#multitasking with purpose

[prestonshamblen]

What if the best way to learn something… was to learn 10 things at once? This is Cross-Iterative Learning — a mindset that mirrors how real life works. I built the framework. And I live it.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

can someone who knows how to analyse tv shows explain to me why jessica jones s1 is just as good as i remember it being, s2 is more disappointing with every episode, and s3 is so forgettable i didnt even remember it existed and thought i must not have seen it

[essektheylyss]

was reminded that people get riled up about this the way they get riled up about pineapple on pizza and honestly, as a knowledge org nerd, it is weird and unnecessary 😌

[xxfinal-shadowsxx]

Multitasking at its finest (there’s more tabs than this)

What use do I have for this monstrosity?

Research… for AU purposes… because that’s why I need to know what microwaves (what our kitchen appliances are named after) are used for (hint: cars)

[fadewalking]

I did it. I finally beat this game.

[eeunwoo]

hey i usually love your gifs but the itzy ones kinda look pale idk sorry just wanted to let u know

hey! i got a new laptop less than 2 weeks ago and im still learning to adjust to the differences in how the edits appear everywhere else. thank you for letting me know!

[krenia]

oc jumpscare Again wah

Trying to explain anything about either of the idiots ended up in MASSIVE infodumps so I just gave up I made too much lore for my own good lmao

All you need to know :

1. he's Very Normal And Not Violent

2. used to be normal amounts of Mary Sue but then I projected all my social anxiety onto him and now he's just miserable

[smallhatlogan]

the idea of making tv shows tailored towards people who watch without fully paying attention is so wild to me as someone who will rewind and watch a part again if I get distracted for 5 seconds or if I fail to process a line of dialogue

[blackvahana]

Yeah I have important shit to do in the astral. Absolutely.

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

wailing!!! weeping!!!!

[kunasthiast]

bathroom meetings

you were finally in the tub.

bubbles everywhere. hair piled up. candle lit. mood set was divine. perfect silence. peace. it was your me time. after a ridiculous week that felt like being hit repeatedly with a spreadsheet and then lit on fire, the only thing you wanted was solitude and maybe for your skin to absorb enough lavender oil to knock you out for twelve hours.

sukuna had been in full corporate tyrant mode the past few days. buried in meetings. constantly yelling into headsets like he was declaring war (he might’ve been).

there were moments you’d pass by the home office and hear him through the closed doors: “i said quarterly projections, not emotional projections. are you fucking with me?”

in that same low, terrifying voice he used when he was threatening that random guy on the street who once slapped your head thinking you were his friend. and obviously, that’s the tone that meant someone’s career was about to combust.

not that sukuna had been ignoring you, though. there were still sleepy kisses in the morning. half-asleep cuddles at night. coffee mug swaps between meetings. the quiet, steady kind of love. but you missed him. his annoying, smug, feral ass. just a little.  

so when the bathroom door creaked open mid-bath, you didn’t even flinch. you just knew. and yep, there he was.

dragging in his entire goddamn office chair. into the fucking bathroom.

yes, a literal, high-backed, leather executive monstrosity. the one he always dramatically called ‘the only chair that respects my spine.’ he wheeled it in like he was about to conduct a strategy meeting in your bubble sanctuary. and then he parked it casually beside the sink, facing you.    

you blinked at him from your lavender-scented cocoon of suds, “what the hell, babe… are you serious right now?”

“hi, baby,” he said, already settling into the seat like this was perfectly reasonable. “i wanna spend time with you. so i brought my chair.”

“…in the bathroom?”

“yeah, got a problem with it? you’re hot. the lighting’s warm. the air smells like that purple crap you love. it’s a vibe. this is my happy place.”

you stared at him. “you brought your chair.”

“‘course I did,” he said, already opening his laptop (he fucking brought one) and clicking away like this was just another thursday. “i’m swamped. figured i could do my stupid shit and look at you. productivity. efficiency. serotonin. and dopamine. win-win.”

you squinted at him. he never used that many words to justify something unless he was spiraling. which meant that he’s fucking really drained for today – an oddity. sukuna never gets drained. he had the chaotic stamina of a toddler with an espresso machine. weird visual, but whatever. 

“you just wanted to watch me and pretend it was multitasking.” you teased.

“baby, i don’t need to pretend to watch you,” sukuna replied without shame, eyes flicking down over your shoulders, lingering for a breath too long. “i’m your husband. it’s practically in the vows.”

you groaned and slid lower into the bubbles. “you’re so annoying. you have zero concept of personal space.”

“bold of you to say when i was balls deep in you last week,” he muttered, eyes back on the laptop screen.

you rolled your eyes. “rude. that was emotional love-making, actually.”

“you cried after,” he added helpfully, with a teasing grin this time, looking at you.

“i was overstimulated and exhausted!”

“from all the love,” he said, voice dropping slightly as he winked. “you looked so fuckin’ pretty like that, by the way. all whimpery and soft. should’ve taken a photo. mental health purposes.” he then turned back to his laptop and continued doing whatever shit he was doing like he hadn’t just shattered your dignity. 

“god, you’re insufferable,” you sighed, watching him lean back and spread his legs like he owned the damn place (he does). shirtless. and just in his boxers. basically, a menace in soft lighting.

“only for you,” he said, then paused, dragging his eyes down again. his fingers slowed on the keyboard. “you always sit like that in the tub when you want me to look.”

you froze slightly. “‘kuna, i’m literally just bathing.”

“uh-huh. with your knees poking out of the bubbles like that. water dripping down your collarbone. are we pretending you’re not trying to make me fail this report?”

you stared him down. “you’ve been shirtless all day. i haven’t said a word.”

“you bit me earlier. for no reason.”

“you were walking around with a pen in your mouth like a chew toy!”

he grinned and stretched out in the chair, legs wide, muscles relaxed. “ohhh, my bad, madame la professeur. je m’excuse.” his voice dipped, teasing. “would you prefer I recite conjugations again?” 

you choked on a laugh, bubbles shifting. “no... baby, stop. i don’t wanna heart it,” you said as you covered your ears.

“sweetheart, you threatened to drown me with a beret when i said ‘voulez-vous coucher avec moi’ in class.”

“because you said it in front of the TA! and winked at me after saying that, who does that?”

“me, obviously. and now look at us,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, “still conjugating. still undressing with language.”

“gross.”

“grammatical,” he corrected smugly.

“anyway,” you huffed, “this was supposed to be sacred alone time.”

“correction,” he said, typing, “this is now sacred us time.”

“i can’t believe this is what my marriage looks like.”

he looked up again, glasses low on his nose. hair messy from a full day of stress-yanking (not love-making). dark eyes locked onto you like you were another report he was ready to manhandle. “consider me your emotional support office chair. i’m quiet. i click keys. i’m shirtless. it’s a wellness experience, brat.”

you gave him a deadpan look. “remind me again why you’re still doing reports when you own the entire damn company?”

“because my exec team is full of morons and apparently need their daddy to babysit the fucking budget.” he muttered, his eyes back on the screen.

“… so you really say that in meetings? ‘don’t worry, daddy’s here with the spreadsheets’?”

he gave you a withering look. “baby, don’t make me come over there and show you why they call me that.”

you sat up straighter, mock-scandalized. “you are not turning my bath into a boardroom kink.”

“oh, please,” he snorted. “you’d let me reorganize your filing system if i said that it in that voice.”

 “try me,” you puffed your cheeks and threatened, “i will throw a loofah at you. and for the record, ‘kuna? this is ambush. i was having sacred time, you bulldozer.”

“and yet… you married me.”

“temporarily lost judgment.”

“five-year lapse?”

you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “shut up. you’re ridiculous.”

“correct. and in love.” he said easily, shifting the laptop onto his other lap. and you let out a soft laugh at that because you know it’s true. 

for a moment, he didn’t say anything. just watched you, still half-soaked in warm light and bubbles. his eyes lingered, not with hunger and mischief, but with something softer. like he was memorizing. or making sure you’re here.

“you good, babe?” you asked.

he blinked, like coming back from wherever his head has gone. “yep, just…” he shrugged. “you’re the best part of the day, baby. seriously though, i missed you,” he said voice quieter now, like it didn’t just knock the air out of your lungs.

you blinked and froze a little. not because he said it, but because of how soft he said it. you rolled your eyes again, but your heart was already melting. “i’ve been busy. you’ve been busy. it’s fine.”

“it’s not fine,” he said, not looking up from the screen. “i like working. but i like you more. well, love. whatever, you know.”

that... shut you up a little. for a whole minute, even. you stared at him as candlelights softened the hard lines of his face. he was typing again, brows furrowed, but his jaw was tight.

“… okay, damn. for someone who threatened brad from finance with a stapler, that’s surprisingly romantic, ‘kuna.” you said quietly.

he cracked a small smile. “brad’s an idiot. you, on the other hand, are my peace.”

you were silent for a second and sighed out relief you’ve been wanting to let out for the past week. “well, you’re a clingy little bitch.”

“only for you, baby,” he said without missing a beat. then he smirked and cocked his head, eyes sliding over your shoulder, chest, legs – all barely hidden under the bubbles. 

“also, this bath is really doing things to my productivity levels. like, negative productivity. you gonna stand up at some point or do i have to pretend i dropped something in your bathwater?” he added, clearly back to his cocky self.

you threw the loofah at him. he caught it one-handed. “you’re such a menace.”

“only for you, brat,” he repeated again, softer this time. then added, “also, your left boob’s out. always a ten out of ten.”

“get out.”

“i just got comfortable,” he grinned. “and again… i’m your husband. my perving is legally protected.”

––

a/n: lol i went thru a writing slump last month and i can't think of anything – and thank heavens i've maxxed out my scrolling that i was able to come out of that coping (from a failed subject and delayed grad) lol so here's another husband!sukuna just bc and this ain't proofread

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? If you're not up for a few second-hand embarrassment sit this one out lol. Summary: Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out. A/N: This would make a good mini series. . .but we'll see. I had a dream. . .that he was a guy next door, just wanted to-of course-add a twist to it asdfghjkl.

It was all Amy’s fault. And Trish’s. And okay, maybe you shared a little bit of the blame for caving to the intense peer pressure at work. But still.

You’d been minding your own business in the break room, scrolling through lunch menus, when Amy had sidled up, leaned in with that conspiratorial look on her face, and whispered, “Have you seen him yet?”

“Seen who?” your eyebrows creased as you asked, confused.

Trish popped up out of nowhere, clutching her latte in her hand. “Girl, SeargentBarnes. The guy is legendary—I mean, a literal internet icon.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference while they exchanged a look that practically screamed, amateur. They started talking all at once, dropping cryptic phrases like “too hot to handle,” “you’re gonna die,” and, “you’ll never look at men the same way again.”

So there you were that night, alone with your laptop, curled up in bed and biting your lip as you debated whether to type it in. It’s just curiosity, you reasoned. Research purposes.

Your eyes widened as the screen filled with… well, humanity, in all its naked, unfiltered glory. Your face heated up so fast you could’ve sworn it was the same shade as your throw pillow. Videos lined up like some weird buffet, titles more scandalous than anything you’d ever whispered in confession, and… was that a whole category devoted to delivery men? You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop from yelping, mortified at the intensity of it all. 

“I need to go to church after this,” you muttered, squinting like that would somehow censor the thorough dedication people were showing in their, uh, procreation endeavors.

“SergeantBarnes,” you muttered to yourself as you typed, fingers hovering uncertainly over the Enter key. Then, with a sigh, you hit search, and… oh.

You nearly choked on oxygen. Because there he was, in HD glory, right on Pornhub, with that cocky grin and those blue eyes that looked like they’d been crafted in a lab. And he wasn’t just standing there looking smug—oh, no, he was on a mission, shirtless, flexing, and smirking at the camera like he was the world’s best-kept secret. The scene panned to him sitting on the edge of a bed, peeling off his belt with one hand, a glint in his eyes that seemed to say, this is what you came for.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, equal parts horrified and morbidly fascinated, as he proceeded to… well, get very familiar with his costar. SergeantBarnes was apparently an expert at multitasking, using every muscle, every inch of his well-equipped arsenal. And the way he was delivering lines? He was clearly treating the camera like it was his soulmate.

By minute two, your jaw had dropped. By minute five, you’d set the laptop on your nightstand to “watch responsibly.” By minute ten, you were convinced Amy and Trish had permanently ruined your life.

And the costar—she was practically putting on an Oscar-worthy performance, her reactions so intense you half expected her to start speaking in tongues. Every time SergeantBarnes’s… rod of justice plunges deep inside, she gasps like she was witnessing a miracle. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Come on, is that really necessary?

As you watched, he gave a low, rumbling sound—half growl, half sigh—that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. His gaze burned through the screen with a confidence that was practically magnetic, and suddenly, you understood exactly why the costar was gasping. A new, unbidden heat pooled between your legs, making you shift uncomfortably, instinctively pressing your thighs together as if that could somehow stop the flush creeping up your face. Oh no, now I wish I were her, you thought, immediately cringing at yourself.

With a mix of half-laughter and half-horror, you reached over and slammed the laptop shut so fast it was like you were trying to save yourself from spontaneous combustion. 

“Holy—oh, wow,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your face. “Okay. That was a one-time thing.”

Or so you thought.

Except now, every time you even glanced at your laptop, SergeantBarnes was right there in your mind, reminding you exactly why he was internet-famous. It was becoming a bit of a problem.

× × × ×

The next morning, you stumbled out of your apartment, looking like something that had been left out in the rain and dragged through a blender, mentally cursing last night’s “research” session. The world had no right to be this bright, and your regret levels were at an all-time high as you lugged the world’s heaviest box down the hallway.

You were so absorbed in avoiding a complete breakdown that you barely registered the deep, too-familiar voice beside you.

“Need help with that?”

“Thanks, but I got it,” you muttered automatically, barely sparing him a glance.

Except...then you did.

You looked up, squinting in confusion. Because, standing in front of you, in the perfectly mundane hallway of your perfectly mundane building, was him.

You froze, your brain spinning like a buffering screen. Okay, this guy’s insanely handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw, eyes so blue they should have a health warning on them. You stared, mentally cataloging each feature, when—wait a minute... WAIT. A. MINUTE.

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling as your brain finally fired up. Is that…? No, it can’t be.

But it was. Oh, it absolutely was. 

SergeantBarnes, the very star of last night’s “educational” viewing, right here in the flesh. And suddenly, like a tractor beam had locked onto you, your gaze dropped right to his crotch, where you’d witnessed things you could never un-see.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed. His brows shot up as he followed your very obvious, very treacherous line of sight, glancing down at his jeans before looking back up at you with an infuriatingly smug grin.

“Uh… nice shoes?” you blurted out, your face feeling like it was on fire. You vaguely gestured to his boots, wishing you could vanish right into the walls.

“Thanks,” he replied smoothly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They’re pretty sturdy. But, you know…” He paused, his voice dropping just a hair. “I don’t think they’re what you were looking at.”

Your heart sank as you forced yourself to look up, his amused blue eyes practically laughing at you. Abort. Abort mission. Oh God, we are way past mission failure.

“Uh—no, I just… um…” You floundered, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that might save you from the hole you’d dug. But no words came. Not even the faintest semblance of a coherent thought. Just one long, silent scream echoing in your brain.

“Bucky,” he offered helpfully, sticking out his hand like he wasn’t SergeantBarnes from Pornhub, but just some guy offering to help with a box. “New neighbor, by the way.”

You stared at his hand like it was a booby trap, your brain short-circuiting as it reminded you exactly where those fingers had been. That hand had gripped… things. It had been places you’d only dreamed of, doing things you’d probably need a core workout just to survive. You could practically see the “viewer discretion advised” warning flashing in your head as you hesitated, still staring at his hand as if it might explode.

But, against your better judgment—and every shred of dignity—you slowly reached out and shook it, feeling your own fingers betray you by sweating as they made contact with his very… experienced ones.

“Uh… hi… I’m… yep.” you blurted, mentally cringing.

“‘Yep’? That’s a good name,” he said, smirking as he let go. “You sure you don’t need help? You seem… a little flustered.”

Flustered? Understatement of the century. If your dignity had been a cup, it was empty, bone-dry, and cracked. You forced yourself to focus, eyes straight forward, pointedly ignoring the very tempting crotch-level view. 

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” you squeaked, cringing at your own voice. Oh God, calm down!

But he just chuckled, that same dangerously cocky smile from last night plastered all over his face. “Alright, Yep. Guess I’ll see you around.”

As he turned to leave, you stood there in the hallway, clutching the box like it was a life raft, heart racing a mile a minute. You’d just had a very public staring incident with SergeantBarnes, your new neighbor, and all you’d managed to say was nice shoes.

I’m gonna need new coworkers, you thought, practically burying your face in the box as you scurried to your apartment.

The door slammed shut with a bang that could probably be heard across state lines. You dropped the box unceremoniously, ignoring the loud thunk as it hit the floor, and whipped your phone out, fingers flying across the screen like you were composing a manifesto.

Guys, you’re NEVER gonna guess who my neighbor is—

You paused, staring at the screen as the rest of the text formed in your mind: THE SergeantBarnes. LIVE. IN. THE. FLESH.

But then another thought stopped you dead in your tracks. Oh no.

You could already picture it: Amy and Trish showing up like rabid fangirls in their “I Heart SergeantBarnes” merch, carrying suspiciously flimsy plates of brownies. Trish would have binoculars. Amy would be taking notes, probably trying to “accidentally” leave her phone number under his door. You shuddered, imagining them cornering him by the mailboxes, all of them acting like they were definitely not the type of women who had his entire catalog bookmarked on their phones.

A horrible realization hit you. If I tell them, this man’s gonna be living a nightmare right next door to me. Not just a nightmare, a Trish-and-Amy-sponsored fan club nightmare, where they might even break into song—probably chanting, “SergeantBarnes! SergeantBarnes!” while he tries to get his groceries.

You looked back at your unsent message and deleted it in one go, feeling weirdly proud of yourself. Yeah, no. I’m not letting them anywhere near him.

Totally altruistic, of course. It had nothing to do with keeping the eye candy to yourself.

You took a deep breath, looking around your empty apartment like you were expecting the FBI to burst through the door at any second. Sure, you’d just been in the hallway with the actual SergeantBarnes, but maybe… maybe you were imagining things. It had been a long day. Moving was stressful. Stranger things had happened, right?

With a surge of resolve (and denial), you dashed to your bedroom, practically sliding across the floor as you went. Your laptop was waiting innocently on the nightstand, and with a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure you were still alone, you opened it up, clicked incognito mode like you were hiding state secrets, and went straight to the website you’d sworn off only hours ago.

“Alright… just to confirm,” you muttered to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn as you typed SergeantBarnes into the search bar, mentally bracing yourself for the flood of results.

And there he was. The whole page filled with him, in various… positions. You swallowed, scrolling until one video caught your eye: “Sergeant Disciplines the Bratty Recruit.”

You snorted, almost slamming the laptop shut. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

But curiosity was a dangerous beast, and before you could talk yourself out of it, your finger had already clicked play.

The video started, with SergeantBarnes in all his glory, wearing what looked like the world’s tightest military uniform. His face was as smug as ever, that telltale glint of mischief in his eyes as he muttered something absurd like, “Think you can handle me, recruit?”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, cringing as you half-covered your eyes but peeked through your fingers anyway.

But there was no denying it—the face, the voice, the ridiculous, smoldering look into the camera. There was no escaping it now. It was 100% him. The same guy who was now living approximately ten feet away from your own front door.

As the video continued, your disbelief only grew. This man… this man is next door, could eating cereal right now, you thought, torn between horrified fascination and the urge to laugh. Because there he was, in full “disciplinary action” mode, doing things you could barely process, and here you were, watching it again, just to make sure it was really him.

“Oh, I’m doomed,” you muttered, slapping the laptop shut. You weren’t even sure if you were embarrassed, impressed, or maybe just a little terrified of your own neighbor.

× × × ×

Over the next few days, it was like living in a twisted sitcom. Everywhere you went, he was there, lurking like some kind of sexy, mildly inconvenient specter. It was uncanny. You’d turn a corner, and bam—there he’d be, giving you that polite nod and a smirk that clearly said, I know exactly what you’ve seen.

It started small. You’d step into the elevator, praying for a peaceful ride, and ding! in he’d stroll, flashing that devastating grin. Instantly, you’d stiffen, gluing yourself to the opposite wall, practically trying to meld with the buttons, heart pounding like you were about to pass out. You couldn’t even look him in the eye without flashes of his, uh, “filmography” playing in your mind. Every single time, without fail, you found yourself studying the very clean floor of the elevator as he leaned casually against the wall, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he’d ask, all smooth, innocent charm. Meanwhile, you were there like, Oh, totally, perfect day to run into my favorite Pornhub star.

You were in the laundry room, blissfully alone, humming to yourself as you separated your clothes like a responsible adult. Whites here, colors there, delicates—well, you were kind of just tossing them wherever at this point. Then, suddenly, you felt it: a shift in the air, a presence. You froze, the hair on the back of your neck standing up, a sock suspended mid-toss in your hand. Why do I feel like the music should be getting dramatic right about now?

Slowly, as if sensing his approach, you turned. And there he was—Bucky, striding in with a laundry basket filled with a suspiciously pristine pile of perfectly folded, incredibly manly clothing. It was as if he’d just stepped out of some kind of… laundry commercial. Or worse… one of his own videos.

You blinked, eyes widening as a thousand clichés suddenly flashed through your mind. Oh no, why does this feel like the start of a porn? you thought, biting your lip as you realized the two of you were, in fact, very alone, surrounded by washing machines and suspiciously warm lighting. You mentally kicked yourself. Snap out of it! This is laundry. Regular, boring laundry.

Bucky caught your eye, giving you an amused once-over. “Doing some laundry?” he asked, his voice low and casual, but somehow it felt like the most suggestive question in the world.

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Uh-huh,” you managed, trying to sound like a normal human being. “Just, uh… laundry.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you realized half of your load was underwear, strewn everywhere. Panties, bras, socks—they were all there in their mismatched glory, practically screaming, We’re personal items! Pay extra attention! You yanked your gaze away from the pile, mortified, and flung the sock into the washer like you were trying to disarm a bomb.

You slammed the washer lid down, feeling like you’d just revealed way too much. But Bucky only grinned, strolling over with that maddening swagger. He tossed a shirt into the washer beside you, leaning against it with a smirk.

“Nice sorting skills,” he commented, eyes flicking down to the very obvious pile of bras and lace that you’d tried to hide. “Very… thorough.”

“Yep!” you squeaked, feeling like you might explode. You fumbled with the detergent bottle, struggling to open it as your brain went into full-blown panic mode. Why does this feel like one of those videos? Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. Pretend you’re alone. Pretend this is fine.

But of course, he wasn’t making it any easier. He folded his arms, watching you with a raised brow, the picture of calm while you were desperately trying to load underwear without dying of embarrassment. 

“You know,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh, “usually people try to separate colors from whites.”

“Oh, I do! I mean, I… it’s a system,” you stammered, feeling like you were caught in a lie by the laundry police. “Sometimes it’s… it’s an artistic choice.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with that insufferable amusement. “Artistic laundry, huh? Didn’t take you for the experimental type.”

“Yep,” you said, forcing a laugh as you stuffed in the last sock, your hands moving at lightning speed, desperate to finish and escape.

But as you turned to leave, he held up a stray bra that had somehow escaped your grasp, dangling it between two fingers with a raised eyebrow. 

“You forgot this,” he said, voice dripping with that same mischievous humor.

You stared at the bra in horror, feeling your face go molten. 

“Uh… thanks,” you mumbled, practically ripping it out of his hand and stuffing it into the washer, slamming the lid down one last time before you spun on your heel and speed-walked out of there.

Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly, his voice echoing in the hallway. “See you around, neighbor.”

Yep, you thought, already halfway down the hall, never doing laundry again.

By day three, it got ridiculous. You’d ducked into the mailroom, hoping he was out doing normal human things—maybe mowing a lawn or whatever. But no, as soon as you opened your mailbox, there he was, standing by his own, sorting through a stack of letters. You froze, briefly considering whether you could just flee and come back later for your electric bill.

And then… the grocery bag incident.

You were in the hallway, arms overloaded with bags because, naturally, you’d ignored the cart right by the entrance and had instead decided to carry it all in one go. You were so close to your door when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Need help?” he asked, that voice making you nearly fumble every bag in your arms.

You turned, scrambling to say, “No, I’m good,” but of course, in your panic, one of your bags tipped, and a lone, horrifying item fell out and hit the floor. You watched, paralyzed, as the little bottle of lube rolled out with an audible clatter, spinning lazily to a stop right in front of him.

You could practically feel the heat exploding from your cheeks. No. Oh no. Not like this.

You looked up, meeting his amused, slightly raised eyebrows as his lips twitched, clearly fighting a smile. 

“Uh,” you choked out, unable to form a single coherent sentence. Think fast, make it sound normal, you told yourself, even though every possible explanation was racing out of your head.

He bent down, picking up the bottle with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes, inspecting it like he’d just found evidence of some grand crime.

“Hey, everyone’s got needs,” he said, deadpan, but that twinkle in his eye was anything but innocent. “Don’t worry.” He tossed you a wink, handing the bottle back like it was no big deal.

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as your brain scrambled to form a sentence. Finally, the words tumbled out like a train wreck, your dignity left somewhere back at the grocery store.

“It’s… it’s for my friend,” you squeaked, clutching the lube bottle with both hands like it was a sacred artifact. He raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too entertained for your liking. “She’s, uh, she’s constipated.”

A moment of silence.

“She needs it to… you know, help with a suppository.” You forced a grin that you were sure looked more like a grimace. “She, uh… can’t get things moving. Really jammed up in there.”

Bucky’s face twisted in barely suppressed laughter, and his shoulders shook as he struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Right,” he drawled, nodding with an expression that was one part pity and two parts are you for real? “That’s… thoughtful of you.”

You felt like you were overheating, a human furnace on the verge of combustion. 

“She’s desperate!” you blurted, doubling down on your ridiculous story, even though every fiber of your being was screaming to stop talking. “I’m just being a good friend, you know? Supportive. I mean, she’s the one who’s backed up.”

He nodded again, still fighting a smile, the look in his eyes a mix of amusement and something else that made your pulse race. 

“Sure,” he said, “nothing like helping a friend in need.” He paused, that wicked smile growing as he added, “In my experience, though, there are plenty of other uses for it.”

Your soul left your body.

He held out his hands in mock innocence, chuckling as your eyes widened to saucers. 

“Just saying,” he winked. “Versatile stuff.” 

And with that, he turned, strolling down the hall with a casual wave, leaving you frozen and mortified, clutching the bottle to your chest like a lifeline.

“Gotta… go,” you managed, voice barely a whisper, stumbling the last few steps to your door as you fumbled with the keys, practically falling inside.

The second the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, staring at the ceiling and whispering, “I’m never leaving my apartment again.”

Just as you were about to bury your face in your hands and live in the sweet, silent embrace of shame, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, still reeling from the lube disaster, and saw a text from your friend, Clara.

Clara: Hey!! Did you get the lube?? Need it ASAP, things are… not moving over here, if you catch my drift.

You groaned, staring at the message, letting it sink in that yes, this entire disaster had been real. 

You: Yes. Got it. Never speaking of this again.

Clara: Bless you, you lifesaver. My digestive system owes you a standing ovation.

You rolled your eyes, still red-faced. Clara had no idea you’d just had to explain the entire situation to your painfully attractive neighbor—who now likely thought you were a walking sitcom.

× × × ×

It started subtly—just a little teasing, or so you thought. But it quickly spiraled into a game you could only describe as Bucky Barnes: Merciless Teasing—Extended Cut. Every time you crossed paths, he managed to twist the knife just a little deeper, making you sweat, stumble, and practically choke on your own words.

The first time it happened, you were hauling a huge box out of your car, trying to look capable and independent, when he strolled up beside you, leaning against the car with a smirk.

“You act like I’m a celebrity,” he said, eyebrow cocked. “Every time you see me, you look ready to run.”

You fumbled, nearly dropping the box. 

“Nope! I’m just…uh, busy!” you squeaked, scrambling to walk away at top speed, box clutched to your chest like a shield. But you caught his laugh as you rushed off, making you want to evaporate on the spot.

The next time, you were in the stairwell, headphones in, desperately trying to avoid any more awkward run-ins. Naturally, the moment you looked up, there he was, lounging at the landing like some kind of paid actor in a commercial. You froze mid-step as he raised a brow.

“Look at that,” he said, giving you the once-over, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time you see me. Is it something I did?”

You stammered, turning pink. 

“No! Just, uh… headphones! Music! Loud music!” you blurted, before speed-walking up the stairs, praying he didn’t hear the Spice Girls song you’d been blasting. Behind you, his chuckle echoed up the stairwell like the final taunt of a villain.

But the absolute worst came at the coffee shop.

You were in line, looking at your phone, hoping you could just breeze in and out. The moment you placed your order and turned to leave, there he was, standing right behind you, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Hey, neighbor,” he drawled, eyeing your coffee cup like it was some incriminating evidence. “Funny running into you here. Or… do you keep running into me?”

Your face flushed, and you tried to think of something clever, but it was like all your brain cells had gone on vacation. 

“Nope! Definitely just getting coffee! I don’t even… live near here!” you babbled, immediately regretting everything.

“Oh, interesting,” he replied, his grin widening. “Because I could swear you live right next door. But hey, if you want to keep pretending you don’t know me, I’ll go along with it.” He handed you your coffee with a wink. “See you around… or not.”

But things took a turn for the mortifying when, one evening, you were pacing the hallway on the phone with Clara, trying to vent without actually collapsing in a pile of awkwardness.

“It’s him, Clara!” you hissed, oblivious to the fact that you were pacing right outside Bucky’s door. “I’m living next door to SergeantBarnes! Can you believe this? I’ve seen everything he has to offer! I’ve practically studied him!”

Clara was howling with laughter, but you were too wrapped up in your frustration to care.

“And he knows, Clara! He keeps showing up everywhere, saying stuff like, ‘You seem nervous’ and ‘You keep looking at me like you know something I don’t.’ I swear, he’s doing it on purpose!” You paused, sighing dramatically. “The man is basically torturing me!”

“Yeah?” Clara snorted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing! I’m gonna hide in my apartment forever! I mean, the guy is—” You froze mid-sentence, sensing a presence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Please, for the love of all that is holy, no.

You slowly turned, and there he was. Bucky. Leaning against his door, arms crossed, looking like he’d just won the freaking lottery.

“Oh… my god…” you whispered, feeling your soul leave your body. He was watching you with an expression of pure, unfiltered amusement, one eyebrow quirked, lips pulled into that infuriating, knowing smirk.

“Well,” he said, voice laced with mischief. “That makes one of us.” His eyes glinted with barely-contained laughter. “And here I thought you were just a fan of my boots.”

You could practically feel your brain cells going up in smoke. 

“I… uh… well… I…” you stammered, cheeks burning. “Boots… are great,” you managed, wanting to sink into the earth.

“Yeah? Because I seem to remember you looking… elsewhere last time,” he teased, stepping a little closer, enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

“Oh, no! Just… boots!” you squeaked, backing up, practically tripping over yourself. “I really should go… water my… uh… plants!”

He chuckled, savoring every second of your panic. “Good luck with that,” he said, throwing in one last wink as he slipped back into his apartment, leaving you in the hallway, feeling like you’d just gone through a slow-motion car crash.

Back in your apartment, you slid down the door, hands over your face as Clara’s laughter erupted over the phone.

“Boots?” she howled. “THAT’S what you went with? Boots?”

You groaned, banging your head back against the door. “Shut up, Clara.”

× × × ×

Determined to reclaim a shred of your dignity, you strode into the local coffee shop, praying for a quiet morning with zero embarrassing encounters. But, as if on cue, the universe had other plans.

There, right at the counter, was Bucky. He spotted you instantly, his face lighting up with that all-too-familiar grin that had haunted your dreams. There was no escape.

He waved you over, and before you could even think of pretending you hadn’t seen him, he was calling out, “Morning, neighbor! What’s your coffee order again?” His voice was loud enough that half the shop turned to look.

“Oh, um… it’s…” you stammered, but he’d already waved to the barista.

“Got it covered,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve got a feeling you like it with extra cream.”

You choked on your own saliva, feeling your face turn crimson as he handed you the cup with a wink. 

“Unless I’m wrong?” he added with a smirk, feigning innocence.

“N-Nope, that’s right!” you managed, grabbing the cup like it was a shield. “Extra cream… perfect.”

He chuckled, gesturing to an empty booth in the corner. “Great. Then you won’t mind sitting down with me for breakfast.”

“Oh no, really, I should—”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, got somewhere better to be?”

You froze, helplessly aware that the entire coffee shop was listening in. You managed a nervous laugh, mumbling, “Well… no, I guess not…”

Before you knew it, you were sitting across from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes anywhere but his face, your cheeks burning as he sipped his coffee and watched you with a smug smile.

“So,” he said, leaning forward, “what’s a girl like you doing watching a guy like me online, anyway?”

Your jaw dropped, coffee cup halfway to your mouth. “I—I wasn’t watching—It was research!” you spluttered, already kicking yourself for falling right into his trap.

He chuckled, clearly reveling in your embarrassment. 

“Oh, sure, ‘research,’” he said, nodding like he totally believed you. “I get it. You know, it’s important to be informed.”

You practically shrank into your seat, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. “Could you not say that so loudly?”

He smirked, taking a long, deliberate sip of his coffee. 

“Relax, I’m just curious,” he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell his aftershave. “Gotta say, it’s a little flattering to have a fan right next door.”

Your brain completely short-circuited. “Fan? I—no! I mean, not like that… I… I barely even…” You could feel the lie crumbling in your throat as his smirk deepened.

“Uh-huh. Then why did you look like you were about to sprint every time you saw me?” He tilted his head, studying you, eyes twinkling. “And I swear you turned pink the second you walked in here.”

Your hands shot up, covering your cheeks. “I did not! You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Because it’s like clockwork. Every time I’m around, you look like you’ve been caught red-handed. I don’t mind, you know,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

You let out a strangled laugh, ready to crawl under the table. 

“That’s… obvious,” you muttered, feeling as though you might combust at any second.

“Okay, so since we’re having breakfast together, how about you tell me: any favorite scenes?” He laughed, looking entirely too amused as he stirred his coffee.

You practically choked on your coffee, face flaming as you tried to hide behind your cup. 

“I—I can’t believe you just asked that!” you squeaked, horrified and unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, clearly enjoying every second. “It’s just small talk. I mean, who better to ask than a neighbor?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we please pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Nope. Can’t do that,” he replied, laughing. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Just as you were starting to pray for an earthquake to swallow you whole, you glanced up at him, cheeks still flaming. 

“Did you… did you know I recognized you this whole time?”

He leaned back, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. 

“Of course I did,” he said, laughing. “Figured it out the second I saw that look on your face. I just wanted to see if you’d ever bring it up.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, feeling mortification seep into your very bones. “And you kept messing with me?”

“Of course,” he said, raising an eyebrow with a wicked grin. “I was just waiting to see how long it would take for you to crack. Guess now the ice is broken, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re the worst.”

He winked, finishing his coffee. “Yeah, but I make breakfast interesting, don’t I?”

You laughed, feeling the last traces of embarrassment fade away—well, at least enough to breathe normally again. But just as you started to feel almost… comfortable, Bucky tilted his head, giving you a curious look.

“So, neighbor,” he said, smirking, “I’ve gotta ask… what’s your name?”

You blinked, realizing with a jolt that you’d never actually told him. In all your attempts to dodge, deflect, and survive the relentless teasing, you hadn’t even bothered to introduce yourself.

“Oh… right,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I, uh, guess I never actually said.”

“Nope,” he replied, leaning in with a grin. “I just assumed you wanted to keep a little mystery between us.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Trust me, I’m not that mysterious.”

“Really?” he replied, eyebrows raised. “Because all this time I’ve been calling you ‘Yep.’”

Your face went red as you remembered the first time you’d stammered a barely coherent “yep” instead of an introduction. “Oh my god. You haven’t been calling me that in your head this whole time, have you?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s kind of cute. Suits you, actually.”

You groaned, but laughed despite yourself, finally holding out your hand across the table. “Alright. I’m Y/N. Officially.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, taking your hand, his grip warm and firm. His smirk softened into something a little more genuine. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Officially.”

His hand lingered in yours for a beat longer than necessary, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no innuendos—just the two of you, sitting across the table, smiling like two normal people who’d just met under… semi-normal circumstances.

Then, just as you were starting to think maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this weirdly charming neighbor situation, he leaned back, that mischievous glint creeping back into his eyes.

“Now that we’re on a first-name basis,” he said, winking, “you can tell me all about your favorite scenes. You know, for professional feedback.”

You burst out laughing, face in your hands as he watched you with a triumphant grin. Yep, you thought, already regretting nothing and everything.

[flwrstqr]

LAY YOUR LOVE ON ME ✶ WHEN THEY CHECK YOU OUT ◞

SCR𝓲PT ᪲ 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗀𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖾

【 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐋𝒪𝐕𝐄 】 ' 𝒏. enhypen & fem!rea. ❜ 7OO established relationship fluff headcanons ˊᯅˋ kissing skinship petnames &CLICK

다니 ⠀⦂ HAPPY ENHYPEN COACHELLA DAY (> <) by the time this is posted,, they're probably mid-performance or ending TT

LEE HEESEUNG

you’re standing by the mirror, lazily applying a sheer pink gloss to your lips, and heeseung watches from behind—he mutters, “fuck,” under his breath. you glance at him through the mirror, pretending not to notice the way he’s practically burning holes into your reflection. “baby,” he drawls, sauntering up behind you, “you tryna kill me or what?” his hands find your waist, and he dips his head to your ear, voice dropping, “you always look good, but this? this is criminal.” you hum, smirking as you press your lips together for the final coat. “what? a little gloss got you weak?” he groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “you have no idea. come here, pretty girl. lemme ruin it.”

PARK JAY

you do a little spin in front of the mirror, the fabric of the new dress swaying around your legs, and jay just stands there—completely entranced. he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes going up and down. “that’s my princess,” he says, and when you glance over, he’s already walking toward you. “you look beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “you really like it?” you whisper, a little shy, and his smile only softens more. “i didn’t just like it on the mannequin, baby. i imagined you in it—and i was still underestimating how stunning you’d look.” you wrap your arms around his neck, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. “perfect,” he says again. “just perfect.”

SIM JAKE

you’re casually tying your hair up, completely unaware of the effect it’s having on jake until you hear a low whistle from behind you. you turn slightly, catching him leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, that cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “you do that on purpose, don’t you?” he teases, eyes shamelessly dragging down your neck like he’s already memorized every inch. you roll your eyes, but he’s already up, standing behind you, before his lips brush your neck. “how the hell did i get this lucky?” he mutters. “no seriously, baby, you’re tying your hair and i’m ready to risk it all. you tryna kill me today?” you laugh, trying to squirm away, but he only grins wider. you’re not going anywhere. i’m obsessed, remember?”

PARK SUNGHOON

you’re talking about something random—weekend plans, maybe—but sunghoon’s barely following, his eyes flickering to your lips mid-sentence and lingering a beat too long. he shifts slightly, leans back on the couch like he’s unbothered, but the way he bites his bottom lip says otherwise. “mm, yeah?” he says absently, trying to keep the conversation going, but his gaze drops again and definitely not subtle. “you’re not even listening,” you tease, and he shrugs, eyes flicking back up to yours. “i am,” he says smoothly, voice low. “just... multitasking.” you raise an eyebrow and he lets out the tiniest scoff, clearly caught. “can’t help it, baby. you’re distracting as hell,” he mutters. “keep talking, though. i like your lips—i mean i like listening to you talk”

KIM SUNOO

sunoo leans against the doorway, arms crossed and eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing that matters. you’re standing in front of the mirror, carefully putting on your earrings, when you feel his gaze. “stop looking at me like that,” you mumble, heat crawling up your neck, but he just pouts, chin dipping slightly as he tilts his head. “but you’re so cute,” he whines, pushing off the wall and coming up behind you, and staring at you through the mirror. “can’t help it, baby.” his cheek rests against yours, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he grins, nose scrunching in that way that makes your heart actually do a cartwheel. “you’re gonna make me late,” you huff, and he giggles, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “worth it though.”

YANG JUNGWON

you’re half-asleep, tangled in the sheets with your hair sticking out in every direction, face bare and eyes barely open when jungwon walks in, carrying two mugs of tea. he pauses mid-step, eyes softening immediately as he sets the cups down and crawls onto the bed beside you. “you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, brushing a strand of hair off your face. you groan, hiding under the covers. “wonnie, i literally look like a monster.” he just laughs, tugging the blanket down gently. “a very cute poster,” he teases, kissing your forehead with the sweetest smile. “my cute monster.” you swat at his chest, but he just smiles, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “i mean it, baby. makeup or not—you’re always so pretty to me.” and the worst part is, he reallymeans it.

NISHIMURA RIKI

you’re on your tiptoes, fingers barely brushing the box on the top shelf, tank top riding up just enough to make you curse under your breath—and of course, riki’s there, leaning against the doorway like he’s watching a damn show. “need help?” he drawls, voice low and smug, arms crossed as his eyes shamelessly drop to your exposed skin. you shoot him a glare over your shoulder, “i’ve got it,” but he’s already moving closer, chest brushing your back. “sure, baby,” he chuckles, plucking the box down with ease. “just figured i’d help before you broke your neck.” you swat at him, but he only laughs harder. “you’re so cute when you’re mad,” he murmurs. god, you hate him. hate how your heart races. hate how he knows it. hate how good he looks when he smirks like that.

[blasphemyandbackshots]

what will you do, when your boyfriend is absolute cringe? — mha version

a/n: please take this as a joke, I adore the guys

ღ Katsuki Bakugo ;;

Screams “EXTRAS, MOVE!” in public—at pigeons 🙃

Says “I’m literally gonna explode this entire fucking restaurant if they mess up your order again.”

Tries to fight the claw machine at the arcade because he couldn’t win you a plushie

Barks at children who stare at him too long. “What the hell are you lookin’ at, gremlin?”

Uses his quirk for dramatic entrances like he’s in an anime opening, in the middle of a supermarket

You: “You just scared an old lady into a heart attack.”

Bakugo: “She was in my damn way.”

ღ Izuku Midoriya ;;

Loudly mutters stats about random heroes or villains while you’re grocery shopping

Once gave your waiter a 15-minute review of Hawks’ wing-span and aerodynamics

Narrates his life like it’s a documentary.

Said “you smell like a side quest 🥺” when you were dressed up.

Accidentally called you ‘dollface’ because he saw a meme. Won’t stop. Thinks it’s sexy.

You: “Did you just moan after sipping your coffee?”

Deku: “That was the flavor profile…! It had notes of—wait—come back!”

ღ Shoto Todoroki ;;

Deadpan serious while doing the cringiest things

Did a TikTok dance at your niece’s party. Didn’t blink once 👁️👄👁️

Said “Let’s engage in physical affection” before kissing your forehead

Brings soba to potlucks. Just soba. Cold. In a Tupperware.

Wears the “I ❤️ My Girlfriend” shirt unironically, and the matching hat

You: “You told my mom we met during ‘an emotional crisis’?!”

Shoto: “It was accurate.”

ღ Eijiro Kirishima ;;

Shouts “YEAH, MANLY!!” anytime someone opens a jar

Tried to flex and split his shirt at a wedding. It was your friend’s wedding

Makes dad jokes and slaps his knee after

Told your friend’s baby he was “a future pro hero, BRO.”

Once introduced himself to your boss by saying “I’m her man.” 😐

You: “You winked. You winked and finger-gunned.”

Kiri: “I thought it made me look confident…”

ღ Denki Kaminari ;;

Tries pickup lines… in front of your parents

“Are you a villain? Because you stole my he—”

Gets excited when a light flickers. “Babe that was me.” No it wasn’t ☹️

Wears sunglasses inside, calls himself ‘Denki Danger’

Pretends to get electrocuted for laughs. At the worst times.

You: “You fake-seized at dinner.”

Denki: “The waiter dropped the forks! I saw an opportunity!”

ღ Hawks ;;

Flirts with you loudly on patrol

Used his feathers to sneak a love note into your grocery cart. While you were standing right there

Once told a villain “Can you wait a sec? I’m texting my girl.”

Will straight-up chirp if he sees you in public and hasn’t seen you all day 🫩

Poses for the press mid-battle because “this angle makes my jawline pop.”

You: “You winked while fighting a guy with a flamethrower.”

Hawks: “And still won. Multitasking, baby.”

ღ Shouta Aizawa ;;

Brings his sleeping bag to your family’s holiday gathering

Refuses to comb his hair for photos. “It’s not that deep.” Yes it is, Shouta, use a comb ffs 🥲

Groans loudly when asked to “smile more.”

Deadpans jokes so hard no one gets them but laughs at his own delivery

Your friends are afraid of him. He doesn’t correct it.

You: “You just told my grandma you were going to ‘collapse in the void’?”

Aizawa: “That’s what sleep is. She asked.”

ღ Hitoshi Shinsou ;;

Uses his voice quirk to mess with telemarketers—puts it on speaker

Makes sarcastic commentary while you’re watching romcoms in public, loudly

Imitates you when you get dramatic. “Oh my god, babe, these jeans are about to ruin me emotionally.” 😒

Carries his cat in a hoodie pouch and refuses to explain

Purposely tells people fake stories about how you met, one involved a cult

You: “You told your friends I was your parole officer.”

Shinsou: “They’ll never ask about our anniversary now.”

ღ Dabi ;;

Will light a cigarette in the middle of a store, just to make eye contact with the cashier

Refers to you as his little problem’ in public

Wears sunglasses at night. Indoors. At funerals.

Says stuff like, “Let’s go cause irreversible damage together.”

Once posted a thirst trap in front of a burning dumpster and tagged you with ‘💖🔥 my muse’

You: “You asked my dad if he wanted to ‘split a corpse’ as a bonding joke.”

Dabi: “It’s called charisma. He laughed. Internally.”

ღ Tomura Shigaraki ;;

Brings his gaming console to restaurants ‘just in case’

Said “My Roman Empire is that time you told me to moisturize.”

Won’t talk for hours but then whispers, “I want to gnaw on your elbow.” 🤨

Wore a ‘Mommy Issues Make Me Hotter’ shirt to your cousin’s baby shower.

Pet a cat and said “He’s just like me fr.” Then hissed at a kid.

Refers to you as his ‘loot drop’

You: “You called me your ‘NPC girlfriend’ in front of my coworkers.”

Shigaraki: “They were the background characters in our cutscene.”

───────────────────────

ღ Tamaki Amajiki ;;

Whispers compliments so quietly you repeat them out loud and now everyone heard

Brings pocket snacks. Pulls out a cucumber mid-movie like it’s normal.

Says “hi” and then apologizes for existing

Literally crawled under a table once instead of answering a question 🥺

Sent you a meme at 3 AM and followed it with “I’m sorry. That was too forward.”

You: “You teleported into your hoodie like a ninja turtle.”

Tamaki: “It felt safer than the room.”

───────────────────────

ღ Mirio Togata ;;

Says “it’s banana time!” and peels one dramatically like a sword. Also says it during sexy times 😩

Jumpscares you with dad energy. Just appears mid-cartwheel with a “HEY BABE.”

Once sang karaoke in a singlet, at a church fundraiser

Greets your friends by yelling “SUP SEXY BEASTS”

High-fives toddlers like they’re frat bros

You: “You saluted my grandma.”

Mirio: “She looked like she had war stories.”

───────────────────────

ღ Neito Monoma ;;

Narrates your lives like you’re on Gossip Girl 💋

Said “Who allowed you to look this good? I’ll sue.” Every time you wore lip gloss

Publicly challenges Bakugo to battles, at the farmer’s market

Pretends to faint when you ignore his dramatic flirting

Genuinely carries a mirror, says it’s “for accountability.”

You: “You told the waiter we were in a toxic relationship because I said no to dessert.”

Monoma: “I’m giving main character energy. Let me live.”

───────────────────────

ღ Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu ;;

Shouts “BABY LOOK” every time he lifts something heavy.

Bit into a frozen burrito like it was a challenge

Bro-hugged your professor

Literally howls at the moon sometimes 🐺

Said “I would die for you but also I would win a WWE championship for you.”

You: “You punched the vending machine.”

Tetsu: “It disrespected you.”

───────────────────────

ღ Present Mic ;;

Volume level permanently set to concert mode

Narrates your morning routine like you’re a guest star on a cooking show.

Once said “YOU PUT THE ‘ASS’ IN ‘CLASS’ BABY” over the school intercom 🥴

Says “YEEEAAHHH” after everything, like a punctuation mark

Beatboxed the “I love you” instead of saying it

Tried to make you a mixtape and ended up DJ-ing a 3-hour ‘horny love hour’ for all of UA Radio

Dabs unironically. And flosses. And screams the names of his dance moves.

You: “You called my ex ‘discount trash’ and then shouted ‘MIC DROP’ while flipping their coffee.”

Mic: “Did you see the dramatic tension?? Scorsese could never.”

───────────────────────

ღ Hanta Sero ;;

Once called you ‘mommy’ in front of Aizawa as a dare and now lives in fear

Does fake anime death scenes when you ask him to do chores

Loudly calls out “THAT’S MY BABY!!!” whenever you enter a room, no matter the setting

Tried to tape himself to your window as a romantic gesture. Got stuck. Cried a little.

Wears matching pajamas with you but his have a cape sewn onto them. Forgets he’s an actually pro hero and pretends to be superman 🦸🏻‍♂️

Says “we’re like Lady and the Tramp, but sexier” over spaghetti and means it

You: “You high-fived my gynecologist.”

Sero: “She said you had a healthy cervix! I was PROUD!”

You: “You asked Bakugo to be our future child’s godfather during game night.”

Sero: “That was strategic. You saw how emotional he got. That man’s ready.”

[dragoneyelashart]

drug dealer! billie hcs ★⋆˙

smut/angst/fluff ୨ৎ warnings: mention of gunplay, spit kink, use of drugs

drug dealer! billie who calls you her favorite customer, always giving you discounts

drug dealer! billie who when you forget to pay makes you suck her dick in compensation 

drug dealer! billie who wears her strap to parties just incase

drug dealer! billie who has girls all over her, but when she sees you she’s moving to make space for you, patting the empty space on her lap so you can sit.

drug dealer! billie who purposely moves around when you’re sat in her lap so you can feel her strap pushing into you

drug dealer! billie who is big on fucking you from behind

drug dealer! billie who always calls you ‘baby’,  ‘mama’ and especially ‘her girl’

drug dealer! billie who makes you gag on her strap and swears she can feel how good your mouth is on her

drug dealer! billie who always praises you for taking her so deep

drug dealer! billie who’s staring you down at a party when she see’s you flirting with anyone else

drug dealer! billie who keeps a gun in the waist band of her pants

drug dealer! billie who would threaten anyone flirting with you with that gun, then later have you on your knees while she trailed the gun down your body

drug dealer! billie who loves when you leave marks on her neck 

“yo billie, who gave you that mark”  “my girl did” she says winking 

drug dealer! billie who licks the drugs off your body, placing it on your tits, thighs and stomach

drug dealer! billie who spoils you with her money

drug dealer! billie who comes to you after a fight + fucks you when she's angry

"you gonna let me take my anger out on you, mama?" she'll say as you're waiting patiently on your knees for her

drug dealer! billie who spits in your mouth before she kisses you like it's a routine.

drug dealer! billie who says "good girl" every time you bring her a lighter, her phone, her gun — doesn’t matter what it is.

drug dealer! billie who has your name tattooed on her thigh, right where only you get to see it.

drug dealer! billie who keeps one of your panties in her glovebox like it’s a good luck charm.

drug dealer! billie who lets you sit on her lap while she counts money, her hand casually gripping your thigh while she multitasks.

drug dealer! billie who only sells to people she likes, and if someone she doesn’t like asks, she just points to you and goes, “ask my girl, maybe she’ll be nicer than me.”

drug dealer! billie who brings you a bag of your favorite snacks every time she drops something off “can’t have my baby starving while she’s getting high.”

drug dealer! billie who makes you ride her strap with her glock on the nightstand.

drug dealer! billie who tells people you’re her wife even though you're not married — yet.

drug dealer! billie who pulls you by the collar and growls, “don’t ever talk to that punk again,” then kisses you like she owns you.

drug dealer! billie who smells like weed, gunpowder, and your perfume, she says she wears it to remember what home smells like.

drug dealer! billie who sends you selfies mid-deal, shirtless in her car, captioned “thinking about you with my dick out lol”

drug dealer! billie who gets into a fight and when you ask “did you win?” she smirks, bruised knuckles and all, “you should see the other bitch… actually, don’t. just look at me.”

drug dealer! billie who tells everyone “this pussy's prescription only,” and you’re the only one with the refill card.

drug dealer! billie who lets you weigh the product on her lap like she’s testing how well you can handle pressure.

drug dealer! billie who tells you, “don’t cum till I say,” then takes her sweet time fingering you, loving the way you beg and whine for her.

drug dealer! billie who’ll have you in the backseat of her car, legs over her shoulders, strap buried deep.

drug dealer! billie who’ll make you choke on her strap with one hand in your hair, the other still texting a client. “keep going, mama — i’m multitasking.”

drug dealer! billie who fucks you with her silver chain wrapped around your throat like a leash, pulling every time you moan too loud.

drug dealer! billie who loves when you wear nothing under her oversized hoodies/ shirts and only finds out when your sat on her lap or she grabs your ass  — “such a slut for me, huh?”

drug dealer! billie who’ll finger you under the table during a deal, whispering, “be quiet, baby, i’m working,” while you’re shaking in her lap.

drug dealer! billie who records you crying on her dick and plays it back when she’s alone, cocky smirk on her lips as she listens to how ruined she made you.

drug dealer! billie who’ll edge you all night then finally fuck you in the morning, saying “only good girls get to cum on my strap.”

drug dealer! billie who won’t tell you where she disappears to some nights, just comes back with bruised knuckles and haunted eyes, muttering “don’t ask, baby, please.”

drug dealer! billie who pushes you away when she’s scared, when things get too good, she starts fights just to convince herself you’ll leave before she gets too attached.

drug dealer! billie who almost gets caught in a raid and calls you from a burner phone, breathless and frantic, “i don’t know if i’ll make it out… just know i love you, alright?”

drug dealer! billie who refuses to sleep next to you after a deal goes bad because she doesn't want to bleed on your sheets — “i’m dirty, baby. you deserve better.”

drug dealer! billie who goes dead silent when you cry in front of her for the first time, then holds your face and whispers, “you know I’d kill anyone who made you feel like this... even if it’s me.”

drug dealer! billie who gets so used to giving everything away,money, product, sex, that when you love her without asking for anything, it breaks her.

drug dealer! billie who makes you promise that if she ever disappears, you’ll leave town and never look for her  “i can’t have you getting hurt just because you love me.”

drug dealer! billie who sneaks into your apartment just to cook breakfast in your kitchen,  eggs burnt, toast uneven, but she’s so proud. “i feed you and fuck you? wife me.”

drug dealer! billie who gets high and gets soft, lays with her head in your lap and lets you play with her hair while she hums whatever song’s in her head.

drug dealer! billie who keeps a stash of your favorite snacks in her glove compartment. “my girl’s gotta eat between rounds.”

drug dealer! billie who rolls joints with pink rolling paper because “you like cute shit,” and always kisses you before lighting up.

drug dealer! billie who lets you wear her hoodie and hat, then posts you on her private story with the caption “mine mine mine.”

drug dealer! billie who always calls you to “come crash at mine” after a long night, she sleeps better when she can feel your heartbeat against her back.

drug dealer! billie who secretly keeps every love note, polaroid, and silly doodle you’ve ever given her, stashed in a shoebox under her bed.

drug dealer! billie who never says “be careful” — just “text me when you get home” — but she means “if anything ever happened to you I’d burn this whole city down.”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @chrissv4mp @too-sapphic-to-function @thebluediner @aka-persephone @vijaxx | send an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[astrologydray]

Ruler of the 6th through the houses

This is where we get into daily life, service, work, wellness, and routine. Think of it as your “how I get sh*t done” energy — the ruler of your 6th house shows what area of life demands the most effort, structure, or healing🖤.

6th House Ruler in the 1st House

You are your own project.

Your identity is wrapped in your work ethic and wellness. People see you as productive, reliable, and self-improving. You’re the type to biohack, optimize, or self-discipline like a boss. You serve: Yourself, your goals, your growth. Wellness style: Actively engaged with body + health. “My body is my schedule — and my brand.”

6th House Ruler in the 2nd House

You work for stability + values.

You’re motivated by security, comfort, and building something solid. You probably have a slow-and-steady daily rhythm and need to feel grounded in your routine. You serve: Through practical help + financial support. Wellness style: Nourishment, somatic care, massage. “My routine = my resource.”

6th House Ruler in the 3rd House

Your mind is always working.

You thrive on movement, communication, and mental stimulation. You may multitask like a machine and keep a busy schedule. Writing, teaching, or running errands = daily bread. You serve: Through ideas, words, and helpful info. Wellness style: Breathwork, nervous system care, mobility. “My calendar is color-coded chaos — and I love it.”

6th House Ruler in the 4th House

Your home is your office or temple.

You crave comfort and emotional security in your daily rhythm. You may work from home or be drawn to caretaking professions. Wellness comes from emotional safety. You serve: Family, home, emotional healing. Wellness style: Nourishing food, rest, inner child care. “My peace starts at home.”

6th House Ruler in the 5th House

You work with passion or not at all.

You thrive when your work lights you up. You bring creativity to your job, and you may serve others through play, art, children, or entertainment. You’re here to infuse joy into the mundane. You serve: Through performance, love, creativity. Wellness style: Movement, pleasure, artistic release. “If it’s not fun, it’s not sustainable.”

6th House Ruler in the 6th House

You were born for systems, routines + service.

You’re naturally drawn to work, health, and structure. You may have a career in healthcare, healing, or support roles. Routines come naturally — but beware of overworking. You serve: Through consistency, integrity, mastery. Wellness style: Functional, optimized, routine-based. “Structure sets me free.”

6th House Ruler in the 7th House

You show up for others.

You serve through partnerships — whether romantic, business, or client-based. Your work may involve 1:1 relationships, and wellness improves when your relationships are in harmony. You serve: Lovers, clients, collaborators. Wellness style: Balance, connection, mirrored growth. “Your peace = my peace.”

6th House Ruler in the 8th House

You work in the shadows.

You may serve through healing, therapy, finances, or emotional transformation. You’re private about your daily habits and need depth + purpose in your work to avoid burnout. You serve: Through psychological or energetic work. Wellness style: Detox, shadow work, deep rest. “My work transforms me — and others.”

6th House Ruler in the 9th House

You work from the mind and the spirit.

You may serve through teaching, spirituality, law, or travel. Daily life needs meaning. You might crave movement or a higher mission behind the grind. You serve: Through wisdom, beliefs, or worldly perspective. Wellness style: Walking meditations, breathwork, education. “My routine is my ritual.”

6th House Ruler in the 10th House

You turn routines into legacy.

Work is your identity. You’re ambitious, career-oriented, and likely to rise in your field due to your consistency. You might manage others or become known for your service. You serve: Through leadership, professionalism, influence. Wellness style: Structured, goal-driven, visible. “Work hard, shine harder.”

6th House Ruler in the 11th House

You serve the collective.

You may work within communities, collectives, or online spaces. You need freedom and innovation in your day-to-day — and you’re likely to rebel against rigid schedules. You serve: Friends, networks, causes. Wellness style: Group classes, tech tools, unconventional methods. “My work serves the future.”

6th House Ruler in the 12th House

Invisible service, sacred structure.

You work best in solitude, or in healing/behind-the-scenes roles. Your routines may be intuitive or chaotic, and wellness is deeply tied to your emotional + spiritual state. You serve: Spirit, the unseen, vulnerable populations. Wellness style: Sleep, silence, dreams, energetic healing “Sacred rest is my medicine.”