I used to dream about making you a cup of coffee in the mornings?” he asks. 

“Spencer, come over here and kiss me again, please,” you say, sympathetic and fond.

“Me too!” Amy says through fruit. “Me first.” 

“Oh, gosh, this is one of the hardest decisions of my life,” he says, sweeping in to dot your cheeks with kisses, hers then yours, three apiece.

[luxxid]

THINKING ABOUT : Satoru would be the dad who cries when his child gets their vaccination. divider by @cursed-carmine.

Satoru's mind was reeling.

Your husband, full frowns and grumps, took a seat in the pink plastic chair decorated with stickers of Elsa and Olaf, and very possibly tears of other children. A dramatic sigh heaving from him as he mentally judged the teddy bear sticker on the wall, which according to him, looked way too happy to be in an paediatric ward.

His jaw was tight. His soul was wailing.

Today was vaccination day. For your baby, of course.

He sat, stiff as a corpse and eyebrows furrowed comically, his knee bouncing the little bundle on his lap, a squishy, round faced angel in a frilly blue dress with the letters "STRONG LIKE DADA."

The nurse entered the room with a tray full of tiny syringes and alcohol pads, and colorful stickers on the side. Gojo visibly winces when his blue eyes catches the sight, he tears his gaze away from the tray of doom, and he also turns your daughters head to the side.

Gojo wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. You roll your eyes.

"Remind me who's getting the shot again?" You whisper as you lean down from where you stood to where he sat on that comedic pink chair. He shoots you a dirty glare and mouths a "shut up" while clutching his daughter harder, softly poking her thigh. The exact place where, in his words, she would be getting stabbed.

The nurse approaches your husband and daughter with a smile.

He does not return it. Instead, he visibly scowled and looked down at his daughter. He cooes.

"My baby— my sweetsweet baby, they're going to stab you and take your blood and inject MMR into you!— and—oh—God knows what's next!" He tragically wails, you blink and sigh, shooting an apologetic smile to the nurse who was looking at you in bizarre tones. You nudge his shoulder and he shoots you a dirtier glare.

"It's just a small pinch sir, she won't feel anything, neither will you." The nurse mutes her last words with a soft smile while turning to get the syringe. He huffs in response and rocks your daughter, who was full of smiles and rainbows, unlike her father.

She turns back with the needle, flicking it and extracting the vaccine from the vial, flicking it once more— she reaches for the alcohol pad, when—

"“That’s… that’s a BIG needle.” He emphasizes the big, still making your daughter face the teddy bear he had criticized earlier whilst staring at the nurse with a look dirtier than when she had entered.

“It’s the smallest size we have, sir,” the nurse said, not looking up. She tears open the alcohol pad which had garnered Gojo's attention.

“That’s what they all say before the betrayal begins,” Gojo muttered, rocking his knee, clutching your daughter tighter like she was about to be vaccinated. “You all smile and sanitize your hands and then stab babies like it’s your hobby.”

"Satoru!" You whisper through your teeth, why did he have to be so damn dramatic?

"What?! Did I lie?!" He retorts.

The nurse breathes out, ignoring the banter as she approaches the gleeful baby. She smiles softly at your bundle of joy as she softly disinfects your daughters chunky thigh.

Satoru's breath hitches clearly.

"Sir, are you.. crying?" The nurse raises an amused eyebrow while you visibly sigh once more at the melodramatics of your husband.

“I’m not crying,” Gojo sniffed, blinking away very obviously tears and wiping his cheek with your daughter's frilly skirt. “I’m just— just get on with it!" He sniffs loudly and blows his nose on his sleeve.

The nurse continues her disinfection while stealing a few glances at your husband who was trying hard not to start bawling, and a few at your absolutely annoyed expression, and one at your daughter who was still smiling, not for long though.

Your daughter, now intrigued by her fathers obvious distress, twisted around in his lap, her big watery eyes studying her father like he was some sort of new Ken doll to her collection. She patted his cheek while cooing.

Gojo looked down at her, dramatically sniffling. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry—I wanted you to have a normal life. I never wanted you to know pain— and now here we are! Here in this damned room!" He really had a future in soap operas.

He glared at the nurse again, this time like she had broken one of his daughters summer edition Barbie dolls.

“You. This is all your fault.” His finger pointed at her, you nudged him once more, reminding him this was not the place for his theatrics.

The nurse was clearly starting to get annoyed— or amused. “Sir, I haven’t even started yet— ”

“She’ll be fine,” you muttered through gritted teeth, clearly ready to smack some sense into him.

“You planned it, didn’t you?, "He interrupted you before starting again, "Plotting in your break room with your coffee and cream buns and your needles and your laughter. Probably comparing notes. I know your game.”

The nurse looked at the other nurse in the room in helplessness.

Your baby started to squirm.

“Wait—no—no, baby, don’t wiggle—don’t move! We have to face this together!” Gojo panicked, gently restraining her like she was a wild rabbit. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s going to protect you!" Yeah totally.

The big bad nurse flicked the needle once more.

He flinched like he’d been struck by lightning. Holding onto your daughter for dear life. Your jaw was slightly agape at his stand up comedy.

The needle went in.

Poke.

Then came the shrill, girly screaming. Not from your daughter—from your grown husband.

"BITETHENURSEBITETHENURSEBITETHENURSE—"

Disgustingly wet, snotty wailing. Even the nurse hurried with the vaccination, taking precautionary steps away from your unorthodox husband— you assumed that was due to his recent threats.

"Satoru!" You whispered through gritted teeth and furrowed eyebrows, nudging his damn shoulder again, the nurses were visibly laughing now. You haven't felt this embarrassed since he screamed in the labour room along with you an year ago.

He cracked an azure eye open, slowly— cautiously. He quickly realized he was the only one who cried.

Your daughter, still full with same giggles and smiles she had before she was shot. She looked up to her father, who looked at her like she was the sole reason for world peace.

Satoru burst into tears.

“She’s so brave,” he wept, holding her close. “She’s the strongest person I know. Stronger than me— she didn’t even blink. My daughter’s a champ."

“You cried more than the women in the labour room, sir” another nurse said flatly, very poorly containing her laugh while sticking a Tinkerbell Band-Aid on your daughters leg.

“I cried on her behalf.” He corrected, blowing his nose once again with the tissue he had held onto in case your daughter cried and tossing it to you, cue you catching it with a look he knew and feared all the well.

"Right."

He could feel you shooting glares at the side of his head, he cleverly chose to ignore it, babying his baby, kissing raspberry kisses on her stomach while saying shit like 'Who's getting a free day? You—and me!" He gets up, bouncing your daughter, still very skilfully avoiding your gaze, he knows he's going to lose pillow privileges when he gets home.

The nurse returns with a few papers and a single grape flavoured lollipop, she cooes softly and hands it to your daughter who was already reaching for it. Your poor daughter drops it, she starts whimpering, reaching for it from where she was held by her father.

Gojo whistles and reaches down for the lollipop, flicking the wrapper off and popping it in his mouth.

The nurse looks at you, almost pitying you. Gojo starts walking with a baby in his arms and twirling a damn lollipop in his mouth like he had gotten the damn polio vaccine.

The nurse hands you the papers, bidding you a brief bye as you thank her and reach up to your husband and daughter. You reach up to your husband who was examining the lollipop wrapper while your daughter was starting to whimper, signalling her trademark whining.

"Eh, it's grape, it's not that good." He remarks whilst he resumes giving the lollipop a blowjob. He gives you a quick glance before averting his eyes to the exit, bouncing your daughter merrily.

Your daughter wails something along the lines of, 'LOL Dolls", something she loved. Your husband looked at her with a bemused expression, shushing her with his sticky grape lollipop finger.

"LOL dolls? I said that? No sweetie!—you're just tired from the vaccine, let's go home!!"

[justasecretflower]

Babysitting Ft. The homicipher men

Synopsis- you were tasked with babysitting a baby around 5 months old. How do the homicipher men act around human babies?.. / all set in the real world / happy love ending

incl- Mr. Crawling, Mr. Scarletta, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Silver, Mr. Hood.

Cw/ baby fever,

Mr. Crawling

🖤your sibling just dropped off your niece, a slobbery, chunky, baby 2 minutes ago with a bag of necessities in tow, now, you’re watching Bluey with her on the couch..and so is mr. Crawling

🖤your niece was a little intimidated by Mr. Crawling at first, you picked her up from your sibling, shut the door and as soon as your nice and Mr. Crawling made eye contact, the baby was wailing and Mr. Crawling was stressing

🖤soon, though, you three rested on the couch. Well, you and your niece and mr. Crawling awkwardly sitting on the floor in front of you

🖤he felt a small tug, only to turn his head to see chubby little fingers pulling on his hair. The small creature babbled and cooed, the fingers grabbing and twirling at his hair.

🖤he smiled and giggled, seeing the adorable tiny thing enjoy his hair.

🖤he figured out how to play with the tiny thing. Poke her belly, peak a boo, tickle her a little and throw her then catch her. He loved his little buddy!!

🖤while the baby was asleep, all sprawled out he looked over at you, a happy smile on his face “how” “make?”

🖤”how make..a baby?” You pointed at your nice confusingly he nodded eagerly. You paused and simplified ‘how to make’

🖤he only smiled, looking at the baby, then you again “we make?”

Mr. Scarletta

❤️when the baby gets dropped off he kinda just stays.. away. He's not used to small humans being around.

❤️you encourage him to at least come and hangout. To which he complies, obviously, since he's at your service.

❤️he stands next to you while you spoon feed the baby, and pass over the spoon when your phone rings. At first, he didn't know what to do, he just awkwardly stood by with the baby spoon till he mimics the airplane thing that you did and feeds the baby.

❤️he finds a strange joy when the baby starts babbling, clapping her hands and giggling, as if it made him happy that she was happy.

❤️he has found a new friend! after feeding her he let's you clean her up because he doesn't know how but then afterwards grabs the little thing right out of your hands to go hold her and play with her on the couch

❤️he found it so cute that humans are sometimes this small and weak. He likes it when she wraps her fingers around his finger. He finds it so cute.

❤️cradles the baby, watches tv with her, just gently swaying with the baby, he loves it! sign him up. I know some people will probably think he doesn't like babies, but he does! he likes how small and weak they are. Just little lumps of slobbery chunk that babbles. So cute.

Mr. Silver

🩶fascination. Naturally. What is this small human?

🩶he kinda just..observes. Watches how to take care of such an incapable, small little lump.

🩶he finds them cute though. Likes to see what makes them happy, stresses out when he accidentally makes them cry.

🩶he watches the kids shows and tries to decipher a meaning and see the affect the colors and sounds have on the baby and what it benefits to them.

🩶tries to teach the baby monster language, but is only met with a small, confused head tilt. Gives up on it after you tell him the baby only knows some words in human language. It was hard teaching you monster language, a fully capable adult, it'd be nearly impossible teaching a little, babbling creature.

🩶watches out for dangers while she sleeps, stands over her and watches for any possible threat. Once a fly flew in her general direction. and it immediately got a scalpel thrown directly at it, pinning it to the wall.

🩶definitely protective over her.

Mr. Chopped

🧡not a fan

🧡why do humans have these attention sucking things?!

🧡gets mad at the baby stealing away your attention and especially hates it when you choose to pickup and sway the baby instead of him

🧡No! Not baby! pick up me! carry!

🧡the baby would be interested in him, grabbing at his face and hair, yes, he bit the child, no, he didn't apologize.

🧡just sulks until the baby leaves. You won't get him to watch the baby, try to make funny faces at the baby to play, you will get nothing out of him.

🧡I saw a video with a dude saying he had abortion fever, that's literally mr. chopped. He hates it when it cries, grabs at his face, he all around does not like the baby.

🧡do NOT babysit with him.

Mr. Hood

🤎He get's so soft when he first sees the baby, how cute, how delicate.

🤎he wants to help the baby, get out of his way. Teach him how to do it once and he's on a roll, sit back, don't do anything he's got this.

🤎is it because he wants you to relax? partially, more so because he wanted to hangout with the strange, small little human. He adores the baby sooo much.

🤎he hates it when the baby cries, but is very, very patient and handles the baby extremely well.

🤎probably the most patient, nurturing, and caring of all of the homicipher men, Mr. Scarletta knows how to take care of a baby, just doesn't like to, he just likes playing with them, Mr. Silver kind of sees the baby as a learning experience, Mr. Crawling leaves as soon as the baby cries, and Mr. Chopped is well.. Mr. Chopped.

🤎is like Mr. Crawling, now he wants one. But gets weary when he learns about birth and pregnancy, it seems like a lot on you.

🤎could you two just like...steal one?

ART CREDS!! - bubble_oog on X, Akiyori09 on Reddit :).

tags

[jmstoesblog]

Toxic

Pairing: bf!Jungkook x gf!reader

Summary: You’re fed up with your boyfriend—Jungkook— and want to break up with him.

released: 03.04.24

Warnings: toxic relationship, Jungkook’s an ass, unprotected sex, making out, swearing, dirty talk (?), degradation, reader passes out, not proofread!!

Wc:

Note: it didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to. I might change the ending since i don’t like it.

——————————————————————————

People are dancing, smoking, drinking, talking and having fun…. while you’re sitting at a booth alone.

You roll your eyes at your boyfriend— Jungkook— entertaining some blond girl. He’s shamelessly flirting with her in your presence. You both came here together wanting to let off some steam as it had been a bad day for both of you. Work was really tiring and you just wanted to relax but your boyfriend suggested to go to a club to get your mind off of work. It was a shitty day for him too.

“I’ll get us a drink, yeah? I’ll be back in a minute.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words.

Now look where he is, letting some random girl— that’s not even his type, you might add— touch him. Every time he says something she laughs and either touches his biceps, thighs or shoulder.

People, friends, your parents, they all have been telling you to not get with him. He’s bad. Honestly they were right, he screams fuckboy. From his personality to his slutty body. His broad shoulders, his chest that is getting bigger every day, he might have more man boobies than you. His biceps, his toned abs and tummy down to his thick, muscular thighs.

Not to forget his tatts and piercings. He has an eyebrow piercing, two lip rings and like six earrings on each ear. He always wears jewelry. Chains, bracelets, rings…

His style is very simple. He wears oversized, comfy black clothes. He wears chunky black boots amd lastly rides a Harley.

He has taken you on dates with his motorcycle a lot of times. You’d grips his waist for dear life every time he’d speed up ( which he does intentionally, so you’d hug him tighter)

You have no doubt that he loves you, it’s just the way he acts or the things he says…..

You two have been on and off, mainly because of him and his foul mouth.

You remember him calling you a bitch in an argument a while ago. The first red flag of many.

He hurt you with his words a lot.

“You’re a good for nothing little whore!”

“Y/n! Stop being such a bitch!”

“Is that all you can do!? Crying is the only thing you can do?”

“Shut the fuck up! Your voice is so annoying!”

You know he loves you but his actions hurt you.

His love for you is toxic.

——————————

“Where are you going?”

“Why do you care? Go back to that girl. I bet she’s missing you already.”

“Baby, don’t leave. We were having so much fun!”

You halt on your steps and turn around, facing him, “No Jungkook. You were having fun.”

“You were entertaining her while I, your girlfriend, was waiting for you at that fucking booth! So tell me Jungkook, how were we having fun!? Huh?”

“Don’t be like that, y/n.” He tries grabbing your hand but you quickly pull away, “It was harmless flirting.” He states with a blank face.

Your jaw drops to the ground. You’re about to say something but decide not to.

“Don’t leave, baby! Where are you going!?” Jungkook yells after you as you walk away, “I’m done with you Jungkook! Leave me alone!” You yell at him, not stopping walking.

You pick up your pace after hearing his footsteps behind you. You start running and he eventually catches you, throwing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

He makes sure to pull your dress down and rest his hand there. So nobody can even get a glance.

“What the hell!? Put me dow—“

He abruptly slammed you against a wall, you groan in pain, “shut the fuck up! Just shut up!” He lowly whispers. You’re completely still after that. You do not want to provoke him. You know how he is when he is angry.

He’s already very mad. He glares at you for a few seconds, “you’re just making it harder for yourself.” He says, his hand traveling from your waist to your throat, the other one, firmly wrapped around your waist.

“So just keep quiet,” he tilts his head, “yeah?”

His hand squeezes your throat when you don’t immediately answer, he squints his eyes at you, daring you to not answer. You nod, breathing heavily. He pokes his tongue in his inner cheek and briefly looks away and back at you, “use your fuckin’ words! Or are you unable to form a simple sentence!?” His grip tightens.

You claw at his hands, trying to pry his hand off you, “s- sto-op I c…ant breath…” he gives you another squeeze and finally takes his hand off you. He grabs your wrist and drags you with him, towards his car.

You try catching your breath again as your panting hard.

He did it again.

He chocked you again.

A few months ago, during an argument, he chocked you, for the first time. You gave him the silent treatment until he dropped down on his knees and begged you for forgiveness while crying.

Your poor heart cant see him crying, so you forgave him instead of leaving him.

But he’s not always been like this.

You love him too much to leave him.

————

You flinch when he slams the car door shut, he angrily walks over to your side and opens the door, “out.” Once you get out, he slams it shut and drags you to the door.

Oh no, no, no…

Even if you love him, it’s not good for the both of you, so you want to end it here. You should have ended the relationship a long time ago.

You grab his arm with your free hand, “stop Jungkook!”

You regret everything, as he only stands there, back facing you, not uttering a word.

What feels like an entirety comes to an end as he slowly turns around and raises his pierced brow.

“Please stop….” You meekly beg.

Jungkook just stares at you, he sighs annoyed after a few seconds, “Get. in. the. house.” He puts pressure on every word.

He leaves you standing there as he gets inside, “okay y/n, you can do this. Just tell him the truth without peeing yourself.”

“Let’s end this, forever…..”

You mumble and walk into the house.

As you step foot into the house, you notice it’s quiet, very quiet. You gulp, your heart racing with fear. What will he say? What will he do? Will he accept you wanting to break up with him?

Where will you go?

You live with him in his apartment. Only after a few months of dating he asked you to move in with him. Who were you to deny him? You were so madly in love with him, not noticing the red flags.

It’s not like you don’t have money. You work, but do not get paid as much as Jungkook does. But you do have some money stashed away. You cannot buy a house or an apartment with it, but stay at a hotel meanwhile. Or at your friends.

You could stay at your parents, but you don’t want to worry them, knowing how much they love Jungkook.

“What the hell y/n?” Jungkook breaks you out of your thoughts, “what was that stunt you pulled back there?”

Fighting with Jungkook was…… something.

It either led to angry sex, ignoring each other or breaking up.

It was mostly him who apologized after arguments. He’d give you nice flowers and take you out.

And you’d blindly forgive him. Every. Time.

You were— are— madly in love with him.

You furrow your brows in anger, “What? The fuck, Jeon? Are you even listening to yourself? I’m your girlfriend yet you were flirting with someone else in my presence!”

“Are you ever going to grow out of your fuckboy phase!? The fact that I lasted so long with you surprises me! You flirt— you entertain other woman while you have a girlfriend! Do you know how it makes me feel?”

You keep yelling at him, “It wouldn’t surprise me if you have already cheated on me!”

(Don’t worry y’all, he hasn’t.)

Jungkook licks his lips and bites them right after. It’s been several minutes and you’ve been yelling at him.

It’s turning him on. You yelling at him like that. After just a few minutes he got a boner. The way your brows furrow, you calling him every insult there is.

It makes him fucking hard.

“Will you say something now!?” You yell at him after your rant. You noticed he’s been quiet and hasn’t said a word to you.

Which is not Jungkook at all. He always talks back. Always.

“You done?” He calmly asks in his deep voice, you catch a tint of amusement in his tone.

You scoff, “Have you even been listening to me!?”

He smiles.

A smile that is clearly mocking you.

The audacity he has! Well you’re about to wipe that smile away.

“I want to break up!”

It happens so fast.

He was suddenly pinning you to the wall with his hand around your throat, he wasn’t holding you tight. His other hand was in your hair.

“And why is that?” He chuckles darkly, “saw me with some female and now you want to break up?” He starts laughing.

“Yes,” you hiss once he stops laughing, “you’re disrespectful, demanding and a freak.”

“Oh? I’m the problem now?” He comes closer, “you’re the one that’s insecure.” He has a lazy grin on his face.

He is not taking this seriously. Is this a joke to him?

“God, Jungkook! You’re not even taking this seriously! You’re so—“

He kisses you.

Jungkook kisses the life out of you. And you don’t resist, you kiss him back with the same force. Jungkook’s hand travels from your hair to your waist, squeezing it a few times during the make out. His other hand remains on your throat.

You wrap your legs around his waist and he rests his hand on your ass while still making out. Kissing sounds are the only thing hear throughout the whole house.

He takes you to the couch and lays you down, your legs still circling his waist, but now hanging loosely around ‘em.

“You think I’d cheat on you?” He mumbles while kissing up your leg, “I’d never.” He presses a chaste kisses to your clothes center.

“No, I didn’t mean that— mhm.” He yanks your panties and throws them somewhere on the floor. He dives right in between your legs and your lips part before letting out a gasp.

You grip the couch so hard your knuckles start to turn white, Jungkook takes notice of that and places your hands in his hair.

Jungkook runs his tongue up and down your slit, you pull on his hair and he lets out a grunt, “fuck you, Jungkook, seriously.” You manage to say, his tongue is just so good, “yeah? I’m about to.” He answers and gives your pussy a smack.

“Ouch,” you wince in pain.

He smirks, “you know i love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” You roll your eyes, “I love you too.” You mumble, not looking at him.

You hear him let out a chuckle before toring apart the rest of the clothes, you gasp and hit his shoulder, “Jungkook!”

“What? You don’t need them now.” He answers so easily with a lazy smirk on his face.

You purse your lips and look away, Jungkook starts rubbing your pussy while leaving hickeys on your collarbone and neck. Your hands pull at his hair and he groans in your neck.

Jungkook has a hair pulling kink. He likes having his hair pulled during sex.

You start bucking against his hand and he bites your neck gently, “You’re so desperate, huh?” He says, amusement evident in his tone.

You unzip his pants and slide them down along with his boxers. His length springs free, slapping against his stomach. His dick is standing proudly with cum leaking out of his head, the head is slightly red.

You bite your lip upon seeing his big, veiny shaft, Jungkook smirks in response, his ego rising. He takes his dick in his hand and starts pumping himself, his eyes closed.

Jungkook moans in pure bliss. He opens his eyes and looks at you while jerking himself off, “come here.” He breathes out.

You move closer, laying completely under him. He pokes your pussy with his dick, “put it in now!” You’re getting impatient.

Jungkook raises his pierced brow, “shut up.” He growls and pushes himself in you, in one go. You both moan in pleasure, “you’re so tight. Didn’t know I didn’t fuck you for so long.” He is strechting you out so good.

You wrap your legs around his waist again, squeezing him a few times with your legs, but he doesn’t mind. Your arms are hanging loosely around his neck.

“Feels good, baby?” He asks, thrusting into you.

“Y..yes…”

He scoffs, “so good, huh? You can barely talk.” He laughs, “am I making you feel that good?” He pulls you up by your shoulders, “tell me how good I make you feel. Go on.”

You’re blinded by all the pleasure, “so g-good!” You gasp out, “yeah? You’re making me feel good too.” He doesn’t stop pounding into you.

You moan at his words, your praise kink being fed.

“You feel so good, baby. Your pussy is wrapping itself around my cock so good.” He moans, praising you more.

He leans down, pressing more kisses to your lips.

“Kook too much!” You cry.

“Too much?” He scoffs, “that’s what you get, you wanted to leave me.” He cups your face, “you can’t leave me. You’re mine.” He pecks your lips.

“My baby.” He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck. He keeps thrusting into you, his pace getting faster by the seconds.

His thrusts get sloppy after sometime and he cums in you.

He looks at you, “Gotta make sure you never leave me.” He mumbles while cleaning himself up. After throwing the dirty tissues in the bin he wears his pants and cleans you up.

Well…. Since you couldn’t, because you’re passed out.

Jungkook admires you for a few minutes before cleaning you up. You’re naked laying on his couch with his cum leaking out of you.

“Love you.” He mumbles pressing a kiss to your forehead.

————

Do NOT copy or translate.

Thank you for reading 💕

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