#and then the end reveal... not gonna talk about that

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru is terrible at keeping secrets.

especially when that secret is you finally, after two years of relentless, dramatic, embarrassingly persistent courting, agreeing to be his girlfriend.

he swore up and down he could handle it—“…sure, sure, lowkey, hush-hush, i got you, baby,” he said, practically bouncing in place like the golden retriever he is, his white hair a fluffy mess, bouncing with every nod, bright blue eyes sparkling behind his blindfold—because, yeah, okay, it made sense. things were complicated. it would be messy if people found out too soon.

but also? it was satoru.

it was the lovesick man who has been hopelessly, pathetically down bad for you since the moment he laid eyes on you, and turns out, yeah, he can’t hide shit.

he’s doing the most. failing the most.

he’s staring at you during work like you’re the moon, the stars, the air he breathes, and probably breakfast, lunch, and dinner, too. the kind of gaze that has hearts practically floating out of his head like a bad shoujo manga. his lips tug upward in a soft, lopsided grin every time you so much as sigh. and it doesn’t help that he smiles like an absolute idiot every time you speak—his fingers fiddling with his pen, twirling it with that restless energy, like he’s got nowhere else to look but you. sometimes he props his chin on his hand, elbow on the desk, feet swinging beneath his chair, eyes glimmering with obvious affection. sometimes he kicks his feet, like he’s writing your name in hearts all over his notes.

and when people tease him about it?

“uh…uh…she’s just…” he chokes, rubbing the back of his neck, his white hair falling into his flushed face. his sunglasses slide down his nose as he stammers, his fingers nervously drumming on the table. “she’s cool! yeah! a really… really… cool… coworker!”

uh huh.

people start noticing real fast. the way you bring two drinks into meetings, both his favorite. the way his jacket mysteriously ends up on your chair, like he’s perpetually cold even though he’s not. the way you two walk in separately but somehow always leave together. the way satoru is always hovering two inches behind you like he’s your personal security detail, or maybe just your lovesick guard dog, his long legs struggling to slow his stride to match yours. his glasses slips sometimes, revealing those ridiculously bright eyes trained on you and only you.

and when you whip your head slightly and whisper scoldings under your breath, lips barely moving—"“you’re gonna blow our cover, dumbass”—he just beams, a grin so wide his cheeks push up against his blindfold. his fingers twitch, aching to reach out and tuck a stray hair behind your ear. it’s the kind of smile that could knock the air out of your lungs if you weren’t already holding your breath trying not to combust. he tilts his head like he’s imagining sliding a ring on your finger already, the soft flush on his cheeks betraying how much he’s already too far gone.

it’s not just the staring. it’s the giddiness. the way he forgets to keep his distance when you’re around. the way his shoulders instantly straighten when you walk into the room, like his whole body is magnetized to you. the way his fingers tap against the desk like he can’t wait to talk to you again. the way he fumbles, dropping his pen or knocking over his water bottle, when someone catches him looking at you like you’re his entire universe. it’s the way he instantly brings you snacks he swore were “for everyone” but somehow always end up on your desk, the wrappers piling up as you pretend not to enjoy the attention.

it’s also the way you’re absolutely pissed when you realize he’s blowing the secret wide open. your jaw tightens, your foot taps the floor, your arms cross, and your glare sharpens to a laser beam. you’ve warned him. you’ve scolded him. you’ve threatened to dump him—half-joking, half-very-much-not—if he keeps being so obvious. you press your palm to your temple in frustration as you whisper, "you're killing me here, satoru."

and suddenly, he’s panicking. his hands flail, baby blues orbs widening . his voice cracks, desperate. his fingers clutch the air like he's trying to grab the right words before they scatter.

“no, no, no, babe… please don’t dump me. i’ll do better, i swear. i’ll look less. i’ll… i’ll stare at the wall instead. i’ll wear sunglasses indoors. i’ll look at the floor forever. i’ll… i’ll even switch departments. please, please don’t leave me. i won’t survive it. i’ll just crumble into dust. i’ll haunt you. but like… in a hot way.”

he's clutching his chest dramatically, leaning into the nearest table for support like he’s seconds from collapsing. his bottom lip juts out in a pitiful pout, and his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but knows he can’t—not here, not now. his feet shuffle in place like he’s trying to root himself to the ground, but his whole body screams to be closer to you.

“you’re so bad at this,” you deadpan, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, pretending you’re not melting inside because you’re emotionally constipated and you like to act like you’re not just as whipped. but your ears are pink. you know they are. you can feel the heat blooming across your skin. you shift your weight onto one leg, tapping your finger against your elbow in mock annoyance, but your foot has already inched closer to his.

“but you still love me right?” he pouts, voice softening, tilting his head as he leans closer like a puppy waiting for a treat. his hair flops forward over his blindfold, his grin tentative, hopeful, like he’s staking his entire existence on your next words. his toes point toward you, his shoulders curling in, like you’re his center of gravity.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumble, rolling your eyes, but you’re already reaching for his hand beneath the table, already letting him lace his fingers with yours, his thumb stroking soft circles into your skin like it’s instinct, like it’s home. he squeezes your hand like he never plans to let go.

he brightens instantly, a soundless laugh puffing from his chest, his white hair bouncing with the force of his excitement. his entire body relaxes, his feet kicking slightly under the table. “i’ll be better! i’ll be so sneaky, baby! like a ninja! you won’t even see me coming! i’ll be a ghost! you’ll be so proud of me!”

spoiler: he does not, in fact, get any sneakier.

he gets worse. because now he’s trying so hard to “be sneaky” that he ends up staring harder. he waves at you across the room with a smile that’s way too fond, his hand flopping in a lazy, unmistakable greeting that lingers just a second too long. he trips over his own feet when you so much as glance in his direction, scrambling to play it cool like his heart didn’t just somersault into his throat. he texts you from three desks away: “do you miss me?” like you’re not in the same building, like he hasn’t seen you in five minutes. he sends you selfies from the next room with captions like, “thinking of you” and “missing my girl.”

he's a terrible liar. but he’s the best boyfriend.

so you let him. you let him slip up. you let him look at you like you’re his whole world. you let him wear that stupid grin. you let him love you loudly, even when he’s supposed to be quiet about it. you let him text you unnecessarily, bring you snacks with your name written on the wrapper, and you let him keep leaving his jacket on your chair.

you’re just as hopeless, aren’t you?

[uhuhmaries]

Talk | H.S. — LHH

Harry’s your ex. You’ve been broken up for a full year but man…. A reunion never felt so good.

It’s your friend who notices him first.

You’re mid-laugh, clutching a half-empty tequila shot and feeling light from the salt, lime, and whatever it was she whispered in your ear—when her body tenses beside you.

Your laugh trails off, and you follow her gaze.

And there he is.

Harry.

The same Harry you’ve tried to scrub from your memories over the past year. Only now, he looks worse—better—than ever. Long hair curled at the ends. Broad shoulders stretching the seams of a black button-up. A few buttons undone, revealing the top of his chest and that stupid butterfly tattoo you used to trace with your tongue. Rings glint on his fingers. A drink in his hand. His other arm hangs loose at his side, inked and tensed, like he could crush steel if he wanted.

He’s already looking at you.

Your stomach twists. You inhale through your nose and lift your chin.

Smile. Cool. Unbothered.

But he starts walking over, and Maddie—your friend leans in close. “Shit. He’s coming.”

“I see that,” you mutter, downing the rest of your drink for courage.

Harry stops right in front of you. He doesn’t say anything for a beat. Just lets his gaze roam—slow, greedy, infuriating. You feel every inch of it like heat sliding up your spine.

Your black dress doesn’t help. Tight, short, clinging in all the places you know he used to worship. You wore it to feel hot tonight. Now it just feels dangerous.

He smirks. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You lift a brow. “Didn’t expect to care.”

His smirk fades—just a little. “Still stubborn as ever.”

You turn to face him fully. “Still arrogant.”

Harry looks at you for a long time. Really looks. His voice drops low. “You haven’t changed.”

You lick your lips. They’re dry. “You have?”

“I went to therapy.”

Your heart kicks. You swallow. “Good for you.”

He tilts his head. “You didn’t.”

You smile. Sharp. “Never will.”

He huffs out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah. That tracks.”

You hate that he still gets under your skin. That one look from him can turn your insides to static.

He leans in a little closer. “You look good.”

You shrug, glancing down his chest like it’s nothing. “So do you.”

But you both know it’s not nothing.

And later, after more tequila, more side-glances, more of Maddie’s not-so-subtle glares, you find yourself outside, fresh air trying to cool the ache inside your chest—and between your legs.

The door behind you opens.

You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

He stops beside you. Silent for a moment. The night is warm, but his presence still makes your skin prickle.

“I know you don’t want to talk,” he says softly.

You stare ahead. “Good. Then don’t.”

He hums, a low, dry sound. “You gonna keep pretending we didn’t look at each other all night like we wanted to fuck against the bar?”

You glance at him. “That what you want?”

His eyes flash. “It’s what you want too.”

You don’t respond. But your silence is loud.

He steps closer. “You want me to wreck you so you can forget all the shit you never say out loud. That it?”

You clench your jaw.

“You want to pretend it’s just sex. It never is with us.”

You turn to face him, stepping right into his space. He doesn’t move back.

“You want to talk about feelings,” you murmur, “I want to come so hard I forget yours.”

His mouth twitches. “Still such a brat.”

“And you’re still obsessed.”

He leans down, nose brushing yours. “Get in the car.”

You hesitate for half a second.

Then you do.

The second the door shuts behind you, his hands are on your hips, mouth finding yours with years of hunger behind it. He kisses you like he’s punishing you for leaving. For never changing. For not being ready. For not being him.

You moan into his mouth. Bite his lower lip. Tug his curls.

He groans. “You wore that dress to fuck with me.”

You grin. “You always were easy.”

He grabs your thighs and yanks you into his lap. “Say that again.”

You grind your hips against his, gasping when you feel how hard he already is through his jeans. Your lips brush his ear.

“You’re hard for me and I haven’t even touched you yet,” you whisper.

Harry’s hands slide under your dress, rings cold on your thighs. “You think you’re in control?”

You lean back. “Aren’t I?”

And then he slides two fingers into your panties. Just like that.

Your breath stutters.

He feels it. Smirks. “Soaked.”

You try not to whimper when his fingers start circling your clit. Slow. Torturous.

“You’re already dripping for me and I haven’t even eaten you out.”

“Harry—”

“No.” His fingers stop. “Say what you want.”

“I want you,” you pant.

“Not enough.”

You grind against his palm. “I want your mouth. Your cock. I want to be ruined, okay?”

He lifts you suddenly, pushes you back onto the seat, and kneels between your legs.

“Still don’t know how to say you miss me,” he mutters, “but you’re happy to beg to be fucked.”

He licks up your thigh—slow, deliberate.

“Maybe if I make you come on my tongue, you’ll find your words.”

He goes down on you like he’s missed the taste every night for a year. Tongue deep. Fingers rubbing just right. You cry out, hands yanking his curls, grinding against his face as he eats you like he needs it to breathe.

You’re close. So close—

And he stops.

“No—”

“You wanna come?” he growls. “You talk.”

You glare down at him, thighs shaking. “I need you. Please. I missed you.”

He grabs a condom, tears it open, rolls it on.

“Good girl.”

He slams into you hard and fast and you both moan at the first thrust. His hips roll, precise and filthy, filling you just the way he always did—like he knows your body better than you do.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Harry—harder—”

He grips your throat. Tight enough to make you gasp. Not enough to scare you. Just enough to say you’re mine.

“You gonna listen now?” he hisses.

You nod desperately, back arching. “Yes—yes, I’ll listen, please, please—”

His thrusts get harder, meaner. You’re almost crying.

Then he pulls out. Rips off the condom. Tosses it aside.

“Harry—what the fuck—?”

“I want to feel you. All of you.”

You freeze. Blink. You should say no.

But instead you whisper, “Yes.”

He thrusts back in—bare—and it’s like your body splits open. Raw. Skin to skin. Nothing between you.

You both groan. Loud. Uncontrolled.

He growls in your ear. “You’ve never felt like this.”

You sob his name.

He flips you, face pressed into the seat, ass up, his hand smacking you once, twice.

You whine. “More—”

He spanks you again, hand then sliding up your back, curling around your neck as he pounds into you, the car rocking with every thrust.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you need me.”

You’re almost delirious. “I need you. I need you, Harry—fuck—”

“You coming for me?”

“Yes—oh my God—yes—”

And when you come, it’s messy and loud and full of everything you never say out loud.

He follows seconds after, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep and spills inside you—hot, thick, and claiming—your name breaking from his throat in a low, desperate groan against your skin.

You sit in silence after. Breathing hard. Still shaking.

Harry pulls his shirt back on. Looks at you.

“I still love you.”

You stare at the ceiling. “Don’t do this.”

“I want us again.”

You sigh. “You’ve changed.”

He nods. “Yeah. I have.”

You meet his eyes. “But I haven’t.”

He exhales. Nods again. “You could try.”

You give him a tired smile. “Maybe.”

But you both know it’s a lie.

You’ll see him again.

You always do.

[viviansturns]

Can you do a Chris fic where they are best friends but secretly want each other. Like they’re going to have a sleepover and at the moment they’re in his room watching a movie or something and he does something that turns her on like idk taking off his shirt or something and she’s like staring. He asks if she’s good and she’s like stuttering and shit like ohh yeah I’m fine and says she’s gonna take a shower. So she goes in and tries to get herself off and Chris hears her so he goes in the bathroom and at first she doesn’t realize cause she has her eyes closed focusing on the pleasure and he doesn’t say anything just stares. Eventually Chris asks like “what are you thinking about” and there she opens her eyes and sees Chris and it leads to them fuckinh and feelings revealing and yea. That was a lot omg but like something like that would be sooo gooddd.

note to the anon: try not to send the same request to multiple writers because it makes it less original!

cw: walking in on showering, eating out, p in v protected, overstimulation, bigdick!chris

Chris had been your best friend since middle school—one of those friends who could knock on your window at 2 a.m. and you'd let him in without even asking why. He was safety, comfort, inside jokes and shared playlists.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was shirtless on the bed, watching a movie, and your brain was not cooperating.

“I’m telling you,” he muttered around a mouthful of popcorn, “if they just talked to the villain, this whole movie would’ve ended in twenty minutes.”

You didn’t respond.

Because you weren’t listening.

Because your attention was locked on the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips. The way his abs flexed when he sat up. The curve of his jawline, how it shadowed under the warm light of his bedroom lamp. His low eyes and sharp jawline and messy hair were practically transfixing you.

He turned to look at you, smirking when he caught you staring. “You good?”

You blinked. Swallowed. “What? Yeah. I’m—yeah, I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he said, teasing. He leaned back on his elbows, biceps stretching. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You scrambled off the bed. “I’m just gonna take a shower real quick.”

“Shower?” he echoed, eyebrows raised. “We’re mid-movie.”

You grabbed your bag and practically fled to the bathroom. “I’ll be quick.”

Your skin was burning before the water even turned hot.

The shower was supposed to calm you down. Wash away the images. Wipe your brain clean.

Instead, you sat down on the built-in bench, steam curling around you, and let your legs fall open. The water had been turned off minutes ago, but your skin was still damp, your breath shaky. A towel was wrapped loosely around your body, but your hand had already slipped beneath it.

You weren’t even ashamed.

You were too far gone for shame.

Your fingers rubbed slow circles, hips shifting against the tile. Your head fell back, mouth parting, eyes fluttering shut.

And in your mind, it was his voice whispering your name. His hand on your thighs. His mouth—

“Fuck,” you gasped.

Then—a click noise. You didn't pay attention at first, too focused on reaching your high.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your body jerked like you’d been electrocuted. Your eyes snapped open—and there he was. Chris. Standing just inside the bathroom door, half-shrouded in steam, like some fantasy brought to life.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He didn’t move. Just watched you, eyes locked on your hand still buried under the towel.

“You left the door unlocked,” he said softly. “I heard you.”

He stepped closer.

You didn’t move.

“I heard you say my name,” he added, voice lower now. “wanna explain that?”

Your breath hitched.

He came to a slow stop in front of you. Still shirtless. Still in those grey sweatpants. Only now, you could see the clear outline of his hard-on pressing against the fabric.

He knelt down, one hand bracing beside your thigh, the other gently sliding the towel back.

“Was it me?” he whispered.

You nodded. Barely.

And Chris smiled like a man finally unchained.

“Good."

Chris’s fingers grazed your inner thigh, slow and deliberate. You were still seated on the shower bench, towel parted now, barely covering anything. Your breath was stuck in your throat. His pupils were blown wide.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to you.

“Then show me,” you said.

That was all it took.

He leaned in—not fast, not greedy—controlled. Like he wanted to savor it. His lips pressed to the soft skin just above your knee. Then higher. Then higher. Until he was inches from where your fingers had just been.

You whimpered.

Chris looked up at you, hand sliding under your thigh to hold you open. “You want me to stop, say it now.”

You didn��t.

You couldn’t.

Your hips lifted in response.

He smiled, just a little. “Didn’t think so.”

His mouth landed soft at first, just a kiss. Then a slow, hot lick that made your eyes roll back. His tongue circled you, teasing, not giving you everything yet.

You tried to grind against his face, but his grip on your thighs tightened.

“Let me take my time,” he said against your skin. “You rushed it in here alone. I’m gonna make it last.”

You were panting already. “Chris, please…”

He groaned like your voice alone could make him come.

He licked deep, slow and rhythmic, and when he found that perfect spot—the one that made your spine arch and your thighs shake—he stayed there. His tongue moved in firm, steady circles, his hand sliding up to press lightly on your lower stomach, holding you down when you started to twitch from the pressure building.

“Shit—Chris—”

He hummed, the vibration making your eyes flutter shut.

You came the first time so hard you forgot how to breathe.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as your thighs tried to close, even as your moans cracked and your back hit the tile wall, he kept going, pushing you through it, past it, into something raw and aching.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was shiny, his jaw flushed. He looked wrecked—but satisfied.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so fucking long,” he said, voice wrecked.

You reached for him, yanking him up to crash your mouth against his, tasting yourself on his tongue. His body fell into yours, hands framing your face, and the kiss turned frantic, desperate. All tongue and teeth and gasps between words.

You pulled at his waistband, dragging his sweats and boxers down together. His cock slapped against his stomach, flushed and hard and so heavy-looking your thighs clenched just from seeing it.

“Condom?” you breathed, tugging your lip between your teeth.

He nodded, panting. “Yeah. Bedroom. Top drawer.”

You stood—shaky, still flushed—and followed him out.

The bed was unmade, covers a mess from the movie earlier, but you didn’t care. You climbed on first, laying back, thighs still damp, eyes fixed on him while he rolled the condom on with trembling hands.

And when he hovered over you—head brushing your entrance, arm shaking a little with restraint—you looked him dead in the eyes.

“Don’t go easy.”

He groaned. “If I go any harder I might not last—”

“Then take your time,” you whispered. “But don’t hold back.”

He pushed in slowly—so slowly—and the stretch stole every word from your throat. You dug your nails into his biceps, mouth falling open.

Chris’s eyes were locked on where you joined, jaw tight, chest heaving. “Holy—fuck—you feel—”

“Holy fuck,” you gasped. “Y-y—so big.” he just groans out loud, not moving at all as he tried to catch his breath.

"D-Don't say shit like that," he mumbled. "I'm tryna last for you."

You just whimper in desperation, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him further into you, clenching. "Please, Chris. Move."

And he did.

Not fast. Not hard. But deep. Each thrust felt intentional, like he was trying to memorize your body from the inside out.

You moaned loud—long and wrecked—and he kissed you to muffle it.

The pace stayed steady, even as the pressure built. You locked your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. His lips found your neck, biting softly, his breath hot against your skin.

“Tell me you’ve thought about this,” he whispered.

“I-I’ve dreamed about this.”

He groaned into your throat. “Tell me you wanted me.”

“I always wanted you.”

His rhythm stuttered. He reached down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow and firm in sync with his thrusts.

Your back arched.

Every stroke was deep and delicious—dragging against that spot inside you just right, his fingers teasing you at the same pace, unhurried, like he wanted you right on the edge without tipping over.

“Chris—” your voice cracked. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“Not planning on it,” he rasped, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, everywhere he could reach. “You feel—fuck—you feel so good.”

You clenched around him, tight and desperate, and he cursed again, dragging his cock out almost all the way before sliding back in slow and thick.

You whimpered. He smiled against your skin.

“Just like that,” he muttered. “You like it when I take my time, huh?”

You nodded fast, nails digging into his back.

He shifted, pulling your hips up just slightly, angling himself deeper. The next thrust made you cry out—sharp and breathless. His hand never left your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your legs shake.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he said into your neck. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

He groaned, picking up the pace—just slightly. Enough to make your breath catch with every thrust, but still not fast. Not rough. It was a rhythm built to drive you crazy, to stretch it out until you were babbling nonsense into his shoulder, clutching at him like you’d fall apart without his body against yours.

You came like that—legs shaking, chest heaving, voice cracked and ragged from how long it had been building.

And even then—he didn’t stop.

Chris held you through it, whispering praise, mouth pressed to your cheek. “That’s it. That’s my girl. So fucking good for me.”

You gasped, blinking up at him. “Y-Your girl?”

He looked down at you, still inside, still rock hard, still moving. “You think I fuck just anyone like this?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a moan as he rolled his hips deep and slow again, dragging another soft wave of overstimulation out of you.

His fingers slid back to your clit. “Give me another.”

“Chris—” you whimpered. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “One more. Just one more, baby.”

You clenched your eyes shut, body twitching under him, so sensitive you could barely take it—but he didn’t stop.

You came again—your third—with a strangled cry, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold you still. His name left your lips like a prayer.

That finally broke him.

Chris shoved in deep, pace faltering, breath ragged as he fucked you through your aftershocks. “I’m gonna come,” he growled. “You feel too fucking good—I can’t—”

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down into a kiss just as his rhythm stuttered into something wild and desperate.

And then he groaned into your mouth as he came, hips jerking, cock pulsing inside you.

He stayed there—buried in you, panting, trembling, face pressed to your neck—while your fingers traced the sweat-damp skin of his back.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

"Now what?" you whisper

this might be buns sorry

[karusthings]

.⋆˚࿔ s t a r i n g - t. fushiguro ࿐˚⋆.

ꎫ──[ husband au ; one shot ]

character dynamicꎫ── husband!toji x f!reader

summaryꎫ── you weren't expecting him to react like that to the news.

content warningsꎫ── fluff, he's your husband, that's probably not how he'd react to it but fiction is fiction right, let me dream, pregnancy.

wordsꎫ── 1.5k

¡! ❞ masterlist jjk.

Toji is sprawled across the bed, taking up most of the space. You're laying next to him, with your head on his bare arm, eyes tracing the sharp lines of his beautiful face.

It's late —really late—, somewhere around three in the morning, but no matter how hard you try, sleep won't come to you.

Then, in the quiet night, your husband's voice cuts through the air: low, husky, sleepy. "Ya horny or what?"

You smile, caught off guard that he's even conscious after the heavy snore he let out just minutes ago. "No."

"Then why won't you stop staring at me?"

Before your deep silence invades the room, his throat reveals a deep but quiet laugh, leaving the trail of a little smirk on his lips.

"How'd you know...?"

"Sixth sense, ma'am. Remember? deadly hitman and all of that." He turns his face slowly towards you, eyes half closed but still burning your skin like fire itself. "So, what's on your mind? Why can't you have some rest like the rest of human beings in this house?"

"I've been... thinking." you murmur, voice low.

"Your biggest problem."

"Come on," you can't help but laugh softly, shifting into your back. "Something happened".

"You're pregnant."

"What?" You blink. It can't be.

"Just tried to be a smartass. But go on, yap about what's on your messy head, I hear ya." he yawns, while you're dead silent. Then, he adds, "Don't mind me if I start snoring. I'm just readjusting my lungs."

You don't say a single word, and for the first minute he assumes you just drifted off. That's until he glances over and sees you still, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, you dead?"

He moves closer to your body, wrapping his big arm around you. His hand finds your stomach, and his fingertips start touching playfully the edge of your summer top. You cover them with yours, guiding him slowly towards your lower belly. Then, you lay your eyes on him again.

"Oh shit," he seems to get it, even though you think that he's asleep enough to not catch a single fly. "I am a smartass."

You nod softly, looking into his blue eyes —now much wider than before—.

"Holy fuck, really?" 

He's almost fully awake now. The way he looks at you with surprise, love and a bit of possessiveness is making you close your legs. "No shit".

You nod again, and he sits up in bed. He's slowly running a hand through his messy hair, those dark eyes —lost on the wall in front— don't fully tell you if he liked the new, or hated it. But when he fully processes, he looks at you with a crooked smile, and something inside your heart melts when you see it. You return the gesture over his excitement, and you suddenly don't know why you were worried to tell him in the first place.

He leans down without warning and pulls you to him with his big, rough hands, mouth crashing with yours in a kiss that's messy, hungry, and almost desperate. His hands start tracing a circuit on your skin, from your back to your waist, and at the end one of these rests on your hip while the other finishes tangled in your hair, holding you in place as he devours your lips feverishly.

"Fuck, I love you... so fucking much." He doesn't usually talk between kisses —because, according to him, you shouldn't talk with your mouth full—, but now he needs to tell you.

"I'm gonna... be a dad again... fuck" and he's groaning against your mouth.

"I didn't think... you'd like it that much".

"You kiddin'?"

His elbow digs into the mattress as he lowers his weight over you, body half-naked just millimeters from yours. His hand doesn't stop grabbing your hip, trailing heat as it moves. 

He pauses only to breathe, pressing your foreheads together. His voice gets lower, rough against your skin. "Megumi's gonna have a little sister."

"Or a brother." You murmur, intertwining the fibers of his hair between your fingers.

"Yeah, no. Not sharing you with another little guy. One's enough." His lips start tracing a way through your collarbone, carefully going down towards your belly.

You laugh at his words, looking at him while he starts kissing your skin once again.

"Why were you strugglin' so badly to tell me?"

"I don't know. We don't have much money, I'm not sure we can af-..." He silences you with a hand over your mouth, gaze burning from where he rests near your hip.

"I’ll take more jobs. I want that kid. The only problem would be if you don’t. Do ya?"

You nod, showing a smile under his hand. He smiles back at you, nodding, whispering before kissing your belly again. "Good."

"How long have you known?" he asks after a few quiet minutes..

"About two days," you reply, with your eyes closed, and a hand over his soft hair. He was lying on your abdomen, making small circles on your skin with one of his fingers. "I was waiting for the right time."

He snorts softly, sending a chill through your body. "You mean any time when I wasn’t snoring like a fuckin' bear?"

You chuckle against his skin. "Basically."

He climbs your body again, tilts your chin up with two fingers and kisses you again, slower this time.

"Not gonna lie," he murmurs against your mouth, "the idea of another baby scared the shit outta me for a second."

"I know."

"But then I looked at you. And I thought, fuck it. And now 'm... 'm fuckin' excited." A soft laugh echoes in his throat as he confesses to you.

You close your eyes as he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then down to your jaw again. “And Megs…”

After a few moments, he replies, murmuring "Let me be the one to tell him."

"You sure?"

He nods, more serious now. "Yeah. I want to see his face."

He’s restful for a while after that, but his fingers never stop moving over your skin, tracing idle shapes: sometimes pausing on your hip, sometimes brushing your thigh or cupping your breast. All this until he heard your peaceful breathing.

“At last you can sleep peacefully.”

. . .

The scent of coffee drifts through the apartment, and you feel yourself more awake as soon as you smell it. The sun hits your face —quite annoyingly— and you cover it with your hand, just to see him.

Toji stands shirtless by the glass-ceramic cooker, flipping something in a pan. His grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, and his hair’s still messy from sleep. Although you wouldn't mind mussing it up again.

You're now at the table, grabbing the mug he prepared for you. Not a chance you’re taking your eyes off his muscular back.

“Still starin’, huh?” he tilts his head while he smirks. “So you are horny?”

You roll your eyes while taking a sip of your coffee. “You’re the one cooking shirtless, I wouldn’t blame me.”

“Yeah, well, gotta feed the whole damn family now.” He makes you feel loved and claimed. Flips the eggs and plates the food quickly, bringing it over to you. “You think he’s awake?”

He takes food off your plate, and you were about to complain until you realize he had actually made enough for both of you. Toji looks up, mouth full, waiting for you to answer.

“No idea.” But while you’re speaking, Megumi walks into the kitchen, hair a mess, shirt half tucked, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand. He freezes when he sees both of you looking at him.

“...What?”

“Sit.” He gets up, walking towards the fridge to take out the milk. Then he jerks his chin towards the meal. “Eat. You want some chocolate milk?”

“Yeah, sure.” He starts eating some of the eggs his father made. He had no michelin star, but they were edible.

“So, kid, got somethin’ to tell ya.”

Megumi looked at him mid-bite, raising an eyebrow like he already knew something was off.

Toji brought in his chocolate milk, sliding it across the table to him. He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”

Megumi freezes, and there’s a long quiet pause. Then, flatly: “Seriously? Like a real baby?”

“No, a metaphorical baby. It cries in Shakespeare quotes and needs diaper changes every time Mercury is in retrograde.”

You both look at him, whispering a little “Toji?” so quietly you almost only hear it yourself.

“Sorry, yeah, a real baby.”

Megumi just looks at him, swallows, blinks twice, and grabs his milk. “Huh. Okay.”

You stare, sincerely surprised “Okay?”

“Yeah. ‘m good with it.” Toji barks a laugh at his response —and your shocked face—. “Is it gonna be loud?”

“It’s… a baby. So yeah, probably.”

“I’ll have to buy some earplugs. Thanks for the breakfast.”

And as easy as that, he gets up and walks away. As he disappears back down the hall, your husband looks at you, grinning across the table “See? That went great.”

You stare at him. “Did it?”

And he just leans back, coffee in hand, looking far too proud of himself. “Hell yeah, it did. So, any names?”

¡! ❞ masterlist jjk.

¡! ❞ little note; Well not exactly how I was expecting this to turn out and it's kinda short, but I'm not complaining either. I've been kinda obsessed with toji nowadays SOOO there u go <3.

ꎫ¨.｡ © I have full credit on every artwork in my profile, all rights reserved. Please, do not repost, edit or use any of it.

ꎫ¨.｡ © 2025 all rights reserved, karusthings on Tumblr. Please, do not repost, edit, use or translate any of my projects.

[misschue]

Major Apothecary diaries manga and LN spoilers ahead...

So I've been thinking. We know TAD has a tendency to do some heavy foreshadowing like they did with the locust plague. So many volumes of build up where they talk about crickets, ways of harvesting, etc. to finally end up in the long awaited locust invasion.

And I'm sure is headed that way with the pox too. Suddenly characters who had the pox start appearing and talks of a way to handle it come up more often.

But what I'm also sure is we're getting major foreshadowing for Jinshis eventually finding out about his real parents AND abdicating in favor of his younger brother. In the last volume we have not one but two examples of former royals who resigned their duties and went on to live their lives. The Shin Clan founder who was so beloved he was allowed to keep a heirloom in the form of a dragon and Kada, also an emperor's son who was casted away for commiting a terrible taboo (but still allowed to live).

I think the Shin Clan guy it's how's most likely to go. This was a beloved son, a crown prince!, but he didn't consider himself adequate and preferred his younger brother ruled instead. Right now Jinshi feels safe being just a younger brother and having two healthy baby nephews. But his entire parentage is one huge Chekhov's gun waiting to be fired. You don't put that out there if you're not planning to reveal it at some point. Especially bringing into equation the factions and the dislike for the current heir. Someone somehow it's gonna figure Jinshi is the emperors son and bring it to light, causing at least two volumes of trouble.

But the Shin Clan example is already giving us a way out. IT IS possible to just resign. I think it will take a lot of courage but Jinshi will finally end up doing it, with no major negative consequences to him.

It's also worth noting that times passes really fast in the light novel. Gyokuyou and Lihuas sons aren't that far from being 7 years old, the moment a baby is consider old enough to not worry about dying suddenly. They were born when Maomao was 18ish and she's now 21!

Obviously this is all volumes ahead, I think we'll see the pox arc first and based on a few spoilers of the web novel some other issues first but I don't doubt Jinshis parents reveal will come eventually

[ducktracy]

What do you think are the most cynical Looney Tunes shorts?

anything directed by Friz Freleng and/or Chuck Jones LOL

SUCH AN INTERESTING QUESTION!! i KNOW for certain i'm missing a bunch, because there's so much casual cynicism EVERYWHERE that it can be hard to sort them. BUT there are definitely some that come to mind...

Fresh Airedale may be one of the most cynical cartoons i've ever seen in my life LOL. it's a brilliant short! but very bleak--i posted some clips of it a few years ago and talked about it briefly, but the short, which has a guy abusing his poor helpless cat and fawning over his dog who is also abusing the cat and taking credit for the good deeds that the cat is trying to do for his owner to win him over, ends a very unsubtle metaphor with the scale of justice toppling over and landing on the cat's head to basically say that justice never serves those who need it most

every one of the Three Bears shorts LOL. if i recall correctly, the Bears shorts weren't received well by audiences at the time because they missed the appeal of what should be a cloyingly cute family being completely dysfunctional and miserable. Bear Feat may be the most cynical considering it has Papa Bear gleefully attempting to commit suicide by jumping off a cliff... and also has this LMAO

ON THE TOPIC OF SUICIDE! Porky has attempted suicide in two cartoons and is heavily implied to have succeeded in one, the ending to Notes to You, which i posted here in discussing some of the darkest endings to a LT short.

but as a whole, Porky's Romance is definitely the more top to bottom cynical short in that Petunia rejects his marriage proposal by laughing in his face (thanks to her shitty dog that trips him), Porky tries to hang himself, can't even get that because the tree snaps beneath his weight and so he instead has a concussion-induced nightmare where he marries Petunia who is abusive and slovenly and awful. AND his license plate calls him a boob. and i know this is hard to believe, but Frank Tashlin, who directed this film, has talked about how he hated working with "the damn pig". shocking! and yet this short is what made me fall in love with Porky by being my introduction to him as an adult. guilty pleasure short because it's definitely Misogyny the Cartoon but i love it. i'm reclaiming it

plus it gave us one of my favorite endings to any cartoon (Porky punting her shitty dog)

Porky's Bear Facts is maybe the most cynical adaptation of The Grasshopper and the Ant, which basically has the moral "if people haven’t earned their keep, then they’re not worth helping at all seeing as they’ll only take advantage of your hospitality and will be complicit in any potential sloth that arises thereafter, running the risk of repeating the entire ordeal all over again, so why bother?". but, also, it is ridiculously entertaining and another short i love ferociously. maybe the ending linked below (6:18 if timestamp doesn't work) makes more sense within the context of the short (which you should watch) but the bookend to the beginning with the song is just. chef's kiss

the end of Catch as Cats Can is so dark that they ended up cutting it, probably because it's like... cruel LOL BUT I WISH THEY KEPT IT IN SOOOOO MUCH. but the short is about a Bing Crosby parrot trying to trick Sylvester into eating a Frank Sinatra parrot. the tables are turned and Sylvester ends up eating the Crosby parrot--there's a gag that was cut that was gonna have a shot of the Crosby parrot's tombstone that read "CAME IN BEFORE HIS HORSE"--there are a ton of jokes in various WB shorts about Bing Crosby's horse coming in last and being very slow (such as in The Old Gray Hare where Elmer and Bugs travel to the futuristic year of 2000 and it's revealed that Crosby's horse still hasn't come in yet). Bing already tried to sue them for two cartoons in the '30s so i guess they felt the ending was pushing it, but DAMN do i wish they kept it because it's SO FUNNY

i was very surprised to find people saying that Canned Feud was mean and cynical on Letterboxd when i recently rewatched it!! that's one of my all time favorite Sylvester shorts and one of his best, i think it's absolutely hilarious but i guess i can see why people are put off by it... a mouse keeps purposefully depriving Sylvester of the can opener when he's stuck in the house with only canned food for two weeks. it doesn't have the dark bite as other shorts mentioned here, at least to me, but i'll bring it up anyway since some people were evidently very chafed by it

Each Dawn I Crow is worth mentioning, and i'm SO HAPPY IT GOT RESTORED BECAUSE IT IS A MASTERPIECE. it's a very unique LT short that plays out like a radio play--a neurotic rooster thinks that Elmer is planning to kill him, and the tone of the short mimics that neuroticism all throughout. very suspenseful and dark and SO FUNNY, because it devolves into the rooster trying to get Elmer killed. there's this amazing bit where the rooster fashions a hat for Elmer that has a duck decoy on top, intending for a bunch of duck hunters to shoot Elmer full of holes, and Elmer just completely accepts it with no thought in his head and i can't articulate it it's just so funny and i lose it every time i see it.

i sadly don't have the full clip on me, but this is just masterful

THERE ARE MANY MORE I CAN LIST, mostly Freleng cartoons LOL but i've spent too long typing this up! Chuck Jones' Chow Hound and Freleng's Stooge for a Mouse (another one of my favorite Sylvesters) also come to mind. they're definitely the two directors who excelled at cynicism the most, and there is no shortage of it to be found

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

Along with the widow and the cultists in the mine, there's also the repeating in season 5 a few times of cultists/ acolytes as victims. The witch was raised as an acolyte to Mother Darkness and some of her language about her doesn't paint Mother Darkness as the best mom. The townspeople had a hungry being living in the woods around them, who they could either feed every so often or risk one of their own being pulled in whenever Horig wanted. Evrard tells of his father wanting to understand the world beyond his and how he died, how he spent his childhood in a castle haunted by his family's history and worship. Lillith is implied to have been indoctrinated a bit.

Then at the end of season 5 there's the reveal about the Lesters. And as you mentioned (and I touched on in the tags), that kind of paints picture that they were also preyed upon and lured into it. We've talked about the poem in 20 before; I initially thought that perhaps the issues there were probably the tendency for depression and alcoholism that Arthur seemed to inherit. Perhaps it's both. Maybe they were in bad place and they turned to faith to aid them.

ALSO your tags are amazing:

#ooh yay i'm so glad u matched my energy lol i was nervous sending that ask like. is this anything. is this nothing

honestly the biggest reason I didn't answer this ask right when I saw it was because I couldn't think of anything to add. I agreed with everything and was like "what do I say just 'yeah' and hit post???" did think of some more to say but I am in complete agreement.

#BUT YES. GOD.#''revenge against a figure similar to ones who have hurt him and a way to end the man he's wanted dead for 10 years'' lies down forever#god. if lesters/larsons parallels become any stronger i will simply have to. fuck i don't know. do Something. they're so. oouughg.#why don't you become the most vicious and violent version of yourself to kill this guy who is the worst parts of you#while also simultaneously being the parts of your parents you've never gotten to be fully angry about bc you still loved them#in an attempt to get revenge for a innocent victim that is also your daughter and also the hurt-scared-child version of yourself#what the FUCK man. insane!! like literally!! how the fuck am i supposed to be normal about that!!!#thinking again abt how larson said addy's key virtue was being ''faithful'' vs. ''to me you were the sun''

become the most violent version of yourself to kill this guy who is the worst parts of you while simultaneously being the parts of your parents you've never gotten to be fully angry about because you still loved them! getting revenge for both an innocent victim who is also your daughter and also your child self??? yeah how are we to be normal about that. (and he forgot???? he forgot about that??? do you think he may be remembered a bit when Larson talked about sacrificing Addison?) and yeah faithful and to me you were the sun. Ooooghg

and lastly:

#also re: the key difference being lillith's presence. just gonna. put the larsons-worshipped-nyarlathotep theory down here. again.

WHAT

okay so. Yeah that does .. amHM>MM???? aokay.

so. Yeah. Blackstone. Kayne's presence in season 3. Hatred of Wally. Um. I was thinking that you know that was Azathoth in general - fallen stars being Azathoth's 3 stones - with some yog-sathoth sprinkled in (since the Creature is described similarly to the Creature in the Dunwich Horror or whatever it's called and that one was Yog-sathoth's kid as well) but um. huh. thinking about this now and OH What that adds to that part of 40???? Taht's possibly his god? and the "please" and then "WHO FUCKING CARES" (get rekt Wally) but also!!! that's his god. saying he hates him. Oh! Hmm! I want to hear more about this expect an ask in your inbox that's basically me going ??? in 2 minutes

okay this is such a tiny niche thought but re: the "arthur was meant to be sacrificed to lillith" theory and specifically him being a parallel to addison. i've never known whether it was intended but i've always been very fond of the fact that Arthur Lester and Andrew Larson have the same initials, as like, another narrative nod to their connection.

...you know who else has the initials AL, though...

if you take into consideration the fact that andrew is an alias, a mask, it could also be considered a way to signal that the parallel arthur sees between them is mostly his own invention/projection and not necessarily an accurate representation of reality. BUT... addison. is not. an alias.

anyway idk i need to sleep but i just thought that was interesting maybe. lillith sacrifice arthur theory good yes.

oh I love this

I've also liked that Larson's fake name had the same initials as Arthur's. A.L. And Arthur sees Larson as a reflection of himself, two sides of the same coin, cut from the same cloth, two men who killed their daughters. Andrew being a fake name does nicely pair with it being a false reflection and mirror and parallel. Arthur at his lowest point sees someone the slightest bit similar to him and composed of everything he hates about himself and the world in one single body and views killing Larson as a way to give Addison(Faroe) justice, revenge against a figure similar to ones who have hurt him and held power over him, and a way to finally end the man he's wanted dead for ten years.

But its a fake name. A mask. Addison is not. Wallace Larson is nothing like Arthur. Addison...

It adds a little something to the "Lesters were going to sacrifice Arthur" theory. Trusting sweet little Addison, the last of her siblings, alone in an empty house with a father driven to the Order by grief and wants, who was sacrificed so Larson would live and have power. And the lillith sacrifice theory works well with the "another pair of devotees asking things beyond them to grant their wishes" or however Kayne phrased it and "She spares you, Artie. What kindness!" (Don't need the transcript for that). Religious overbearing parents, (possibly mentally unwell), a young trusting child (to me you were the sun), and a god asked to grant a wish. The difference is Lillith (and her issues with her dad) instead of I don't know Yog Sathoth or someone.

[miyano-shiho4869]

I watched movie 27! it was very fun I had a great time

[mythmagicetc]

breaking my silence...eddie making that face in 8.08 when buck was talking about "privacy of your own home" wasn't him in disbelief at the idea of buck respecting his privacy. that was him realizing buck thought he was watching porn on an ipad fully clothed mid-afternoon in his kitchen.

[galactaknightyaoi]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GALACTA KNIGHT!!!! And congratulations to Meta Knight for experiencing the Cain Instinct for the first time.

Galacta Knight, as you might've been able to tell already, is one of my favorite characters, and KSSU is one of my favorite games (the original SS was my introduction to Kirby!) so I wanted to go all out. Happy day, old man. I pray for at least 20 more years.

Oh, and don't worry! He's not upset about the cake smash, he thinks it's funny. And he got back at him.

As for the in-universe explanation for there being 16 candles in his cake?

... 500+ didn't fit in safely.

The birthday boy and his family were just a bit too flammable.

[theweirdestroller]

Y'all really like the Smokes and Magnus posts!

So obviously you're getting more!!

Due to Smokescreen coming into the picture later than in canon, the last key is kinda... Lost, to both factions. No one know who this guy in the last set of encryptions is. All they know is that this guy is very important and likely knows the location of the last omega key (how on earth does the rest of the omega key/lock plotline go if smokescreen isn't there?? surprisingly close to canon, but i'm still working out all the kinks)

Arcee and Jack get to meet Ultra Magnus, who Arcee knows and respects, and tumbling out behind him is- That's the guy from the omega key stuff!

Magnus is very confused as to how everybody seems to know his little buddy when his little buddy knows exactly none of them personally.

So- Breakdown and the phase shifter are kinda with Optimus at this point in time (no, breakdown does not get to steal the possible next prime position from smokescreen) But!! When Breakdown and Optimus later rejoin the Autobots, Smokescreen will get his preferred relic of choice. (in the meantime, magnus has a whole arsenal he can use as he pleases)

Oh, and, apparently, Wheeljack likes none of the new Autobots. The first is Breakdown, for very obvious reasons, the next are Magnus and Smokey. Ultra Magnus because he already hates him in canon and Smokescreen because Smokescreen is clearly very close to Magnus and respects him. They're besties! These new guys are not fun in his opinion. And he likes reminding all of them about this. (well, he enjoys reminding magus and bd. with smokes, well- smokes will look like a kicked puppy if someone is too mean to him. instead, jackie teaches the kid to gamble. it doesn't end well)

Does Breakdown want to punch Wheeljack? Kind of. Very much so. But he's an Autobot now and besides, some of Wheeljack's ire is deserved, they were enemies for a long time after all.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

i fear everyone needs to know i'm a big nerd- bc oh my god- the new doctor who episodes are sosoosos good- the way we met a new god- and they brought the mimic back is just!!! I'M SO EXCITED- i need to catch up on the past couple of eras- but- seeing the newest episodes has me !!!!!

[ghostlycod]

ok I’m doing vampire!ghost now because literally all it took was one person being like “yeah no I like this you should continue!” for me to get excited. slasher!ghost x finalgirl!reader, wait for me…

[oceanwithouthermoon]

saiki polycule concept where literally everyone has a crush on each other and its really obvious, so everyone EXCEPT the four psykickers start dating, because theyre afraid that saiki wouldnt feel the same and would think its weird, and they just dont know the other three very well..

chiyo and kokomi are def crushing on mikoto but they dont really say anything since most of the others havent even talked to her

so, whole time they're trying to hide their giant relationship and its very hard and also very pointless because saiki obviously KNOWS, but they dont know that☠️

and then the gang finds out somehow that AIURA AND SAIKI ARE DATING and it stems into this whole misunderstanding and theyre all heartbroken but ACTUALLY all the psykickers r dating + r definitely crushing on the rest of the gang but saiki has just been scared to say anything the entire time, especially since he hasnt power revealed yet..

[a-vibing-potato]

I watched the first episode of Stranger Things and episode 7x10 (Death's Door) of Supernatural and the combination of a cast of exciting new characters and a new world to discover AND Bobby's death has me fucked up in the head.

[jackass-jones]

Yeah the mouthwash game is pretty good