#/bonked and dragged away

[disneyvillainsdaily]

Thinking about Lilo & Stitch makes me really appreciate certain things about the original + the series. Almost every single named [human] character in the movie isn’t white: the only exception being Mertle, y’know, the bratty little girl we’re not supposed to like.

Besides all of the racial representation, Lilo herself is very much a neurodivergent icon, and her portrayal as the protagonist is amazing considering how characters like her are typically either sidelined or depicted in ways to make them less sympathetic/human (modern media does at least a slightly better job at adressing that kind of thing tho).

So all of that is great, but to anyone that hasn’t seen Lilo & Stitch: The Series, it also does some extremely refreshing stuff.

Pleakley gets tons of validation to dress in drag, everyone always referring to Pleakley as “she” when dressed up as “aunt Pleakley.” There’s even an episode that tackles Pleakley dealing with the pressures of his family that wants him to marry a girl and settle down to have a “normal life.” After the episode's shenanigans, there's a realistic depiction of the misunderstanding of a heteronormative/traditional parent with their non-traditional child: Pleakley's mom says that she just wants her children to be happy, but when Pleakley says that he is happy, she thinks he's only trying to console her as she insists, "How can you be happy? You aren't even married." But Pleakley finally gets it through to his mom when he says, "I don't want to be married, mother! I'm happy just as I am."

After getting to meet all of Pleakley's ohana throughout the episode and hearing from Pleakley himself -after all of the previous misunderstandings- that he really, truly, is happy, she's finally starting to understand.

Even though his mom comments as they leave that she wants him to “try wearing men’s clothes more often,” she still does walk away accepting that she simply doesn’t understand her son's way of thinking. It’ll definitely be hard for her since she’s so much more “traditional,” but she’s finally coming to grips with the fact that her son is who he is, and likes being that way, so she’ll love him regardless. She's trying her best.

The portrayal of people with physical disabilities is also great. It’s not because there’s one recurring character with some condition, but almost because there are non-recurring characters. It isn’t in every episode, but here’s an example: they want to show someone at the park playing fetch with their dog for just one shot. They could very easily have it be any a random person, but they decided to make it a lady in a wheelchair. There's another episode where Nani's friends from highschool show up and one has forearm crutches, but not just because she had some recent accident. No one in the episode questions her condition or feels the need to point it out, the only comment on it being that the friend will use the crutches to lightly bonk the others' arms, and Nani jokes, "You are still deadly with that thing."

The fact that they include characters with disabilities when they "don't have to" makes it that much more normal. These people aren't some special case or the main highlight of the episode, they're just another person. They're normal.

There's so much that all of the original Lilo & Stitch media did right, but now the name will forever be tainted with the association of the remake, which I'm sure will have absolutely none of the tasteful writing and ideas of anything prior to it.

[willowed-wisp]

ghost as a dad ( part two ) [ simon riley ]

part one | part three

- Definitely takes your eldest to base when she can walk small distances with him on occasion.

- He literally crouches down and holds her little hands. Her doe eyes wandering everywhere, a pinch of awe and a little bit of fear but when she looks at her dad she gains the courage to continue.

- Definitely calls her, ‘pumpkin’, ‘princess’, and other things that has uncle Soap like a puppy dog.

- Johnny is the only person he trusts with her on base- he is your kids’ god father, along with Simon’s brother, Tommy.

- When Simon notices her getting sluggish, “Come on, sweet pea,” holding her with caution as she has the nerve to bonk him on the nose when talking to his superiors, “what has mummy been teachin’ ya, huh?” Not mad at all, impressed even- she had an impressive right hook for such tiny hands.

- Her head shook, “Not mama, dada,” her finger pointed over to someone, “It was Soapy…” Simon had been on the verge of hysterical laughter but contained himself- remembering the encounter later that day. Even telling you over dinner.

- He has two personalities when your son is born, maybe it was because of his abusive childhood that drove him to leave home but he had a mental block after learning the baby was a boy.

- All of his worry melted away in the delivery room- Simon was the first to hold his baby boy. Something he’d missed with your daughter.

- He decided to be a better father figure to his son than his dad. The BEST father figure even if it fucking killed him.

- Simon’s mother was watching your little girl at home. It was the afternoon that you went into labour. 6 hours down the line it was over and you were hell bent on getting back home.

- Simon takes care of the nitty gritty for the first fortnight, while you get proper rest.

- He rarely sleeps while deployed so he’s used to taking the night shift on. Until your stubborn ass gets him to allow you to take it and that he doesn’t need to do that every night of the week.

- Simon gets his best sleep when your daughter crawls between you in the middle of the night.

- His heart breaks when he sees this little blonde haired figure swaddled in a fluffy blanket waddle through the door he leaves ajar for this exact reason. “What’s wrong, pumpkin?”

- She shuffles over to him, blanket falling at her feet as she jumps into his open arms, “Couldn’t sweep, dada,” Clung to him like a koala bear.

- He gives a gentle boop onto her nose, making her giggle, “Guess you’re gonna have to sleep ‘ere then…” Plopping her down in the middle and giving her one of his pillows.

- She’s such a deep sleeper- good when the baby cries but a nightmare trying to wake her up without getting kicked. She was her dad through and through. Down to the brown eyes, to the little mannerisms she has.

- When she starts nursery, Simon is on school duty. He loves making sure his little girl gets there safe and sound. Ditching the car parked near the packed nursery before walking hand in hand with his pumpkin.

- You wait in the car on the first day, with your boy in his car seat in the back of the Land Rover. In tears watching this 6’5” man crouching down to hold his four-year-old’s daughter’s hand.

- When he returned to the car, his hand at the back of your head dragging you into a breathtaking kiss. You were taken aback, “What was that for?” Said between laughs.

- Tears trapped in his gentle eyes, “You gave me the best kids,” your fingers brushed by his lips before he held them in his, “Thank you…”

- Definitely hangs whatever artwork your girl does on the fridge, praising her macaroni art pieces.

- Gets a call while on base, “Mr Riley?” He acknowledges it’s him. “Hiya, it’s the nursery… there’s been a situation. Y/D/N has gotten into a scuffle with one of the boys…”

- “Is she okay? She hurt?” He blurted out and did the maths on how quickly he could get to his daughter. Not caring how this looked to the other guys.

- “No, Y/D/N punched one of the boys in the face. They were picking on her, when’s the soonest you can pick her up?” He had to hold that laughter, reign it back in a cough.

- “I’ll be there in ten…” He hung up the phone, now giving a small chuckle.

- Price is the first to speak up, “What’s got you so happy, Riley?”

- “Y/D/N just punched a bully in the face…”

- Gaz raised a brow, “That’s a good thing?”

- “I’ve never so proud in my life…”

- He goes to the nursery, doing an act in front of the staff before they get to the car, “Don’t be mad at me, dada…” His heart crushed as she said that, as if he would ever be mad at her.

- “No more punchin’, okay? Call ‘em a prick instead, alright?” Then he turned to her fully. Fist outstretched to her, instead of bumping it she slapped his knuckles. He’d have to teach how to fist bump, “Don’t let people pick on ya… I’m always here…”

- The next day, you received a call. From the nursery… telling both you and Simon to come in.

- Simon carried your son, sound asleep on his dad’s arms. You could tell the staff were maybe a little intimidated by your husband. You were before you discovered he was such a kid under that tough exterior.

- His eyes softer than they had ever been looking at his children, “What’ve you done now, missy?” You studied her features, so much of you in her but that look was all Simon. Determined and a slight scowl, yeah that was Si alright.

- “Y/D/N called one of the other children, something beginning with ‘P’ and ending in ‘Rick’,” Something told you she had some influence from her father.

- He fist-bumped your daughter when you were walking back to the car. You’d have a word with Simon later that day but for that moment. To see him so at peace and her little smile… you wouldn’t spoil that for the world.

- When your son was four years old, you saw the difference with how Simon treated the pair. He instilled kindness in him, took him to football games with the members of 141.

- It affects Simon to be away from them during deployments but you’re the best mother to them. He couldn’t ask for a better partner.

- He lets the kids colour in his tattoos… a pink skull on his arm… green fire… they used sharpie/permanent markers. During deployment it breaks his heart to see the colours fade, he contemplates filling them back in but he says to himself, “Gotta get home so the kiddos can do it…”

————

taglist:

@thychuvaluswife @foxygirl-4287

[luvsupa]

I WANT TO HEAR YOU SCREAMMM!

summary: whatever you do, do not fuck mr.ghostface!

tags: ghostface!geto x fem!reader, naoya mention .., set in the 90s and inspired by fear street!!, smut, ōral sex (m and f receiving), knife play, slightly mask kink, humiliation kink, exhibitionism kinda, death, mentions of blood, etc, mdni

w.c: around 3.6k (sorry I got carried away …)

a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR 1.6K WAAAATTTT WE GOIN UPPPPP YEASSS

+ geto in tbis fic looks just like this fanart 🙂‍↕️

kinktober masterlist

you lean against the register, bored out of your mind as you scribble distorted faces on your company’s notepad. working a night shift sucks—especially a closing shift. you huff as the intercom blasts the latest rock song, a weak attempt to liven up the dead atmosphere. lately, the cd shop has been busy with customers buying vinyls, posters, and movies. ugh, it was so annoying having to scan the newest movie, scream. the line was always so long it nearly wrapped around the whole building!

you glance out the glass front doors, scanning the empty, dark streets, genuinely debating whether you should close two hours early since no one is coming. your attention shifts as you hear the bell ring, indicating a customer entering.

ugh.

your smile drops when you see naoya, your annoying coworker who flirts with you in the weirdest ways. he’s always condescending and putting you down until you found out from another coworker that he’s actually attracted to you. he walks toward you, standing in front of the register as if he were a customer. you honestly forgot he was still here after he said he would take a ‘five-minute’ break an hour ago.

“you don’t get paid to draw, now do you?” he says, leaning over to grab the notebook. you let him take it, but he rips the page clean, crumpling it in his fist. gosh, you hated when he acted like the manager. “anyways, I’m clocking out! must suck having to stay for another… two hours!” he laughs, glancing at the clock above. he giggles as he walks behind the counter into the bright red font ‘employees only’ room, leaving you scoffing in annoyance. you waste time fixing the decorations on the register as every minute drags by.

ring!

your heart stops when you hear the company phone ringing. who the hell calls at this hour? you pick up the corded telephone and force yourself into a professional tone.

“thank you for calling cursed tracks, how may I help you?” you say, lazily watching over the store. there’s a long pause, and your brows furrow. is this a prank call?

“hello—”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

you burst out laughing, doubling over at the blatant prank call. there’s no way. it’s beyond cringey that you would be a victim of ghostface’s evil scheme. tears roll down your cheeks as you hang up the phone, your laughter still ringing in your ears. but then, you stumble backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone. your laughter halts as you slowly turn your head, gulping hard as your eyes drop in horror. screaming in genuine fear, you see him: ghostface, knife in hand, just like in the movies.

you stumble back into the counter, panic rising as you cry out, cornered in the booth. he drops his hand and bursts into laughter, and your brows furrow in confusion. he lifts his hand to remove the haunting mask, and embarrassment floods over you.

seriously.

“naoya, that wasn’t funny,” you snap, shoving him away as he continues to laugh uncontrollably. “you— you should’ve seen your face! I wish I recorded this— we would’ve been stars!” he wheezes, still amused as you find none of this funny. he continues to mimic your reaction, and you bite your lip to keep from lunging at him.

“stop wearing display costumes, asshole! you’re gonna get us in trouble,” you scold, turning away as he playfully bonks your head with the fake plastic knife. irritation washes over you.

“jeez, naoya— just leave already, you’re ruining my alone time,” you say coldly, clearly annoyed by his antics. you hear his footsteps retreating to the employee room, allowing you to calm down from his stupid joke.

you lean against the counter once again, watching over the store in boredom, your eyes feeling heavy as each minute passes. maybe you should really quit- you’re not getting paid enough for this. you roll your eyes at the ruckus coming from the room behind you—nayoa’s making way too much noise.

bastard, you mentally insult him.

you close your eyes to rest them, feeling exhausted from the long shift when you suddenly sense someone standing behind you. your eyes shoot open, and your heart drops again as you turn around to see nayoa in that damn ghostface costume.

“very fuckin’ funny, naoya,” you scoff, trying to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. he’s breathing heavily under the mask, staying still as if waiting for your reaction. you turn to yell at him, but the words choke in your throat. your eyes drop to the knife he’s gripping in his hand, and it looks too real—dripping with what looks like blood. your breathing quickens as you glance at the fake plastic knife that naoya left on the counter, your eyes twitching in disbelief.

“o-okay, naoya, you’re scaring me.”

“darling, who’s naoya?” the male voice says, distorted through the mask’s speaker. tears rush to your eyes as you see blood seeping from under the employee room door.

you step back, your back hitting the counter, trapping you just like before when nayoa scared you. the male steps closer, tears spilling down your cheeks as fear overwhelms you; you can’t call out for naoya—he’s fucking dead!

without thinking, you attempt to jump over the counter, but before you can touch the ground, you feel yourself being yanked back by strong hands. you squeal at how fast he moves, pinning you against the wall with one hand holding you in place and the other gripping the sharp, bloody knife to your throat. your eyes widen, the blade too close to your artery. if you looked up at the popcorn ceiling. you’d see the end of it—your life flashing before your eyes.

“oh pretty, you were just acting like a big girl,” geto coos, his voice soft yet terrifying. the grip on the knife loosens slightly as he pulls back his head, and your eyes remain shut, fear washing over you.

“y’r sooo fuckin’ nasty, huh,” geto comments, and your brows furrow as you stare at the creepy face behind the mask. he chuckles, and you follow his gaze down—oh fuck. you wish your body wasn’t reacting on its own! you’re grinding your hips against his knee placed between your thighs, your rhythm so subtle you didn’t even realize.

“let’s test how nasty you really get.”

those were the last words that echoed in your head as he had you behind the counter, knees grinding against the freezing floor, your jaw aching from the relentless thrusts. his thick cock slammed into your mouth with brutal force—so deep that you swore you could feel him in your chest, the bulge in your throat visible as he used you mercilessly. both of his hands gripped your head with brutal force, his long fingers tangling in your curly locks as he fucked your face like a filthy fucktoy. his groans, muffled by the infamous ghostface mask, sent shivers down your spine, the hollow black eyes staring soullessly at you as he threw his head back in ecstasy. the obscene sounds of wet gags and sloppy suction filled the store, the mess overwhelming—drool and spit spilled uncontrollably from your mouth, coating his shaft and dripping down your chin, soaking into the front of your work shirt.

your nose repeatedly slammed against his crotch, the rough patch of his pubes tickling against your skin, making you tear up even more. the strain in your jaw was unbearable, his fat cock stretching you wide, each thrust so forceful you thought your jaw might snap. but you kept your grip on his jeans, fingers digging into the fabric as your throat was pounded raw. his heavy black boot was wedged between your legs, you couldn’t stop grinding on him. each roll of your hips against his boot sent delicious friction through your core, and you were drenched, your panties soaked through your pants, sticking to your swollen folds. the slick sounds of your cunt rubbing against his boot mixed with the wet slurps coming from your mouth, each grind making you moan pathetically around his cock.

geto’s head dropped down to watch, eyes behind the hollow mask taking in the sight of you—a filthy, drooling mess on your knees with his cock buried so deep down your throat that a bulge swelled in your neck. drool poured from your lips in thick strings, and your hips moved desperately against his foot, grinding on him like you couldn’t help yourself. but he didn’t let you keep going. his movements stopped abruptly, and with a harsh yank, he pulled your head back off his cock, making you gag and cough, gasping for air. the sound of your desperate choking echoed through the store as strings of spit connected your swollen lips to his twitching tip, your eyes wide with lust and tears. the sight of you, completely ruined in your leggings, face soaked and pussy grinding against his boot, only made him harder, his cock throbbing in front of your face.

“you jus’ can’t help it, can you?” geto growls, his voice thick with cruel amusement as he grinds his boot harder into your cunt, your soaked panties doing nothing to dull the friction. the pressure sends jolts of filthy pleasure up your spine, making you cry out pathetically, your body writhing against him. his grin stretches behind the ghostface mask, those empty black eyes staring down at you, drinking in your desperation.

in a single, brutal motion, he rips you off the ground and slams you onto the counter, CDs clattering to the floor around you. your legs fly up, bent and spread wide, exposing you to him completely. his eyes rake over your body like you’re nothing more than prey. with a harsh tug, he rips your pants off, tossing them carelessly behind him. the moment his gaze lands on the soaked crotch of your panties, your clit twitches in response, your cunt clenching involuntarily, knowing what’s about to come. the fabric is practically see through now, drenched in fear and filthy arousal, and it only makes his smirk widen behind the mask.

your eyes are glossy, chest heaving as your legs stay bent up, thighs trembling with anticipation. you should be terrified, and you are—but the heat pulsing through your core is undeniable. the sight of him towering over you with that eerie mask, black eyes hollow and unfeeling, does something sick to you.

without warning, geto pulls a another knife from behind him, the blade gleaming dangerously in the store light. you gulp hard, a whimper escaping your lips as he waves it inches from your face, the cold steel sending a wave of fear coursing through you, but it only makes your cunt throb harder.

“don’t move,” he whispers darkly, dragging the tip of the knife down your neck, making your skin break out in goosebumps. the blade hovers over your chest, your nipples hardening as he traces your curves. he presses just enough to remind you of its sharpness, enough to let you know he could cut deep at any second. the threat lingers in the air, the thrill of it making your thighs tremble.

he doesn’t hesitate when he reaches your shirt. with a quick flick of his wrist, you hear the rippppp of fabric as the blade slices your work button-up clean open, exposing your bare chest. the sharpness of the knife cutting through the material like paper sends a shiver of fear and arousal down your spine.

“cheap shit,” he sneers, but the way your nipples perk in the cool air has his cock straining even harder. his hand moves lower, the tip of the blade dragging dangerously over your trembling stomach, inching closer and closer to your cunt.

you gasp when he finally reaches your panties, the cold metal resting against the swollen lips of your pussy. “y’know. . .” he trails off, voice thick with lust as he presses the flat of the blade against your clothed clit, the cold, sharp edge making you jerk involuntarily. “never had someone so . . .desperate in their final moments.”

it’s humiliating how your clit twitches at the contact, how your cunt clenches around nothing, soaked and aching for him. he notices, of course, the way your hips twitch toward the blade, and the wetness that’s already beginning to drip down your thighs.

“fuckin’ embarrassing,” he mutters, but his voice is laced with something darker—he’s getting off on this, on how soaked you are for him. the knife slides lower, grazing your inner thigh, just shy of cutting you, the scrape of the blade against your skin sending shivers through your body. you can feel your pulse in your clit, each drag of the cold steel only making you wetter, more desperate.

“this turning you on, baby?” he asks, his voice low and mocking. you can’t even respond, too lost in the filthy heat coursing through you.

with a quick flick of his wrist, the knife slices through your panties, the sharp blade cold against your slick folds. you gasp, your pussy finally exposed, clit twitching as the cool air hits your drenched core. the knife grazes your swollen lips, barely a whisper of pressure, but it’s enough to make you moan, your cunt clenching desperately.

he hums in approval, staring down at your glistening pussy, the wetness dripping from your folds, thighs trembling as you lie there helplessly. geto’s exposed cock twitches painfully at the sight, his eyes narrowing behind the mask as he drinks in how ruined you already are.

“fuckkk,” he mumbles, voice thick with lust. he lets the knife trail up, dragging it over your clit just enough to make you gasp, the cold edge sending waves of agonizing pleasure through you.

you’re fighting the urge to touch yourself, legs trembling with need, but he’s dragging it out, watching you suffer, savoring every filthy, desperate moan that spills from your lips. your cunt clenches again, dripping, aching for more, but all he does is graze the blade over your sensitive skin, keeping you on the edge, waiting for him to finally take what’s his.

without a second thought, geto rips off the ghostface mask, revealing his face in all its sinful glory. his long black hair cascades down his back, a few loose strands framing his face just right, giving him that perfect, messy look. your heart nearly stops at the sight—those silver piercings in his lower lip glint under the lights of the CD store. fuck. your breath catches as you realize just how devastatingly hot he is, a man who could ruin you in every sense of the word.

“f-fuck, mr. ghostface. . .you’re so fucking hot,” you moan, your cunt clenching involuntarily at the sight of him. he smirks, catching your reaction instantly, bringing the blade right back to your dripping cunt, but now it’s different—now you can see every twitch of that gorgeous smirk, every glint in his wicked eyes. nothing is processing in your mind at this point. you’re too far gone, body shaking as he holds all the power over you. he could do anything right now, and you’d let him.

geto leans in, inhaling deeply, letting your scent drive him mad before diving headfirst between your thighs. his lips find your cunt with no warning, devouring you like a fucking beast. his tongue plunges into your soaked hole with reckless abandon, the wet, obscene sounds echoing through the empty store. your back arches violently against the counter, the cold glass windows around the store only barrier between you and the outside world. if anyone walked by and caught sight of this—fuck, you’d be fired in an instant. but the thrill of that thought only makes the heat in your core burn hotter.

your body reacts before your mind can catch up, hands flying to tangle in his thick, soft hair, yanking him closer. he groans deep, the sound vibrating through your clit as you pull his head in tighter. mr. ghostface loves his hair being pulled—check! you think, feeling the way his body reacts to your grip, only making him devour you more ruthlessly.

his nose nudges your clit, adding to the torment as his tongue relentlessly works your insides, the metal ball of his tongue piercing sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. it’s so nasty, so fucking loud as he slurps up your juices, the slick sound echoing around the store. you can’t believe your body is making this much of a mess, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the counter beneath you. you’re losing it, completely undone by how he’s devouring you.

geto’s tongue is merciless, and just when you think it can’t get any better, he brings two thick fingers to your entrance, thrusting them in deep. the stretch makes your head spin, his digits spreading you open wide as his tongue continues to work your cunt. he groans low in his throat, the vibrations sending another wave of ecstasy through your core. the sensation of his tongue, his piercing, and his fingers all working together has you seeing stars, your walls clenching around him uncontrollably.

“fuck, look at you,” he growls against your cunt, his voice muffled but still dripping with arrogance as his fingers curl inside you, finding your sweet spot instantly. your eyes roll back, legs shaking uncontrollably as the tension in your belly coils tighter. your grip on his head tightens, forcing him further into you, needing more, more of that perfect, filthy mouth. his lips close around your swollen clit, biting at it just enough to drive you insane, while his fingers pound into you relentlessly.

you catch a glimpse of his face between your thighs, his half-lidded eyes fluttering shut as a moan slips past his pierced lips, his tongue flicking out to lick your slick from the corner of his mouth like he can’t get enough. he’s completely lost in you, ruthlessly making out with your cunt, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge, your body trembling violently as you feel your orgasm building, heat burning in your stomach, your cunt clenching around his thick fingers.

“listen to how talkative she is,” geto sneers, a wicked smirk stretching across his face. without hesitation, his free hand grabs the store’s telephone, fingers working quickly to connect it to the intercom. before you can process what he’s doing, he presses the microphone right up against your drenched, sloppy cunt.

your eyes go wide in horror as the filthy, wet sloshing of your pussy echoes through the entire store. the slick, obscene sounds of your cunt squelching and dripping around his thick fingers fill the air, amplified by the speakers. every thrust makes it squirt, the embarrassing symphony of your slick coating his fingers making your stomach drop with humiliation. you’re completely exposed, the sound of your body’s desperate reactions bouncing off the store walls, reminding you just how nasty this is.

the wet slaps, the relentless gushing of your cunt, and the squelching noises leave you utterly mortified. It’s so loud, so filthy that if anyone were to walk by, they’d hear everything—and know exactly what a mess you’re making for him. every slick, nasty sound screams your shame, broadcasting to the entire store that you’re getting off to a literal serial killer!

“look at you,” geto chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with arrogance. “so fucking nasty for me. all this for a killer? huh? you like knowing what a filthy slut you are?”

geto throws the telephone, letting it dangle by the cord, before roughly flipping you onto your stomach. your feet barely touch the ground as your chest presses into the counter- bent over, giving you a full view of the empty store. his eyes darken as he takes in your position, biting his lip at the sight of your ass wiggling back, grinding against his hard cock. you can’t help but plead, your voice breathy and desperate.

“please, mr. ghostface, you’ve been sucha tease,” you whine, turning your head to watch him as he toys with his lip piercing, eyes fixed on you like he’s weighing his options. before you can beg again, he makes his choice—sliding his fat, mushroom tip past your dripping entrance. the stretch of his tip slightly burning but- oh it felt so good. your body jerks forward with the slow, agonizing thrust, his thick crownhead teasing innn and outttt of your needy, aching walls. you cry out, wanting—no, needing—more.

desperation overtakes you, and you try to fuck yourself back onto him, but his hand comes down hard, swatting your ass. the sharp sting only makes your pussy clench harder, and you hear him tut in disbelief at how filthy you’ve become for him. “unbelievable how you’re this horny,” he sneers, gripping your hips tighter as if to hold you still.

“if you’re a virgin, just say—ahh,” you taunt- gasping loudly when his fingers wrap around the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulls you flush against his broad chest. his thick tip remains lodged inside your cunt, teasing you with how little he’s giving, yet how desperately you crave more.

he leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “i’d love to stay and prove your point,” he purrs, eyes flicking to the front of the store, where the bright blue and red lights of approaching police cars flash in the distance. your mind is too foggy, too consumed with lust to understand what he’s hinting at. “but baby, your little coworker—the one you never bat your pretty lashes at,” he continues, his tone darkening as his grip tightens around your neck, turning your head toward the ‘employee’s only’ door.

that’s when you see it—the large, dark puddle of blood seeping from under the door, your coworker’s lifeless body hidden from view.

“i-i don’t care, i wan’ you,” you plead, tears stinging your eyes as your walls grip his girthy tip, trying to coax more from him. geto chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. he turns your head back toward the front of the store, where the police cars are getting closer. his hand slips away from your neck, leaving you trembling as he cruelly pulls his cock from your addicting cunt, leaving you empty and desperate as he swiftly tucked it back in his pants.

tears spill from your eyes as you feel him slipping away, denying you what you need. “he’s the one that ruined our fun,” geto says, his voice soft but menacing. “and sadly…” his words trail off, and you freeze as you feel the cold tip of a sharp blade pressing against your neck. you gulp hard, heart pounding as the reality of the situation sets in.

“’m really sorry, baby, but i can’t have you snitching to the police, can i?” he whispers, and with a swift motion, the blade slices cleanly across your throat. blood trickles down in a warm line, your breath catching in your chest as your body collapses to the floor. the cold tiles beneath you feel distant as your vision blurs, the last thing you see is geto standing above you, pouting as he watches the life drain from your body.

[chrrybbmb]

EQUILIBRIUM

STARRING ... SPIDEY!J. JUNGKOOK X READER

WORD COUNT ... 7.5K

SUMMARY ... how long can you pretend not to notice you're falling headfirst?

NOTES/WARNINGS ... slow burn. mutual pining. they’re both falling so hard they need a helmet AKSJASK. reader’s acceptance era. they wanna kiss each other so bad but are too stupid to realise it someone please bonk them on the head. implied spidey!jk fight. she’s a lil bit short but that’s okay things are moving forward!!!

playlist : give you the world (steve lacy). i think (tyler the creator). me gustas tu (manu chao). falling for ya (grace phipps). the feels (twice). out of my league (fitz and the tantrums). more than a woman (the beegees). be my baby (the ronettes). rather be (clean bandit). cupid (fifty fifty).

taglist. prev. next.

he’s been staring at the same sentence in his notes for the past five minutes.

it’s not even a hard one. something about limiting reagents and product yield—stuff he could usually recite without blinking, but you’re sitting right there.

curled into the far side of the library booth, legs tucked under you, pen twirling between your fingers like you’ve likely done a hundred times before. there’s a smudge of blue ink on your thumb and a crumpled piece of gum wrapper on the table between you, and jungkook can’t seem to make his brain work long enough to finish a full thought.

you hum under your breath as you copy down the last equation he walked you through. nod a little to yourself when it clicks.

jungkook has never hated a reaction more.

not because he minds teaching. not because he minds being here. but because he wants to kiss you. he’s been thinking about it more than he should. enough that it’s starting to interfere with things, like memory and rational thought and knowing when to look away.

your lips purse as you underline something. your brow furrows. he looks back at his notes and pretends he didn’t notice.

“you okay?” you say after a moment.

your voice is soft. casual, like you haven’t just dragged him out of a thought spiral that involved your lip gloss and his complete and utter lack of self-control.

he glances up too fast, eyes wide. “what?”

you blink at him. “you’ve been on the same line for ages. just wondered if you were, i don’t know... buffering.”

a beat, then you grin.

jungkook exhales through his nose and drops his pen. presses the heel of his palm to his temple like that’ll help short-circuit whatever his brain is doing. “i’m fine,” he mutters.

“uh-huh,” you say, clearly not buying it. you nudge the gum wrapper closer to him with the back of your knuckle. “you sure it’s not the limiting reagent that’s got you in a chokehold?”

“positive,” he says. “limiting reagents are easy.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and yet?”

he glares at the sentence in his notebook like it’s personally wronged him, and you laugh under your breath, the sound warm, bright in a way the library doesn’t deserve.

he hates that it makes his stomach flip.

“okay, professor,” you tease. “if you’re done glitching, i have questions.”

he nods slowly, swallowing back everything else he wants to say. “hit me.”

you scoot a little closer, shifting your notebook between you, your leg bumping his under the table. not on purpose, probably, but jungkook flinches anyway. you don’t seem to notice. you’re already flipping back a page and chewing on your bottom lip, scanning your notes.

“this one,” you say, pointing to a messy line halfway down the margin. “the molar ratio part? i think i missed something.”

he leans in before he can stop himself. close enough to see the faint shimmer of your lip balm, the way the library’s overhead lights reflect in your eyes. bad idea. he clears his throat, forcing his eyes back down. “you just have to compare the coefficients from the balanced equation. it’s about how many moles of reactant are required to fully react with the other.”

“right,” you nod, writing as he speaks. “so it’s about proportion?”

“exactly.”

you hum again, more to yourself this time, scribbling in the margin. your handwriting is uneven and fast and a little chaotic, but it makes something in his chest ache anyway.

you’re too close.

he shifts a little, subtly. just enough to give himself space to breathe. because he doesn’t want you to see the way it’s affecting him the way everything you do lately seems to be affecting him. it’s getting bad.

the way you lean into him when you’re focused. the way you smile when you finally understand something. the way you call him ‘professor’ sometimes, like it’s a joke, but he still thinks about it later when he’s brushing his teeth.

you nudge his notebook with your pen. “you’re being quiet again.”

“just thinking.”

you glance at him sideways, a small smile tugging at your lips. “about chemistry?”

he lies. “yeah.”

you laugh. soft and a little disbelieving. “you don’t sound very convincing, you know.”

he shrugs, eyes still on your notes. “i’m not good at this whole… thing.”

“mm. i don’t know.” you twirl your pen again, the ink-stained tip catching a smudge across your palm. “you’ve managed to teach me more in two weeks than i’ve learned all semester. that’s gotta count for something.”

jungkook wants to say thank you. wants to make a dumb joke. wants to reach across the table and take your hand just to see if you’d let him. instead, he stares at the gum wrapper between you. you don’t seem to notice the shift.

“you’re good at it,” you add, quieter this time. “the tutoring thing. i didn’t expect that.”

he raises an eyebrow. “why not?”

you glance at him like it should be obvious. “you don’t really talk. during class, i mean. you kind of just show up, take notes, and disappear.”

he shrugs again. “maybe you just weren’t paying attention.”

your smile falters a little, flickering into something softer. more real. “maybe,” you admit. “but i do now.”

and there’s something in the way you say it that makes his heartbeat stutter and his mouth dry.

you shift again, settling back into your seat. “anyway. i think i get it now.”

he nods, pretending like what you said doesn’t matter to him as much as it does. “good.”

“do i get a gold star?”

he finally smiles, small but genuine. “i’ll bring stickers next time.”

you grin. “i’m holding you to that.”

he’s not sure if you mean it. but he will.

you stretch your arms above your head, spine arching just slightly, a soft groan escaping your throat. jungkook looks away so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

“we’ve been at this for too long,” you say, voice light, dragging your hands through your hair before letting them fall into your lap. “my brain’s starting to leak out of my ears.”

he huffs a laugh, flipping your notebook closed. “sure. break time.”

“thank god,” you sigh, slumping dramatically against the back of the booth. “i was two problems away from crying.”

“you’ve cried over chemistry before?”

“once,” you say, lifting your fingers to make a tiny gap between your thumb and forefinger. “just a little. like a respectable amount.”

he grins. “respectable tears?”

“very academic,” you nod solemnly. “phd-level sobbing.”

you’re joking, but your smile is tired in a way that makes his chest tug. he wonders how much sleep you’ve been getting. how often you let yourself take breaks when he’s not the one insisting. he doesn’t ask.

instead, he pushes the textbooks aside. “what do you usually do during breaks?” he asks, half teasing, half genuinely curious.

you blink at him, clearly not expecting him to ask. “usually?” you say. “scroll. draw. steal other people’s snacks. the essentials.”

jungkook hums, amused. “should i be worried?”

“only if you brought anything worth stealing.”

he reaches into his bag, pulls out a granola bar, and slides it across the table.

you gasp. “an offering?”

“a peace treaty,” he says. “in case you cry again.”

you laugh, peeling back the wrapper, and something in his chest unwinds. “this’ll buy you fifteen more minutes of tutoring,” you say through a mouthful of granola. “maybe twenty if you pretend i’m doing better than i am.”

“you’re doing fine,” he says before he can stop himself.

you glance up at him. blink once. then you smile, and it’s not playful—not teasing or smug or exaggerated. it’s quiet. sincere. “thanks,” you say softly. “i’ve been trying.”

jungkook swallows. nods. looks down at his hands just so he doesn’t have to look at you.

you chew slowly, shoulders relaxing against the booth.

“i kind of like studying with you,” you say after a minute, not even realizing what you’re doing to him.

his throat is suddenly too dry. “yeah?”

you nod. “you’re patient. and you explain things better than my professors do. and you always bring snacks.”

“only brought one.”

“you’ve brought others before.”

he snorts under his breath. “you keep track?”

you shrug. “when you’ve got as many things on your mind as i do, it’s nice when something’s consistent.”

and god, he wants to say something. to tell you he’d bring you granola bars every day for the rest of the semester. to ask if he’s allowed to be one of the things you count on. but instead, he picks at the edge of his textbook and says, “i’ll bring two next time.”

you grin. “spoiling me.”

he shrugs, pretending it’s casual. “you deserve it.”

you look at him for a second—really look at him, eyes soft, head tilted just slightly, trying to figure him out. then, just as quickly, the moment shifts. you smile again, all light and teasing. “if you keep saying stuff like that, i’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

you say it like a joke, like it’s nothing. like it’s funny.

and maybe it is to you. maybe you’re just playing around. maybe you don’t see the way his hands curl into fists in his lap, or how he forgets how to breathe for half a second.

he laughs. too late, too forced.

“yeah, well,” he says, eyes fixed on a scratch in the table. “can’t have that.”

you don’t respond right away. you just pick at the corner of your granola bar wrapper, folding it neatly in half.

“mm,” you say finally, like you’ve filed that away somewhere. “would ruin the academic integrity of this tutoring relationship.”

he nods. “exactly.”

another beat passes. you lean your cheek against your hand, watching him with something unreadable in your expression. “guess i’ll just have to keep wondering, then.”

and before he can figure out what that means, or if you meant anything at all, you’re reaching for your notes again.

“alright, professor,” you say lightly. “break’s over. teach me something.”

jungkook picks up his pen with shaking fingers. he doesn’t say a word.

you’re already flipped to a fresh page, pen tapping against the paper as you glance at him, waiting. expecting. jungkook clears his throat and tries to focus. tries to remember what you were working on before you smiled at him in a way that made it hard to breathe.

"okay," he says eventually, voice quieter than usual. “uh. equilibrium constants.”

you nod, jotting down the title at the top of the page.

his hands are still shaking. he doesn’t think you notice. you lean in a little, not quite touching, but close enough to make his skin prickle. "so," you murmur, pen at the ready, "what’s the deal with k?”

and god.

you’re doing it on purpose. or maybe you’re not. maybe this is just how you are—curious, warm, bright in a way that doesn’t burn but still somehow sets him on fire.

he exhales slowly through his nose.

"it’s a ratio," he starts, keeping his eyes on your notebook instead of your face. "products over reactants. a way to measure if a reaction favors the left or the right.”

you hum under your breath. “and what if it favors neither?”

he lets himself glance at you then, just briefly. “then it’s balanced,” he says.

you meet his gaze, smile tugging at your lips. “sounds ideal.”

jungkook looks away. he’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss you right now. he doesn’t let the thought linger. it’s dangerous—too loud, too close to the surface. he presses the tip of his pen to your notebook instead, draws a quick diagram, lets the movement steady his hands.

"see how the concentrations shift?" he says, voice even, like his pulse isn’t hammering in his throat.

you lean forward again, shoulder brushing his just barely.

"so when k is greater than one..." you murmur.

"it means the products are favored."

you nod, scribbling it down, brow furrowed in concentration.

and jungkook clings to that. your focus, your curiosity, the way you chew your lip when you're thinking hard. if he lets himself look at you for too long, he knows he won’t be able to look away.

and if he lets himself feel everything he’s feeling, really feel it, he might never stop.

he watches you write, lets the silence stretch just long enough to steady himself. then “okay,” he says softly. “your turn.”

you glance up, pen pausing mid-stroke.

“what does it mean when a reaction is at equilibrium?”

your brow furrows, eyes flicking between his face and the sketch of the reaction chart on your page. he waits.

you tap the end of your pen against the paper, thoughtful. “it means… the rate of the forward reaction equals the rate of the reverse?”

when he nods, you continue, voice more confident now. “that the concentrations stop changing. not because the reaction stops, but because everything’s happening at the same time, in both directions.”

he smiles, and it’s small, but it’s real. “exactly.”

you grin, wide and a little proud, and his heart goes stupid in his chest.

“see?” you say, nudging his elbow with yours. “i am learning.”

“you’re a model student,” he says, just to hear you laugh again.

you do. soft and sudden. the kind of sound that makes him feel weightless.

you go back to your notes, but jungkook doesn’t move right away. he keeps his eyes on the margin of your page, watching your pen move.

equilibrium.

forward and reverse, happening at once. equal effort. equal weight. it sounds simple in theory.

he wishes it were. he wishes he was brave enough to just be honest with you about how he feels, to say it plainly. without stumbling, without second-guessing, without hiding behind chemistry terms and granola bars and excuses that sound a lot like maybe next time.

he wants to tell you that he thinks about you more than he should. that every time you smile at him, it takes him a second too long to recover. but instead he points to the next problem in your textbook. “you wanna try this one on your own?”

you glance at it, then at him, then back at your notes.

“sure,” you say, and your voice is casual, but the corners of your mouth curve just enough to undo him all over again.

you start working through the equation, mumbling under your breath, pen tapping as you go, and jungkook watches. he doesn’t say what he wants to. he doesn’t risk it. not yet.

you furrow your brow at the middle of the problem, chewing on your pen cap while your eyes scan the numbers. “wait,” you mutter, pointing to the molar ratio. “isn’t it supposed to be three to two here?”

“yeah,” he says, quiet. “good catch.”

you grin, triumphant, scribbling something onto the page. he looks away again, smile threatening the edges of his mouth.

god. he’s so gone.

completely, utterly, irreversibly.

you don’t even know. you’re just here, sharing your notebook, offering up pieces of yourself so easily it’s like you don’t think twice. he wishes he could match you in that. be just as open, just as brave.

“what?” you ask suddenly, glancing over at him. “you’re staring.”

“no, i’m not,” he says, and it’s instant, reflexive.

you raise a brow. “you kinda were.”

he clears his throat. “i was just… surprised. you’re getting good at this.”

you smile, a little bashful. “guess i’ve got a decent tutor.”

jungkook looks at your face, the way you’re trying to hide how proud you are. he wants to reach out.

he doesn’t.

“you’re not so bad yourself,” he says instead, voice low.

your eyes linger on him a beat too long. and then you look down again, flipping to a new page.

his heart doesn’t slow down for the rest of the hour.

jungkook winces as jimin dabs at his cheek with a sting-soaked cotton pad.

"jesus," jimin mutters under his breath, voice tight with irritation. "you need to stop letting public transit rearrange your face."

“i’m fine,” jungkook grits out, though the words come slower than he means for them to. his head’s still spinning, just a little. he blinks hard, trying to clear it.

jimin pulls back, eyes narrowing. “uh-huh. and i’m the queen of england.” he swipes at a dried streak of blood along jungkook’s jaw, a little less gently this time.

jungkook flinches, shoulders curling in. “i don’t have a concussion.”

“right.” jimin scoffs, tossing the cotton pad into the trash. “because when a ten-ton hunk of steel smacks you into a goddamn billboard, the first thing you think is thank god my brain’s still in one piece.”

jungkook sighs, leaning back against the couch, one hand dragging down his face. he hates this part, the aftermath. when the adrenaline’s gone and everything hurts and the city’s quiet again and jimin’s looking at him like he’s one bad landing away from being a memory.

“you should’ve gone to the ER,” jimin mutters, disinfectant in one hand, gauze in the other.

“they ask too many questions.”

“they ask questions so you don’t die, genius.”

“you’re patching me up anyway,” jungkook mumbles, gesturing vaguely to the half-open first aid kit on the coffee table. jimin doesn’t answer right away. just presses the gauze to the cut on his temple a little more firmly than necessary.

jungkook hisses.

“you’re an idiot,” jimin says, quiet.

“i know.”

he does. he knows.

jungkook closes his eyes for a second, lets the pressure of jimin’s hand ground him. the sting, the scent of antiseptic, the soft buzz of a heater kicking on somewhere in the apartment.

he’d thought about going to you. when he was dragging himself out of the alley, ribs screaming, blood sticky down the side of his face, your apartment flashed across his mind. a quiet thought, tucked into the corner of the chaos.

she’d open the door.

she’d help.

she always does.

even in his addled state, he knew it was a bad idea. stupid. selfish even.

as much as he’d enjoyed it last time—being there, letting you fuss over him, hearing your voice up close, feeling your fingers skim his cheek like he was something fragile—it wasn’t something he could get used to.

not when you didn’t know who he was. not really.

“you zoning out on me?” jimin asks, tone clipped.

jungkook blinks his eyes open again. “no.”

jimin doesn’t buy it. he never does.

“you sure? ‘cause your pupils look two different sizes and you haven’t blinked in thirty seconds.”

jungkook exhales a dry laugh. “just thinking.”

“dangerous,” jimin mutters, tossing the bloodied gauze aside and grabbing clean bandages. “next time, don’t think. just duck.”

“tried.”

“try harder.”

he doesn’t mean to sound harsh. jimin never does, not really, but there’s a tremble underneath it. fear, maybe. and jungkook doesn’t have the heart to brush that off. not tonight. not after the way his own legs gave out two blocks from the fight, not after the taste of copper and pavement still lingers in his mouth.

so he just nods and lets jimin tape him back together again in silence.

jimin’s quiet for a while after that. he works the way he always does when he’s trying not to feel something. quick, precise, hands steady even when his breathing isn’t. jungkook watches the ceiling, eyes unfocused. the room spins a little when he turns his head, so he doesn’t.

“you’ve gotta slow down,” jimin says eventually, voice low.

jungkook hums. “can’t.”

jimin’s fingers still against the side of his face.

“why not?”

jungkook doesn’t answer right away. he could say it’s the city. the people who need help. the guilt that chews at his ribs when he thinks about what would happen if he just stopped.

but none of that is what comes out.

“she was there,” he says quietly.

jimin freezes. “when?”

“before the fight,” jungkook mumbles. “at her mural. painting.” he swallows. “she didn’t see me. i didn’t stay.”

jimin sighs, sits back on his heels, eyeing him carefully. “you shouldn’t keep doing this.”

jungkook blinks. “doing what?”

“using the mask as an excuse to orbit her,” jimin says flatly. “you’re not doing her any favors. and you’re definitely not doing you any favors either.”

jungkook looks away, jaw tight. “i’m not trying to mess with her,” he says. “i just… i don’t know. i miss her.”

“you see her,” jimin says. “you tutor her. you sit across from her in cafes and make a fool of yourself in front of her every week.”

“it’s not the same,” jungkook mutters.

“no,” jimin agrees. “because at least when you’re you, you’re not lying to her face.”

the silence that follows is heavier than anything else.

jimin doesn’t push. just leans back against the couch, pulls his knees up, and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh that sounds way too tired for how young they are. the room is quiet again, save for the low hum of traffic outside and the soft groan of jimin’s air conditioner in the background.

jimin exhales through his nose, slow and tired. he presses the last strip of tape to jungkook’s temple, then drops the empty wrapper onto the table with a quiet crinkle.

“you’re lucky you didn’t black out,” he says. “again.”

jungkook doesn’t respond. just leans back into the couch, arm slung over his eyes. he’s so tired. not just in his body. not just the bruises, or the cuts, or the ache in his shoulder that still hasn’t gone away from last week’s rooftop landing. it’s in his chest.

the constant push and pull of being two people. the version of him who makes you laugh across tables, and the one who swings past your apartment in the middle of the night just to see if your lights are on.

the one you know.

the one you don’t.

“you should tell her,” jimin says eventually. “before it gets worse.”

jungkook drops his arm, looks at him with tired eyes. “tell her what, hyung? hey, i’m your tutor and the idiot who bled on your furniture that one time. surprise?”

jimin just shrugs. “sounds about right.”

“she’ll hate me.”

“she might.” jimin doesn’t sugarcoat it. “but she also might not.”

jungkook swallows hard.

he’s thought about it. a hundred different ways. a thousand different outcomes. and in every one, you look at him differently after. sometimes with betrayal. sometimes with disbelief. sometimes you don’t look at him at all, and that’s the part that scares him most.

he scrubs a hand down his face and groans. “i can’t. not yet.”

jimin watches him for a beat, then nods.

“then don’t wait too long,” he says. “because if she finds out on her own, it’s gonna hurt worse.”

jungkook doesn’t say anything, because deep down, he knows jimin’s right. that’s what scares him second most.

you stare down at your phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

here early, grabbed a table near the back x

sent fifteen minutes ago.

you sigh and lock your phone, flipping it face down on the table.

the cafe is warm. quieter than usual, save for the low hum of an indie playlist and the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. your untouched drink sits beside your notebook, still steaming. you haven’t taken a sip.

you know jungkook’s probably caught in traffic. or maybe the bus was late. maybe something came up. maybe he’s just having one of those days. but your brain doesn’t care about reason. it cares that he was the one who asked to move the session earlier this week. said he couldn’t do the weekend.

so you cleared your schedule. shifted your plans. you told taehyung no, you told yourself it was fine, you told yourself you weren’t too excited when he sent the text.

and now here you are.

alone in a corner booth with your highlighters lined up in color order and your thoughts spiraling at full speed.

you try not to take it personally, and you fail. your mind jumps straight to that place you hate—what if he forgot? what if he bailed? what if he’s slowly realizing he doesn’t actually like being around you at all? you exhale, sharp and quiet.

then the bell above the door jingles, and jungkook stumbles in, breathless and disheveled, hoodie askew and cheeks flushed pink from the cold. his hair is a mess, and his backpack looks half-zipped, and there’s a coffee stain on the cuff of his sleeve.

he spots you instantly and his shoulders sag in relief. “hey…” he pants as he approaches, breath visible in the air behind him, “sorry. i’m so sorry.”

you blink, and despite every insecure thought you were stewing in two seconds ago, your chest loosens just a little.

“…you okay?” you ask, voice quieter than you mean for it to be.

he nods quickly, dropping his bag onto the seat across from you. “yeah. yeah. just—” he pulls his hood back, raking a hand through his hair, “—bit of a mess getting here. totally my fault. i should’ve texted.”

you shake your head, forcing a small smile. “you’re here now.”

he meets your eyes, sheepish.

“still,” he says, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, “thanks for waiting.”

you shrug, flipping open your notebook. “you owe me a sticker for it.”

he exhales a laugh. “i brought two sheets.”

you lean back in your seat, watching him dig through his bag, fingers fumbling for his notes or maybe a pen or maybe just something to distract from how flustered he is. he finally pulls out his notebook, slaps it onto the table, and exhales like he’s just run a marathon.

“you didn’t have to sprint here,” you murmur, reaching for your drink at last. “i would’ve waited.”

he smiles, boyish, still a little breathless.

“i did make you wait,” he says. “felt bad.”

you’re about to wave it off when you notice just the faintest smudge. barely there, high on the edge of his nostril, a smear of red that’s mostly faded but not invisible. your brows draw together.

“hey.”

he looks up. “hm?”

you reach into your pocket for a tissue and slide it across the table. “you’ve got—” you motion to your own nose, eyes narrowing. “what happened?”

he falters just for a second. his hand lifts instinctively, brushing at the spot with the back of his knuckle before glancing at the tissue and taking it.

“oh. must’ve been from earlier.”

you stare. “earlier?”

“yeah, it’s nothing,” he says quickly, too quickly. “i get nosebleeds sometimes. weather shift, i guess.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it. just dabs once, then folds the tissue and tucks it under his notebook like it never existed. you don’t believe him, but you don’t push, either. “…you sure?”

he nods. “promise.”

and it sounds certain enough that you don’t press, even as something unsettles deep in your stomach. instead, you flip open your own notes and reach for a pen.

“fine,” you say softly. “but if you pass out mid-equation, i’m not catching you.”

he huffs a laugh, and it sounds a little more real this time. “deal.”

you pretend to scan your notes, pen tapping idly, but your eyes drift. jungkook’s hunched forward, elbows on the table, scribbling something in the corner of his page. his hair’s a mess, long and black and tangled from either wind or movement or both, curling at the ends where it brushes his hoodie. there’s a little patch that won’t fall the right way, hanging stubbornly across his forehead.

and then there’s the glasses.

you haven’t seen him wear them before. they sit low on his nose, slipping a little every time he shifts, catching the light and reflecting it just enough to make you pause. you don’t mean to stare, but you do until he looks up and catches your gaze head-on.

“…do i have something else on my face?” he asks, cautious.

you blink. hard.

“what? no.” you shake your head, a little too fast. “no. i was just… thinking.”

his brow lifts slightly. “about what?”

you scramble for anything but you look really good like this and i can’t stop looking at you.

you flick your pen toward the table. “i was wondering why we met here instead of the library.”

he blinks, then ducks his head, pushing his glasses up with his knuckle, suddenly shy. “oh. um. the café’s closer to where i live.”

you nod slowly, biting back a smile. “huh.” you tilt your head. “so you dragged me across town for your own convenience?”

“not dragged,” he says, a little defensively. “i picked a place with good coffee.”

you raise your brow and he shrinks just slightly in his seat.

“and you said you didn’t mind,” he adds, quieter.

you don’t. you really don’t. but you’re not about to let him off that easy.

“mm. you’re lucky the coffee is good.”

he grins, soft and crooked.

“i am lucky.”

he doesn’t know what he’s saying. what it’s doing to you.

you don’t trust your voice enough to respond, so you flip to the next page of your notes and hope he can’t hear your heartbeat from across the table.

he, for his part, doesn’t say anything else. just ducks his head again, hair falling even further into his face as he pushes up his glasses with one finger. your eyes follow the movement before you can stop yourself.

it’s almost unfair. how soft he looks like this.

you draw a slow breath, steadying yourself before you speak.

“alright, professor,” you murmur, aiming for light. “you’ve got me at a café. impress me.”

he huffs a laugh, head still bowed.

“no pressure or anything,” he mumbles, flipping to a page of problem sets.

you lean your chin into your hand, elbow propped against the table. “you’re the one who insisted on the earlier session.”

“and i stand by it,” he says, voice warming again. “even if i almost died trying to get here.”

“do you always get nosebleeds when you're rushing to meet girls?”

he pauses mid-scribble. you see the smile tug at the corner of his mouth before he tries to hide it.

“only the pretty ones,” he says, barely above a whisper.

your breath catches. just for a second, just long enough to feel it, sharp and hot in your chest. you glance down at your notebook, heart thudding.

you don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything.

your fingers freeze over the spiral of your notebook, eyes trained on a random line of notes that suddenly means nothing to you.

across from you, jungkook goes still, turning red. not just a faint dusting across his cheeks. full-on, unmistakable, spreading fast across his face and up to the tips of his ears. he ducks his head, hiding behind the curtain of his hair like he’s trying to disappear into it, lips pressing together in a tight, horrified line.

you’re not sure either of you can believe he just said that.

he thinks you’re pretty, he thinks you’re pretty, he thinks you’re pretty. it plays on loop in your brain, each echo a little more dizzying than the last. your heart skips and stumbles all over itself, half stuck on the words and half on the fact that he meant them. he must’ve meant them.

jungkook coughs into his hand, trying to recover. “i.. uh. sorry,” he mutters, still not looking up. “that was—i was joking.”

“bad joke,” you say quietly, eyes still on your page.

he exhales a shaky breath. “yeah.”

neither of you look up. neither of you move.

the silence stretches. not awkward. not exactly. just charged.

you pretend to read your notes, pen tapping against the margin, heartbeat thudding loud enough that it might as well be on the table between you. jungkook still hasn’t looked up.

you steal a glance at him.

his hair’s fallen further into his face, half hiding the flush that still stains his cheeks. his fingers are clenched around his pen, knuckles pale, foot bouncing under the table in a restless rhythm.

he’s panicking*.*

not outwardly—he’s too quiet for that. too soft. but it’s there. in the way his eyes stay fixed on the same spot in his notebook, in the way his throat moves when he swallows. and for some reason, the realization makes your chest squeeze.

you almost tell him it’s okay. almost say, you don’t have to be sorry. i didn’t mind it. i’m still thinking about it.

but then he shifts, shoulders squaring, and finally meets your eyes.

“can we pretend i didn’t say that?” he asks, voice low. he says it with a forced little smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

and maybe that’s what makes your decision for you. you look at him for a second longer, then nod once. “sure,” you say, and it comes out smoother than you expect. “you didn’t say anything.”

jungkook exhales through his nose, relief barely veiling the disappointment that flickers across his face.

you both go back to your notes, but neither of you turn the page.

the apartment is quiet when jungkook gets in. the door clicks shut behind him, soft in the silence, but it still makes him flinch. he toes off his shoes, drops his bag by the door, jacket halfway off before he even makes it to the couch. when he does he sinks down hard, palms dragging over his face.

“fuck,” he mutters into his hands.

he’s still rattled.

still replaying the way you looked at him right after—head tilted, eyes wide, something unreadable passing over your face like you were trying to decide if you’d actually heard him right.

only the pretty ones.

the words hit like a sucker punch even now.

he hadn’t meant to say it. hadn’t planned to. hadn’t even realized it was hovering on the tip of his tongue until it was already out there between you, hanging in the air, sticky and impossible to ignore.

you went quiet. you let him backpedal. let him pretend it was a joke, let him erase it even though he wanted nothing more for you to know how pretty you are to him. he leans back into the couch, head tipping against the cushions, and he closes his eyes.

the quiet is louder than it should be.

no city noise, no music, no jimin yelling at him to put ice on something or to stop being so obvious whenever your name comes up. just the echo of that one second. that one look.

you didn’t smile, didn’t tease. you looked stunned. and jungkook can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that he said it, or the fact that some part of him wants to say it again and again until you believe it, until you say something back.

he exhales, long and shaky, and scrubs a hand through his hair. he’s so far in it he doesn’t know how to claw his way out.

he’s not even sure he wants to.

you’re supposed to be paying attention.

there’s something about classical conditioning echoing through the lecture hall speakers. something about pavlov, about dogs and bells and salivating, but your pen is too busy trailing along the edge of your notebook, filling the margins with half-formed flowers and a lopsided spider.

you try to focus. really, you do. you nod when the professor emphasizes a point, scribble a keyword or two, underline extinction twice. but then your eyes drift. out the window, across the aisle, down to the corner of your desk where you’ve already drawn the same sleepy-looking face three different times.

and somehow, every version of it ends up looking a little like him.

you bite the inside of your cheek and shake your head, as if that’ll snap you out of it.

it’s just been happening more often lately—this thing where your thoughts spiral without warning. one second you’re zoning out mid-lecture, and the next you’re remembering the way his fingers brushed yours last week at least three different times.

your professor clicks to the next slide, and the class collectively shifts to pretend they’re still with him.

you sigh, resting your chin on your hand. you don’t mean to get so distracted. but it’s hard not to, when every other thought seems to circle back to the same person.

stupid.

you draw another web in the corner of the page. smaller this time. neater. you don’t know what you’re waiting for. but something in your chest keeps tugging like you’re supposed to be paying attention to something else entirely.

you tap your pen against the edge of your desk. once, twice. again.

“focus,” you mumble to yourself, but it’s useless.

your mind’s already gone, drifting somewhere else entirely—back to the café, which shouldn’t feel as significant as it does, where jungkook stumbled in late, glasses slipping down his nose, hair a mess, breathless and apologetic and still unfairly handsome. back to the night even further back when spider-man nearly collapsed onto your living room floor.

you press the pen harder.

jungkook, spider-man.

one sitting next to you with messy hair and nervous hands, the other bleeding on your couch with too much weight on your shoulder. neither of them probably thinking about you right now.

you don’t even know why that stings.

you’re not dating jungkook. spider-man’s not your friend. you’re just someone who needs help in chemistry. someone who opened her door because someone looked like they were going to fall apart.

you sigh, draw another line across the page. your flowers are losing their shape.

maybe it’d be easier if your chest didn’t feel so tight every time you thought about either of them. you wonder what that says about you. you wonder what that says about them.

your professor says something about freud. you hear someone snicker near the back. you don’t laugh. you just stare down at the little spider in the corner of your page, and trace the thread it’s dangling from. the line stretches up toward the edge of the page, thin and a little shaky.

your pen pauses. you wonder if you’re doing the same thing—hanging off something delicate and invisible, waiting for it to pull or snap or hold.

your professor’s voice drones on, something about repression now. the subconscious. emotional imprinting.

you huff under your breath. “great timing.”

the girl in front of you glances back, but you don’t bother explaining.

your hand shifts again, pen back to work. you draw another figure next to the spider. smaller. a blur of curls and oversized sleeves. he’d probably laugh if he saw it. or tilt his head in that curious way he does when you’re speaking and he wants to say something but doesn’t.

jungkook’s always holding something back. you wonder how much of it is hiding, and how much of it is habit. you shake the thought away before it can settle too deep, scribble a lazy border around your newest doodle to distract yourself.

you’re being emotional. a tad dramatic. maybe it’s just the weather. or the exhaustion. or the fact that every time jungkook smiles at you, it feels like your ribs are curling in on themselves.

you press your pen down until the tip almost snaps. whatever it is, it needs to stop. you’re not built for this kind of uncertainty. you never have been.

you don’t remember the last ten minutes of lecture.

the lights flick on, and the room starts moving before your brain catches up. notebooks close, zippers hum, someone’s already halfway down the stairs before the professor even says have a good weekend.

you sigh, stuff your notes into your bag, ignore the half-page of doodles that somehow ended with a cracked spiderweb and a boy curled up at the center of it. your legs ache as you shuffle out into the hallway, pulled along by the current of students flooding toward the exits.

taehyung finds you near the vending machines, all slouched posture and too-long sleeves.

“there she is,” he says, popping a piece of gum into his mouth without offering you any. “my favorite academically struggling genius.”

you shoot him a look. “what’s with the weird greeting?”

“you’ve got your crisis face on,” he says, tapping his temple. “it’s very i’m thinking too hard about boys again, so i figured i’d meet you halfway.”

you scoff. “i’m not thinking about boys.”

taehyung squints. “okay, so which boy, then?”

you groan, dragging a hand down your face.

he lifts his brows, smug. “that’s what i thought.”

you push open the building doors and step out into the cold, the wind catching your sleeves and snapping at your legs. “it’s not like that,” you mutter.

“you always say that when it’s exactly like that.”

you glare at him. “are you going to walk me to my next class or just psychoanalyze me until i melt into the sidewalk?”

“i can multitask,” taehyung grins, pulling his hood up as he falls into step beside you. “so, is it the covalent cutie or your friendly neighborhood rebound?”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“nothing.” he stretches his arms behind his head, all faux innocence. “just wondering how many men you’re collecting this semester.” you bump your shoulder into his, harder than necessary, and taehyung wheezes and laughs. “god, you’re so defensive when you’re in denial.”

you don’t respond. mostly because he’s right.

taehyung shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, lips pursed in mock thought. “so, there’s gonna be a party friday,” he says casually.

you glance at him, unimpressed. “cool. have fun.”

he snorts. “you’re not even gonna pretend to consider it?”

“nope.”

“rude.”

“you invited me like you were ordering takeout,” you say, stepping over a crack in the pavement. “not exactly persuasive.”

“fine.” he sighs dramatically. “you, my beloved friend, are cordially invited to a moderately chaotic social gathering where someone’s bound to cry in the bathtub, and no less than three people will make out in the kitchen.”

you lift an eyebrow. “tempting.”

“right? i’m selling this.”

“still no.”

he pouts. “why not?”

you shrug. “i’ve got stuff to do.”

“you always have stuff to do.”

you don’t respond right away. you just keep walking, eyes fixed on the cracks in the sidewalk, the wind pulling at the hem of your shirt. taehyung sighs again, quieter this time.

“you know,” he says, bumping your arm lightly with his. “you’re allowed to take a break. have a drink. forget about whatever mess is chewing you up for a couple hours.”

you chew on the inside of your cheek.

you know he’s right. you just don’t know how to say it doesn’t really help when the mess comes with a charming smile and really cute doe eyes and the prettiest lips you’ve ever seen.

so you shrug again. “maybe next time.” taehyung groans dramatically, flopping his head back as you both walk. “you are so stubborn.”

“thanks.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

you snort. “sure it wasn’t.”

he glances sideways at you, lips pursed. plotting. calculating.

“okay,” he says finally. “what if i told you it’s not just any party?”

you raise a brow. “is this where you tell me it’s a secret underground masquerade with a five-star buffet?”

“no,” he says, deadpan. “but there will be snacks. and possibly jello shots. and—” he pauses for effect, wagging his eyebrows, “your chemistry tutor might be there.”

you blink. “jungkook?”

taehyung shrugs, faking nonchalance. “could be. dunno. hoseok’s throwing it, and i know they’re tight. might swing by.”

your stomach does something stupid. you look away before taehyung can see it. “that’s not a reason to go.”

“oh, it’s definitely a reason.”

“tae—”

“look,” he says, gentler this time. “you’ve been tense for weeks. you deserve, like, two hours of being normal. you don’t have to dance on the table or hook up with anyone. just show up. breathe. hang out.”

you slow your steps. you hate that he’s making sense. you hate that the idea of maybe running into jungkook makes your chest tighten in a way you refuse to examine too closely.

you sigh. “fine.”

taehyung beams. “yes*.* victory.”

“don’t make it weird.”

“no promises.”

you shake your head, but you’re smiling when he throws an arm around your shoulders, loud and smug and already gloating. you pretend to be annoyed.

you pretend it’s not already the only thing you’re going to think about for the rest of the day.

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @mimi1097 @angellekookie @yooniivrse @knivesdoingcartwheels @annyeongbitch7 @hemmosfear

[ghostykapi]

collections and you

gay gay gay gay lesbian lesbian lesbian lesbian GAY GAY GAY GAY (bonked on the head and dragged away to a mental institute aka catholic university)

fluff and sillies and goofy vibes

you should never let your girlfriend know your latest obsessions

mina insists she’ll always be one step ahead of you to knowing anyway

see here is the thing. your lovely girlfriend of 3 years, myoui mina, tends to end up buying things you like, more often than what you think is the average person does for their partner. being a global superstar doesn’t help when she comes home from abroad, suitcase filled with new trinkets you didn’t even know existed and the latest craze that gets you wanting more

you don’t mind her affection, you really don’t mind it one bit. it just comes to a point that you’re pretty sure you have to buy a new shelf again, just after buying one 3 months ago

so here you are, staring at the living room of your apartment, figures of your legos you have built with your love, and a variety of trinkets laying down on the floor. you are trying to focus on how to arange them without hassle of rearranging them when you have to wipe down the dust

you try to lazer focus in, knowing that (one) mina is landing in coming from an overseas fan meeting so she has new stuff for you, (two) twice has somewhat claimed your apartment for a weekly friday hangout, (three) it is a friday, (four) it's also a drinking night

what you didn't count for was that she would come home earlier than you expected. you can barely register the jingle of the keys, the thud of shoes, the rolling of the wheels from her luggage, her soft wistful sigh when she sees you amongst all her gifts

all the gifts she buys when you invade her mind, all the gifts that tug on her heart because it’s bits of you that she sees everywhere, it’s the thoughts of you in every little thing she sees

you barely even flinch when she comes over to you, hugging you from behind and humming a song. the melody barely registers in your brain but her scent does, letting you relax from all that thinking and rearranging you have been doing

"i got you something" she has her eyes closed, her cheek pressed against the top of your shoulder while her face is against your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of you

“of course you did baby” it’s clock work, you know this and it’s a routine “did you rest well on the plane back here?”

she doesn’t reply immediately, savoring the warmth you bring to her world

"baby?" you ask again and the only response you get is a hum "did you miss me that much?"

you get another hum in reply and she manages to put her hands under your shirt, drawing circles at the skin of you tummy. it tickles you a bit, and you feel light as she start to smoother your neck to you cheeks with kisses.

"i got you hironos" is all she replies with

hirono?

"those tiny little guys you saw on tiktok baby" mina reads your mind and answers your questions before you even say them "i saw you liked some of those videos and reposted one of it. so naturally i got you two sets"

“baby” the whine you give to her sounds too cute “a whole set? really?"

"yes hun a whole set. two sets" she gives you another kiss on the cheek before she moves away to get her luggage to open it "i ordered online cases for them already. it's going to arrive in two days"

you stare at her dumbfound before looking at the amount of trinkets on the table, and at the two sets she pulls out of her luggage

"you didn't" you say as you stare at the city of mercy set. you can vaguely remember liking a video about it while you and mina were doom scrolling on your phone "how did you even get that?"

"the internet" she gives you a peck on the lips before giving you the sets of city of mercy and mime series "open it sweetheart"

and open it you did

with every box opened, you gasp and shake your girlfriend, who watched you with fondness and glee. she takes pictures of each one with you, giggling as you squeal and coo at how cute each one is.

"look at him" you say in awe as you show her the one dressed in black, and she knows that's the one that will be attached to you "he looks so cool"

when all are opened and done, she helps you arrange them and the other trinkets on your shelves. giggling at how much you are 'complaining' that she gets too many gifts

even when you sit down on the couch with her, the fallen angel hirono staring at you from the coffee table, you softly ask her why she keeps on coming home with gifts even when you don't ask for anything

"you don't always have to buy me something" you softly say, bringing her hands to your face, kissing each of her knuckles. it makes her melt. "you coming home to me is always enough"

mina knows this. you had always repeated this since you both started to date, but she always assures you she doesn't mind.

"i know. i mostly do it for my sanity"

"your sanity?"

"because i always think about you" she straddles you, your elbows hitting the arm of the couch, you are melting by the touch of her hands and her gaze. you feel like you are going to burst in flames by anything she does

"and when i think of you, i feel like i'll burn if i don't have something that will remind me of you"

you do when she gently brings you to a kiss, lips moving against each other, exchanging your lip gloss to her own lipstick

you can’t help but sigh into it too, letting yourself get lost in the sea of emotions. you can't help it. even after years of staying together and the many more to come, you feel so sure in the fact that everytime you both will kiss, it will be this magical

she has to pull away when sighs turn into moans, her head bursting with imagination of what you would look like. ruined and desperate for her

“i'm so fucking obsessed with you my love” mina's eyes can't leave your eyes, her thumb wiping away the bit of smeared lipstick on the corner of you lips "you have no idea how much i think about you"

you barely have anything to say before she kisses you again, pinning you against the couch, shutting your head out from anything

you can’t even be bothered to push her away, your hands trying to keep her head as close to yours as possible, fingers tangling with her blond hair and your whimpers fueling her desires

it does not take that long for the moment to burst, when it slips in your head point number two when you were arraigning your trinkets

it’s a friday

and that you gave the spare key to one of the members

"hey you guys, i know you both have the tendency to put your phones on silent but we are here with drinks and you favorite take-MINA STOP DEVOURING THE POOR WOMAN”

“UNNIE!”

[nanamineedstherapy]

Ooga Booga Battle Royale

F!Reader x Pre-Historic Neanderthal JJK daddies (Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Zenin Toji & Ryomen Sukuna)

Summary: Prehistoric, period-accurate Neanderthal JJK daddies fighting over you? With grunts, rocks, & zero verbal communication? Say less.

Trigger Warnings (May contain spoilers for the story): Fighting, Crack, Non-Graphic Violence, Maybe some death but not in a gruesome way-more in a comedy way.

You exist.

That is the problem.

In the grand, majestic, bacteria-infested wilderness, you—a Homo sapien woman—have committed the ultimate sin by having the audacity to be alive in the same vicinity as five of the most terrifying Neanderthal men to ever grunt their way through existence.

And worse? You smell good.

Which, in prehistoric terms, means war.

A cool wind howls through the valley. Birds scream. The grass shudders like it knows something stupid is about to happen.

Then—

THWACK!!!

A rock, massive, heavy, probably could kill a mammoth, lands near your foot. You blink. A club follows, barely missing your toe.

You look up.

Gojo.

Tall. Built. Filthy. Covered in mud, scratches, and an ego the size of a glacier. He grins, sharp teeth flashing, pointing at you. Then at himself. Then—slowly, dramatically—drags his fingers down his chest, smearing dirt as he flexes his pecs in the most unhinged display of caveman peacocking.

Translation: See muscles? Strongest. Best mate. Come cave.

You blink. Slowly shake your head.

Gojo pouts. He actually pouts.

Then—

SNAP!!!

A stick breaks.

Golden hair slicked back. Precise hunting scars like he personally invented caveman Botox. He sighs ( caveman sighs, deep, judgmental ), picks up a rock and chucks it at Gojo’s head.

Gojo barely dodges, screeching.

Nanami doesn’t even grunt. Just turns to you, lifts the biggest kill you’ve ever seen— some prehistoric beast that probably had a name —slung over his shoulder, and points to his cave, all very matter-of-factly.

Translation: I provide. You come.

Gojo throws another rock. It misses. But unfortunately—

BONK!!!

It hits a third caveman.

A low, dangerous growl.

Geto.

Emerging from the literal shadows, draped in feathers, hair long, eyes dark like he’s seen prehistoric horrors and survived. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t grunt. He stares. Tilts his head. Lifts a finger—crooks it.

Translation: Come. I put pretty thing in Cave.

Gojo screeches. Nanami physically exhales rage.

You take a step back.

Bad.

Very bad.

THUD!!!

Something—someone—drops from the trees above.

Toji.

Bigger. Meaner. Shirt? Doesn’t exist yet . Scars on scars. Wearing the fur of something that had fangs and regrets. He cracks his neck, flexes, and lets out a deep, primal, guttural noise.

Translation: Mine.

He already claims you.

The tension is lethal. One grunt away from Caveman Hunger Games.

Then, the worst thing happens.

A chuckle reverberates. Low. Menacing .

From the mountains.

Sukuna.

He doesn’t walk. He stalks . Covered in war paint, a necklace of teeth—probably human—and more muscle than necessary for survival. He doesn’t even look at the others.

Just at you.

Then he smirks.

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t peacock.

He just cracks his knuckles.

Disarray!!!

Gojo lunges for you—Nanami intercepts, yeets him into a tree like he’s taking out the trash. Geto sweeps in, silent, precise, fingers inches from you—but Toji body-slams him into the dirt so hard the Earth quakes.

Sukuna? Laughing his ass off. Arms crossed, enjoying the primal disaster unfolding before him like it's his personal gladiator match.

You? You run.

Because no matter what happens tonight, one undeniable truth remains:

You are getting bonked and dragged into a cave.

And frankly, you haven’t decided whose cave you actually prefer.

Gojo, incapable of losing with dignity, screeches like a rabid pterodactyl and launches himself at you again, arms wide—fully committed to scooping you up like an overgrown saber-toothed tiger carrying off its prey.

But—

BLOCKED!!!

Nanami moved with the speed and efficiency of a man who did NOT wake up for this bullshit today. One massive arm swings—and Gojo goes flying Into another tree.

Gojo blinks. Sulks. Pouts. Contemplates his life choices.

Nanami does not have time for this. Adjusts the massive chunk of fresh kill slung over his shoulder—a clear and undeniable sign of superior mate potential—then looks at you.

Steps forward. Expression serious.

Message clear: Come. Cave. Now.

You consider it.

Then—

Geto.

Unlike the others, he does not fight for dominance. He does not lunge. He simply stands there.

Watching. Waiting. Silent as death.

His violet eyes flick between Nanami and Gojo before settling on you. He does not gesture. He does not speak.

Translation: You will come to me.

Unfortunately for him—Toji doesn’t do patience.

BOOM!!!

Toji body-slams Geto into the dirt. The impact is hard enough to shake the ground.

Geto grunts, visibly irritated, but Toji is already moving. He snarls at Nanami and swats a distracted Gojo aside like an irritating cave-fly, and then grabs your wrist.

Bad.

You react immediately, twisting away, but Toji’s grip is like iron. His eyes gleam with primal amusement.

He likes this. Likes that you fight. Likes that you are difficult.

Thinks he claimed the right one.

You will birth strong cubs.

Then the world grows impossibly quiet.

A deep, amused chuckle from the mountain path.

Sukuna is still not looking at the others.

Just at you.

He smirks and cracks his knuckles.

Danger. Immediate. Imminent. Inevitable.

Gojo, pulling himself up from the dirt, grunts.

Nanami exhales through his nose. Already done. Over it.

Geto, dusting himself off, glares.

Toji grins.

Gojo lunges. Arms wide, absolutely determined to be the one who drags you home like a victorious cryptid.

BLOCKED!!! AGAIN!!!

Nanami intercepts and swings his hunting club with the force of a father disappointed in all of humanity.

Gojo ducks, cackling—only for Geto to casually trip him with a well-placed foot.

Toji, sensing an opening, grabs you.

Bad move.

You bite him.

HARD .

He yelps. Actually yelps . Stares at you, deeply offended.

Sukuna, bored of watching, finally moves.

The air shifts. The others freeze. Then he snarls—a guttural, earth-rumbling sound that promises death.

They all turn on him at once.

You take the opportunity to run again. Sprinting through the thick foliage, heart pounding like a war drum.

Behind you pure, unfiltered male ego gone feral.

Gojo swings from tree to tree like a prehistoric monkey, whooping and laughing. “OOGH! OOGHAAA!” This is the best day of his life.

Nanami moves with hunter efficiency, gaze locked on you like you’re the most troublesome prey he’s ever pursued.

Geto is nowhere to be seen, which is worse because he is waiting, plotting. Probably already set a trap.

Toji’s laughing. He thinks this is a game.

And Sukuna is gaining.

You hop over a fallen tree trunk. Panting. Twisting. Dodging.

A hand grabs your ankle.

You kick it.

Hard .

Gojo yelps. “OOGH?!”

Suddenly—Geto’s arms snake around your waist. Secure. Steady. You barely have time to react before—

Toji, out of nowhere tackles him. Like a rival apex predator.

You fall —

Right into Nanami’s arms.

He sighs. Shakes his head like you’ve personally disappointed him on a spiritual level. Then, without a word, swings you over his shoulder.

“ Hmph .”

Gojo screeches. Sukuna grins. Toji growls.

The fight is not even close to be over.

Because the only thing stronger than a Neanderthal is his ego.

You are smart. You bite Nanami’s ass.

He gets startled and drops you.

You are fast. You immediately run.

You are not going down without a fight.

But the problem?

Nanami is faster.

You weave through trees. Vault over logs. Chuck random rocks behind you in a desperate attempt to slow the brute down. You dive into a bush, hoping to vanish like an endangered species.

Then—a strong hand grabs your ankle.

“OOGH.”

Translation: Bad Woman!

You shriek, kick, bite—anything to get away.

Then just swings you back over his shoulder like you’re a misbehaving sack of mammoth meat.

Not again.

“BOOGA.”

Translation: Come Cave, Baddie.

You screech. Twist like an eel. Sink your teeth into his shoulder.

Nanami does not flinch. He has suffered worse.

You grab his hair, yank —

He grunts. Approvingly .

Before you could grimace, Gojo, having recovered from his previous embarrassment, swings in from a tree like some kind of prehistoric tarzan.

Again.

“OOGA BOOGAAAH!”

Nanami side-steps.

Gojo slams face-first into a boulder.

(Instant death? Maybe. No time to check.)

Geto appears from the shadows, attempting a silent takedown.

Nanami, without looking, swings his club backward.

CRACK!!!

Geto crumples like a defeated cave possum.

Toji, the bigger problem , lunges in, all muscle and violence.

You cheer. “OHUAOFF!!”

Translation: Yes! Kill each other!

Nanami, unfazed, puts you down and ducks Toji’s first punch, sidesteps the second, then grabs his wrist and yeets him into the river.

Toji does not resurface. Natural selection.

Then, just as you think you're free—a new challenger approaches.

Sukuna’s eyes lock onto you. Hungry. Territorial.

Sukuna snarls, lunges—

Nanami does not argue; he simply knees him in the stomach mid-air.

Sukuna chokes on his own grunt, stunned—but he does not give up.

They brawl. Fists flying. Bodies colliding. Dirt flying as prehistoric dominance reaches its final showdown.

You, watching from the sidelines, are in awe.

Then—

Nanami grabs a massive rock and smashes it over Sukuna’s head.

Silence .

Sukuna drops. Unmoving.

Rocked out of existence by Nanami’s sheer caveman dominance.

One victor.

One mate.

You blink. Nanami dusts off his hands.

You take this moment to run.

Nanami sighs, like he expected this. He lets you go for a solid five seconds before simply jogging up behind you and grabbing you again. He holds you by the waist—grip unyielding, muscles flexing like they’ve been carved from stone.

“AUGHH.”

You start screaming. Flailing. Kicking, biting, pulling out all the stops. You summon every ounce of Homo sapien intellect you have left to escape this prehistoric grip.

You poke him in the eye.

Nanami grunts. Blinks once and gives you a single disappointed look.

Then, without hesitation—the club comes down.

BONK!!!

Slamming against your head like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Darkness.

You, unfortunately, have lost. To the superior Neanderthal.

You wake up in Nanami’s cave. Wrapped in Nanami’s furs. With Nanami’s large, muscled arm trapping you in place.

You blink at the fire crackling nearby.

Nanami, victorious, is already roasting meat over the fire like he didn’t just commit mass homicide for your affection.

He looks down at you.

And smirks .

“Booga.”

You groan. You have lost.

But what’s worse than losing?

The fact that Nanami smells really good.

Like, really good. Like moss and firewood and a hint of leather that somehow makes your brain forget all the reasons you hate being in his cave in the first place.

And as Nanami effortlessly flips the meat over the fire, his muscles glistening in the warm glow, you become acutely aware of just how broad he is—and suddenly, you realize:

It’s throbbing for him.

A/N: And there we have it! You survived the cavemen chaos! 🦖💥 This came to me while I was showering for some reason. I hope you enjoyed watching these ridiculously over-the-top Neanderthals fight for your attention. If you made it this far, you're either a true JJK brainrot survivor or just really into prehistoric aggression & questionable decisions (same). 😏 Don’t forget to leave a comment if you’re still laughing at Gojo’s tree-swinging antics or if you, too, are secretly falling for Nanami's primal charm. Also, who would you pick—cave buddy-wise? I’m personally Team Nanami, but we can all dream about the chaos of having them all, right? Reverse modern day patriarchal society by Reverse Herem, anyone?? Catch you in the next wild ride—maybe with fewer rocks to the head... or not. 🤷‍♀️ Stay strong, stay ridiculous, & remember: you’re the real apex predator here. 😈🖤

Next Chapter because ya'll loved it so much - Ooga Booga Gojo tries to Court you (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

[gothamite-rambler]

A lady with one leg rolled over to Batman in her wheelchair, staring up at him. Him and Robin weren't expecting this, but curious what she needed them for.

Stacy (hands resting on her lap): Right, so my stalker, Kenneth, stole my prosthetic leg, and he’s holed up in the apartment on the second floor. Can you help me get it back?

Robin (bewildered): Wh- What?

Batman nodded, unfazed by the request, since he had dealt with Kenneth and Stacy for the last five years. However, stealing her prosthetic leg was a new low.

Batman: Him stealing your leg is definitely a first.

Stacy (with a hint of resignation): Yep, yep, yep. At least I’ll get some money from suing him for this. That'll make moving ten times easier.

Batman: Definitely… Alright, second floor. What’s the apartment number?

Stacy: 218. You can just kick the door in.

Batman: On it. Robin, stay with Stacy.

Robin: Why are you acting like this is normal?

Batman didn’t respond, vanishing into the apartment complex and heading upstairs to 218. Robin, new to this situation walked over to Stacy unsure what to say first.

Robin (placing a hand on the woman's arm, awkward): He stole your leg?

Stacy (nonchalant): Yep. We used to work together, but he got fired. I had the prosthetic leg before, and he broke into my apartment a few blocks away. I found out through a Reddit post that he was the one who took it… Good thing I had a wheelchair, right?

Robin: I… He… Why does my father know you? Let’s start there.

Stacy: He’s helped me out before. We go way back. You're the new Robin, huh? How’s that going for you?

Robin (accepting this is real life): Not bad. Getting used to certain aspects of Gotham… like this situation.

Stacy nodded, relaxing slightly in her wheelchair. A few tense minutes passed before Batman returned, holding Stacy's prosthetic leg and dragging Kenneth along, who was desperately clinging to the leg.

Kenneth: Oh, hi, Stacy… I was just, uh… going to return it—

Stacy bonked Kenneth on the head with her leg, cutting him off.

Stacy: Thanks, for the help Batman. Now, do you mind waiting here while I call the cops?

Batman: Yeah, it’s a slow night.

Kenneth (whining): Please, I don’t want to go to jail! I’m too pretty for the joint! Why can’t she just love me?

Robin: You stole her leg? She already had a missing leg, and then you took it again? That's like Joker-levels of damn weird! Sorry.

Batman: You get a pass on the language here.

Stacy: Honestly, the Joker wouldn’t even do this. This is more of a Mad Hatter move. I’ll probably have to sanitize this in bleach.

Batman and Robin: Yeah.

this is based off a real reddit post and yes that's how she found out he stole her damn leg!

[lyn31]

Doodles

Summary:

Doodling on Zayne’s notes was supposed to be a harmless distraction—just a tiny act of rebellion against a painfully slow lecture. But when he unexpectedly plays along, you realize he might not be as indifferent as he pretends to be. And now? Now you’re determined to push your luck.

Notes:

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader College AU and Fluff I love writing about their banter! Trying to make it as close to canon as possible! (Same vibes at least)

AO3 link

My Masterlist ✨

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The classroom hums with the quiet rustle of papers and the occasional click of a pen. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting warm patches of light across the wooden desks.

Zayne, as always, sits beside you—back straight, expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the professor as he scrawls down meticulously neat notes in his notebook.

You? Well. You tried to pay attention at first. Really, you did. But today’s lecture is dragging on, and your mind is wandering.

Your gaze flickers down to Zayne’s open notebook. His handwriting is annoyingly perfect, every letter precise and evenly spaced. You tap the end of your pen against your lips, contemplating.

And then—because you can’t resist—you carefully slide his notebook slightly toward you and, in the blank space between his bullet points, begin doodling.

At first, it’s harmless. A tiny star in the corner. A small cat peeking over the edge of his notes. Nothing too disruptive.

But then you glance at him—he doesn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he’s choosing not to.

So, naturally, you push your luck.

You sketch a little stick figure in a lab coat, labeled Dr. Zayne in loopy handwriting. Then, beside it, you draw a very dramatic stick-figure version of yourself, holding a gavel, with the words Your Favorite Lawyer floating above.

Zayne exhales sharply through his nose—his version of a silent laugh.

Oh, so he is paying attention.

Without looking away from the lecture, he reaches out and flicks the side of your wrist with the end of his pen. It’s barely a tap, but the message is clear: Focus.

You grin, ignoring him completely as you add a ridiculous mustache to his stick-figure.

Zayne finally turns his head, giving you a slow, unamused blink. “Really?” he mutters under his breath.

You stifle a giggle. “What? It’s a good look for you.”

His lips press together, and for a second, you think he’s going to sigh and go back to his notes. But then—before you can react—he snatches your pen right out of your hand.

Your eyes widen. “Hey—”

He ignores you, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. With infuriating precision, he sketches a quick, tiny doodle of a gavel bonking you on the head. Above it, he writes: Distracted in class. Case closed.

You gasp, scandalized. “Betrayal.”

Zayne smirks, closing his notebook with a quiet snap.

The professor clears their throat, and you both snap forward, feigning innocence.

But as the lecture continues, you can’t help but notice—despite Zayne’s usual dedication to note-taking—his next page of notes now has a tiny, barely noticeable cat doodle in the corner.

You bite your lip, trying not to smile.

Yeah. He’s definitely not as annoyed as he pretends to be.

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

The moment class ends, you stretch your arms above your head, groaning. “Finally. I thought that lecture was never gonna end.”

Zayne exhales, tucking his notebook into his bag. “Maybe it felt longer because someone was too busy defacing my notes instead of paying attention.”

You shoot him a grin as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t defacing, it was improving,”

He gives you a flat look. “You gave me a mustache.”

“A distinguished mustache,” you correct, stepping in sync with him as you both exit the lecture hall. “It made you look wise. Like a professor.”

Zayne huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Because all doctors want to look like old, mustachioed professors.”

“Exactly! It’s all about the aesthetic.”

He side-eyes you, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his expression. “You’re ridiculous.”

You nudge his arm with your elbow. “And yet, you added a cat doodle to your notes. Which means you secretly support my artistic vision.”

He hesitates for half a second too long.

You gasp. “Wait. You totally did it on purpose.”

Zayne scoffs. “It was a moment of weakness.”

“Oh my God.” You stop in the hallway, grabbing his sleeve. “You like the doodles.”

“I tolerate them,” he corrects, pulling his arm free. But the tips of his ears are slightly pink, and that’s all the confirmation you need.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” You smirk, walking ahead. “Guess I’ll have to keep decorating your notes then.”

Zayne catches up easily, giving you a long, unreadable look before murmuring, “We’ll see.”

You don’t miss the way his fingers lightly drum against the spine of his notebook, almost as if he’s considering what he might doodle next.

Yeah. He’s definitely not as indifferent as he pretends to be.

And you absolutely plan to test that theory in the next class.

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

Notes:

And here is the second one! One more and I'm done for the day lol

[harunayuuka2060]

Yandere Malleus: ...

Yandere Malleus: *smiles* What are you doing?

MC: I'm cleaning.

MC: *pulling a sack full of bones*

Yandere Malleus: *amused* You must be spooked finding those.

MC: You sure like keeping halloween props.

Yandere Malleus: Those aren't props.

MC: ...

MC: Shit—

Yandere Malleus: At least none of them are humans.

Yandere Malleus: So you have nothing to be afraid of.

MC: ...

MC: *nonchalantly* Oh. Okay. *continues to drag the sack away*

Yandere Malleus: ...

Yandere Malleus: *laughs*

Ortho: Was it you who kidnapped the Prefect?

Dragon fae MC: I didn't kidnap them. It was a miscalculation on my part.

Dragon fae MC: Though I think they would be able to fulfill what's needed, so it doesn't matter.

Ace: Fulfill what's needed?

Deuce: What's that supposed to mean?

Dragon fae MC: I'm a matchmaking dragon.

Dragon fae MC: *smiles* Malleus needs a love life since he's been a nuisance killing fellow dragon faes left and right.

Them: ...

Them: WHAT?!!

Ace: You dragged the Prefect just for this reason?!!

Leona: But hey, aren't you and Herbivore the same?

Dragon fae MC: We sure do, but at the same time, our identities are different.

Lilia: I have a question. If the Malleus in your world needs a partner, won't you be the best option?

Dragon fae MC: I would. *chuckles* But I'm already happily married with Leona Kingscholar.

Leona: ...

Dragon fae MC: You're not asking me to divorce with my husband so I could just be with that nuisance dragon, are you? *chuckles again*

Malleus: So you stole my child of man because you're not willing to compromise?!

Dragon fae MC: Hm? Your child of man?

Dragon fae MC: It wouldn't have been possible for them to cross over if they're in a relationship.

Dragon fae MC: Hence, that would mean that there's nothing to hold them back.

Malleus: ...

Dragon fae MC: Well, I have talked too much.

Dragon fae MC: This would be the first and last time you would hear from me.

Dragon fae MC: And you could watch these two as their romance unfolds. *disappears and the scenery returns to Yandere Malleus and MC*

Malleus: ...

Ace: ...

Ace: We're not getting them back?

Deuce: Oi! Don't say things like that!

Ortho: Please don't lose hope, everyone! We still have a way to fix this!

Leona: Tch. This is quite similar to the ghost bride's.

Azul: Indeed.

Riddle: I couldn't agree more.

Lilia: Though Malleus has to act this time.

MC: Ha! See?! Cleanliness!

Yandere Malleus: *smiling* I could see that.

MC: And I also replaced the sheets in your bedroom. I'm proud to say that everything is ✨spotless✨.

Yandere Malleus: ...

Yandere Malleus: You went to my bedroom?

MC: ...

MC: What's with that tone?

Yandere Malleus: What tone? *smirking*

MC: *squinting their eyes* You're having dirty thoughts.

Yandere Malleus: How did you know?

MC: ...

MC: *pulls out a femur bone* I'll bonk you!

Yandere Malleus: *contains his laughter*

[gomzdrawfr]

imma pet them-

More in Owlie's random animal shifter/therian au! Los Va-Gatos! I found a picture of a jaguarundi cat and I KNEW that was Rudy. Resting bitch face for DAYS, god bless. Of course, having two COs as felinthropes does mean that LVQ base becomes Head Bonk Central with them around. Everyone loves this. More lore below vv

So! Alejandro the melanistic jaguar, and Rudy the jaguarundi cat. Beautiful. Rudy has the ears, tail, and longer canines as a human, and he can half-shift to purr or growl if he wants (a total of 3 people outside of his family know that tho). Alejo is like Nik: his only cat-like features are his sharper canines and his purple tongue. Do jaguars have purple tongues? No. Do I care? No. In their gato forms, they don't have many identifying features between them aside from behavior.

@worldseer @cod-dump @gomzdrawfr @midnight193 @totally-not-fandom @daftdrac

Soap & Ghost & Gaz || Nik & Price || Phillip Graves

[cowboyod]

˚ · . Espresso

summary - You and Spencer get ready and party with your friends in celebration of their new marriage.

warnings - none! just fluffy nonsense

pairing - Spencer Agnew x reader

featuring - Courtney Miller, Shayne Topp, Arasha Lelani, Angela Giarratana.

word count - 960

note - First time posting a fic and first time writing one in a while! It's a little silly. Let me know what you think!

“Spencer, come on! We’re gonna be late!” you shout as you struggle to put your shoes on while moving to the front door. Spencer was in front of the bathroom mirror fidgeting with his tie trying to tie it correctly. His tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration. 

“I’m almost ready, I promise,” he replies. 

You poke your head into the bathroom and watch your boyfriend struggle to put the final details of his outfit together. 

“Oh, honey. You’re too cute. Here.” You cut in front of him and have an attempt at the tie. Spencer puts his hands on your hips with a light squeeze. 

“You look beautiful, baby. Look at you!” You smile as you fidgets with the tie. You got dressed up in a nice, semi-casual dress. It's a short, green, fit and flare dress you got a while back with nowhere to wear it to. It's one of your favorites in your closet.

“I will look at me when we get this tie perfect” Spencer lets out a breathy laugh and you pat his chest to signal that the tie is tied. You turn around in Spencer’s arms and look at the cute couple in the mirror with soft smiles on your faces.

“We’ll be the second cutest couple at this party!” Y/n giggles and rolls her eyes.

“Okay, let’s go! We’re already running behind!”

~~~~~

You and Spencer arrive hand in hand to Shayne and Courtney’s apartment, gift bag at the ready. The newlyweds were celebrating their marriage and decided to throw a cute little house party with a handful of their friends.

“You made it!” Courtney exclaimed when she heard the door close behind the two new guests.

“Hi, babe! Congratulations, we brought you guys a little gift!” You hand Court a little bag that reveals two shooters of alcohol with their names and wedding date painted with cute little designs. “Spence and I each painted one of them!” 

“Oh, stop! This is so cute!” They draw out their words slightly. “Shayne is gonna love them too! You guys are so thoughtful. Angela did something similar, we’re gonna have the cutest little trinket collection!” Courtney the two of you hugs and makes an exit to check on some other guests. 

Spencer ends up on an armchair chatting with a few work friends, drink in hand made by the one and only Tommy Bowe. The party was very sweet and calm when the couple arrived but now you join a group consisting of Angela, Arasha, and Courtney, creating a quartet of chaos. 

As Shayne talks to Spencer and the others in the living room about some of the music he’s been listening to, the four make an entrance, all sporting various blonde wigs.

“Did somebody say Sabrina Carpenter?” Courtney shouts, leading the way to the front of the living room; now stage. “Hit it, Ang!” Angela starts playing ‘Espresso’ from her phone as the group begins singing off key and dancing poorly in front of the room. 

You hear Shayne’s infectious laugh pour out of him as he watches his wife bring extra life to the room with a silly performance. The show is a disaster, just how they planned. You and Angela bonk your heads against one another while dancing poorly, leaving everyone in a fit of giggles. You hold your head, laughing, and head over to where Spencer is sitting and you make yourself comfortable on his lap.

“My head hurts, Spence” You drag out the last vowel in a whine, feigning a frown on your face. “Will you kiss it better?” Spencer rolls his eyes.

“Ew, no” you scoff at him and pout. He leans close to you, pauses and then kisses your pout away. “This wig is ridiculous, where’d you even find that?” You nod your head towards Court and take the wig off.

“Courtney had them in a random closet. Here.” You place the wig on his head. “You’re so pretty now!” 

“Was I not pretty before?” You shrug and Spencer scoffs with offense. “Shayne, aren't I so pretty without the wig? Y/n thinks the blonde is really working for me.” 

Shayne lets out a laugh and takes Spencer’s side. The two of you bicker back and forth and giggles are heard throughout the room. “I think you’ve had too many drinks, babe. You obviously have clouded judgement if you think I’m prettier with the wig on.” You laugh and nods your head, finally giving in.

The party begins to wrap up and Spencer takes notice of your sleepy eyes. You and Spencer say your goodbyes and congratulations to Shourtney before leaving and Spencer offers to swing by in the morning to help clean. “Thank you, Spence. I think we’ll be okay, you two have a good night!” Courtney hugs Spencer bidding him goodbye.

“Thank you for the gift by the way. Courtney was super excited about it, it’s very sweet. We’ll have those for a long time.” Shayne says quietly to you. 

“You’re welcome, I’m glad you both like them. You two are so great together I’m so happy for you both. Thanks for having us.” Shayne puts his arms around you and gives you a big hug. “Thank you. You and Spencer are next I’m sure.” 

Spencer takes notice of the little blush on your cheeks as you finish your farewells and turn out the door. 

~~~~~

He offers his jacket as the couple walks to the car and opens the door for her. “Home?” 

“Yeah.” a soft smile appears on her face. “One day we’ll throw a party like that.” Spencer hums.

“Yeah.” He reaches for her leg across the console. “I love you.” She puts her hand on top of his.

“I love you too.” 

[nerd-who-likes-cats]

Akanda Tsum! Or wait... is it Akedya? ... Siam Tsum!

@rakiah has an adorable set of twins. Which twin is this? They won't tell you.

I considered doing both twins, but I realized there could be even more opportunity for chaos if it was just one, but nobody knew which twin it was. (Story under cut)

Akanda and Akedya were sitting outside ramshackle dorm when the portal opened, waking Kat, who they'd been intending to mess with while he slept. They looked up at the bright light as tsum after tsum fell from the sky. Akanda spotted one with red hair set to land nearby, and the two gave chase. They lept after the terrified tsum, only to bonk into each other as the red-haired tsum fled into the undergrowth.

The pair were lashing their tails, ready to pursue it, when they spotted something in another bush, a small pair of ears poking out for just a moment. They darted over, only to find the bush empty, and a small tail peaking down from the branches of a nearby tree. Each time they caught up, it was somewhere different, and they chased this catlike tsum onto the roof and around the chimney until-

Crash! The two boys had chased the tsum over a rotting piece of roof that couldn't hold their weight, and fell into the building. A laughing purr came from above and they looked up to see blue eyes much like their own looking down at them.

As the twins and the tsum locked eyes, a bond and agreement was silently made.

"Let's get out of here before they realize the roof's collapsed" said Akanda.

"I'll carry you since our legs are longer" Akedya told the tsum. And the trio were off.

Once a distance away, the tsum leapt out of Akedya's arms, and dashed off. Right under the feet of some poor guy running across the yard. Noting this man had hair in his face and likely couldn't see well anyways, the twins took the chance to try to show up the tsum and each other, until Akanda saw Rook in the distance watching them, and correctly suggested they run off again before getting dragged back to Pomefiore.

Their phones buzzed at the same time. And they checked to see: "Students, it has come to my attention that the tsums have returned to Night Raven College. All students who encounter one of these small creatures must bring it to the headmages office posthaste."

"This'll be fun" Akanda smirked

"Let's go meet the other tsums" Akedya grinned.

The three were the first to arrive, and Crowley looked between the two of them and the tsum "do you know which of you this tsum takes after?" He asked in a tired voice.

All three smiled at him.

"Its hard to say" said Akanda

"You'll need to know though, won't you" added Akedya.

"Yes I need to know. It's school policy that tsum-alikes are the responsibility of those they take after so I need to know who I'm assigning it to!" Crowley frowned at them.

"Can you tell us apart in the first place though?" One of the boys asked innocently.

"Of course I can!" Crowley lied.

"Then you should have no trouble telling who this tsum takes after" with how the twins moved about, even someone who could identify the pair would have trouble keeping track of who was who.

"This isn't a game." The headmaster said sternly "I am your headmage, so you are going to answer my question."

"Well..." Akanda began.

"Its hard to tell for us too..." Akedya said with a smile.

"But there's an easy way if only somebody could catch him" Akanda lied.

"Yes" Akedya continued "Akedya has a mole on his back left shoulder that I don't, if you caught the tsum we could check."

"But we haven't been able to catch it ourselves. It'll follow us, but won't let us touch it." Akanda shrugged.

Crowley looked at the tsum, which was knocking things off his desk. And the twins sat back to watch what would unfold next. This would be fun.

[owlcomics101]

“Egg sitting.” Task force 141 x Penguin hybrid male!reader

warnings: Fluff, sfw (I am a minor), maybe some kissing?, cussing/swearing, Smoking (I do not condone)

Egg sitting. For penguins it’s the males that egg sit while the female goes away for a while to feed during the harsh winter and return back in the later Spring. This also goes for hybrids as well. You are an emperor penguin/human hybrid. You have the webbed feet, small nub tail and some fluff here and there. In the winter months your feathery fur thickens and you grow more patches for warmth but also for the sake of warming your egg. It was an off day and everyone was in the common room, you were standing up asleep, slightly hunched over with your egg resting snug on your feet. The team couldn’t help just stare at you dumb founded. It was quite the absurd sight to behold. The egg was already weird enough but the fact that you are literally sleeping standing up baffles them.

“Fucking hell….” Ghost murmurs watching you sleep.

“Howfur does he even kip lik' that?” Soap asks with a brow raised. He was sitting on the common room couch leaning against Ghost while Ghost sharpened his knives. Gaz sat in one of the chairs. He was trying to read his book but couldn’t help but glance at you. He was worried about you. Despite you sleeping all the time you still looked so tired with balancing everything. The missions, the egg, everyone else, and even your wellbeing.

“God he looks exhausted…” Gaz says with a sigh as he listens to your snores. Price takes a drag of his cigar and lowers his papers to look up at you before he frowns while letting out a puff of smoke. Price let out a sigh before getting up and walking over to you.

“You need a break soldier.” He mutters before looking over to Gaz.

“Help me get him to the couch.” Price orders as Gaz immediately gets up to help you. Ghost and Soap look at each other before getting off the couch. Soap looked down at your feet before searching through your fluffy legs to find the egg. He pulled the egg out and it was fucking huge. Soap only ever seen it resting on your feet and it looked so much smaller with all the fluff covering it.

“A'm feelin' ill that brassic wummin wha leid this….” Soap mutters before getting bonked on the head by Ghost

“Shut it.” Ghost says sternly. Ghost crossed his arms as he watched Price and Gaz carry you to the couch. A long relaxed sigh escaped you as you felt your self feeling the soft cushion of the couch.

“There, that should do it.” Price says before turning around wide eyed to the egg. Right…he almost forgot about it.

“So uh….what do we do with it?” Gaz looks down at the egg as he adjusts his cap.

Five minutes later you were still sleeping on the couch snoring loudly while the team tried to figure out what to do with the egg.

“Careful with it captain!” Soap says. As he watches Price wrap a blanket around the egg.

“Oi, calm down ya muppet! I know what I’m doing-I’ve seen y/n do this a thousand times.” Price grumbles as he wraps the egg snug in a small blanket before setting it on his feet and lighting himself a cigar.

“We’ll take shifts, Fifteen minutes each.” Price says before Ghost butts in.

“Fifteen bloody minutes!?” Ghost sets his knives aside as both Gaz and Soap snicker to themselves.

”Yes Fifteen focking minutes Ghost.” Price says with an eye roll. “If Y/N can do this 24 hours a day and even in god Damm missions. I think we can handle Fifteen minutes!”

“I’ve never seen a man waddle so fast on the field.” Gaz mumbles to himself before looking over his shoulder to see your sleeping figure.

The team each took shifts with baby sitting the egg, Soap was just getting off his turn as he hands Ghost the egg.

“God damm…how does he dae this a' day?” Soap says as he takes off his boots to look at his very irritated and sore feet.

“You should’ve seen Price’s feet, he stood with that egg for over thirty minutes.” Gaz snickers as he sits down in a chair and pulls out his book.

“Talk about determination…” Soap mutters as he sits down on the couch next to your sleeping figure. Reaching out to fix a strand of hair out of your face. Ghost looks down at the egg. It was his turn. He couldn’t help but grumble to himself. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as the egg rests on his feet.

You wake up ten minutes later to find your self on the couch. Wait-why are on the couch? Where is your egg? In a panic you sluggishly look around, you were still only half awake but you couldn’t bear the thought of your egg being missing.

“What-Where!?” You looked around still daze to find your egg wrapped in a blanket on someone’s feet. You let out a tired sigh of relief as you get up to take the egg back. You unwrapped the blanket from it and set it down on your feet again. Safe and sound. Your vision was still blurry and you couldn’t make out who was in front of you. It had to be your mate right? Who else would be touching your egg if not her?

“Thanks, love.” You mumble tiredly as you planted a kiss on the person’s forehead. You thought it was your mate but it was actually Ghost. You just kissed Ghost without realizing it. Soap and Gaz snicker before bursting out in laughter as you waddle away oblivious. Ghost was frozen in place completely flabbergasted and red in the face under his mask. Price couldn’t help but chuckle himself before letting out a puff of smoke from his cigar.

This happened quite a lot…mistaking your team members as your mate whenever you’re in a drowsy state. You couldn’t help it, you were lonely and touch starved for her. You feel like you’re seeing her everywhere but also nowhere at all. You were depressed. Gaz shared a bunk with you in the barracks. He was the bottom bunk and you were the top. He was in a deep sleep before being awaken to seeing you unconsciously trying to hold his hand. He goes wide eyed quickly stuffing your arm back into your bunk as you mutter random shit in your sleep. It always left Gaz completely flustered and he didn’t even realize it. Soap would spar with you in the training room, only to find you randomly collapse out of pure exhaustion. He helps carry you to bed to only listen to your crying in your sleep about your mate. It made Soap tense up every time in discomfort seeing you in discomfort. You’d also still randomly kiss Ghost on the forehead of his mask after missions if you were really exhausted. It made him freeze up every time because he isn’t sure how to react to such affection…even if he isn’t your actual mate. Price would see this all from afar. Seeing your exhausting as depressing state. Whenever you fell asleep or was too busy…he’d watch the egg for you. He wasn’t sure why, babysitting that egg was hell for his feet but seeing you smile knowing your egg was safe always made butterflies go off in his stomach.

You were just getting worst in your loneliness and depression. And to make things worst, you woke up one morning to your egg shattered into small pieces of eggshells.

to be continued?

(Gah this was so much fun! I’ve wanted to do this for quite awhile now! I honestly really wanna continue this but at the end of the day it is up to you guys. Can we get to a 100 notes?)

[short-honey-badger]

This isn't over 3

Pairings! Shanks x Female Reader , Figarland Shamrock x Female Reader

Part 1 -> HERE Part 2 -> HERE

Masterlist for Shamrock and Shanks-> HERE

The days with Shanks pass in peace. You have all the freedom in the world on his ship, and his crew welcomes you with open arms and strong drinks. You get blistering drunk for the first time in your life with them, singing raunchy sea shanties at the top of your lungs and dancing with Bonk Punch and Limejuice. Shanks watched on with a lovestruck look, his burgundy eyes soft and full of affection. It's been weeks since he had stolen you away from his twin, and he still couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Was there a tiny kernel of guilt deep in his chest for stealing you away? There absolutely was, but Shanks knew that you weren't meant to be holed up in the big house, surrounded by people who only meant to use you for your name and your station. He had saved you from that, and now you were as free as the albatross that led them to land.

But he also knew his brother and knew that Shamrock had cared for you in his own, weird, roundabout way. His twin had come to him more than once, confused and annoyed about these feelings he had for you, and Shanks had helped where he could, telling his big brother that the best way to your heart was to be kind and let her know that he was interested. Shanks hadn't meant for his brother to go and speak to their gods-forsaken father about it.

There was only one person that Shamrock listened to, and that was Saint Figarland Garling, and that man had taken his eldest son’s chance with you and ground it into the floor with his boot. So, after seeing the tentative relationship you shared with Shamrock literally blow up after his brother continued to berate and scold you, Shanks had had enough.

At first, he only meant to step in to be someone you could talk to that you could rely on when his twin became too overbearing. But then he realized just how sweet and funny you could be when you weren't ducking your head trying to be the perfect betrothed for Shamrock. Eventually, you had stolen his heart, and Shanks knew that he couldn't leave you in Mariejois to become a shell of who you are.

With a quiet sigh, Shanks shifts on the bed, rolling so that he can face you, his lips pulling into a small smile at the sight of you curled up beside him. You are beautiful even in your sleep, your brow smoothed out, and your face relaxed in rest. He leans over you, lips brushing against your brow, and you shift at the touch, a soft sound of protest leaving you. He grins when you crack your eyes open.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” He rumbles, voice rough from just waking up. You smile, eyes bleary and reach for him, arms coming up to curl around his neck and pull him down for a sweet kiss. He happily meets your lips, eyes sliding closed as he falls into you, his weight a delightful pressure that pushes you into the mattress.

He shifts, pulling his knees up so that he can balance on them, one leg sliding over your hips to bracket you between his thighs. His hand wonders, nails dragging along your exposed waist and sneaking up and under the baggy shirt you wear. You sigh into the kiss when he cups your breast, his thumb flicking across your nipple before Shanks gently pinches the bud between thumb and forefinger, rolling it between his fingertips and making you whine against his mouth.

Only for the moment to be broken by the sound of cannon fire.

The Red Force jerks as it is struck in the bow, wood exploding and splinters raining down around the crew outside. Shanks jerks up and away from you, eyes going wide as he falls to the side and out of the bed, jerking his pants on as quickly as he can and foregoing any other clothes as he books it out the door of his cabin.

Terror grips your heart when another volley strikes the ship, sending it careening dangerously to the side. You follow your lover's lead, ripping the sheets off of you and dressing as quickly as you can before running after him. Once outside, your heart gets stuck in your throat when you see just who had attacked the ship.

There, a couple of hundred feet away, is a ship that could only have come from Mariejois. A massive galleon, at least three rows of cannons on each side, and forward chain shots mounted on the front. If you squint hard enough, you can see a figure standing at the front of the bow, just behind the figurehead, with long red hair whipping in the harsh winds.

“Brace for impact!” Benn snarls and then you are grabbed around the waist and pulled against the first mate's side when the last volley sings its way toward the Red Force, smashing into the port side and blowing chunks of wood into the ocean.

Your heart pounds in fear and guilt, knowing that Shanks and his crew were being attacked because of you. Shamrock had sworn to find you, and it seems like he had made good on his promise to do so. You rip yourself from Benn and sprint towards where you can see Shanks at the helm, a look of annoyance etched deep in his face.

“You should be down below, sweetheart. It's not safe up here for you,” Shanks snaps the moment he sees you. He had hoped that you would have stayed inside his cabin. Shanks grits his teeth, his haki lashing in rage. He can't believe his brother would fire upon them like this.

“Man, the cannons! Get us turned around, Snake!” He orders, and his crew jumps to action, men climbing the rigging and stuffing cannonballs into cannons. You cling to the railing when half the sails snap shut, the Red Force turning on a dime to present the starboard side towards the ship from Mariejois. Your teeth rattle in your skull when cannons fly from the ship, sailing through the hair and striking the other vessel with dangerous precision.

The ships begin to circle one another, cannons and chain shots flying slamming into each other. However, the longer the battle rages, the more damage the Red Force begins to take. The galleon that Shamrock captains are much larger than the fast frigate that his twin has, and for every volley of cannon fire the Red Force throws their way, Shamrock sends three times as many right back.

“Shanks, Shanks, you know why he is here,” you yell over the sounds of battle. You stumble your way over to him, feet aching from stepping on splinters and broken wood. You grab him by the arm to steady yourself and get his attention.

Shanks pulls away just so that he can curl his arm around your waist and hold you closer. He knows exactly why his twin is here, but like hell would he be giving you up without a fight.

“I know it, baby. Don't you worry though. He isn't taking you anywhere,” Shanks swears, but jerks in shock when you push at his chest, your voice a desperate plea.

“Shanks, your ship is seconds away from sinking! I know that you and your crew are strong, but so is your brother. I don't want any of you to get hurt!”

He rounds on you, his eyes wide and manic, hand grabbing you by the shoulder, “What are you saying then? I should just let him have you?”

You grasp his wrist, chest aching with fear and grief for a love you'd only just gotten to know. Tears well up, and as much as you don't want to do this, it was the best way to keep Shanks and his crew safe.

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying,” you cry. You want to throw yourself at him, want Shanks to hold you close, and tell you that you didn't have to do this, but you can't.

“Please, Shanks.”

The redhead stares down at this brave, brave woman who has stolen his heart and swears loudly. He knows that you are right. His ship has taken on more water than it has in decades, making it list to the side and shake ominously with every strike it takes. Shanks steps forward, hand curling into your hair and pulling you in for a passionate kiss, one that you would remember for the rest of your life.

“I promise, love. I promise that I will save you,” Shanks swears against your lips, and you whine and kiss him back, wanting with everything in your being for his promise to be true, “Nothing will ever keep me from you.”

When he pulls away, you take him by the cheeks, meeting his eyes with your own teary ones, “I love you.”

With that, you tear yourself away, fearing that if you hear him say it back, you will end up staying right by his side. You run to one of the rowboats and throw yourself into one, cutting the rope with a jagged piece of metal that slices into your palms when you grasp it. You brace yourself as you fall, the boat hitting the water hard enough that you have to catch yourself anyway.

You can hear Shanks shouting your name, but your ears are ringing too much and stuffed with terror that you can't make out anything he says. With shaky arms, you begin to row toward Shamrock, the air growing still and silent within seconds. Curious, you look up to see that the Red Force is waving the white flag and has turned around, the wind catching the mainsail and hurting the frigate further and further away from you.

You stop rowing, knowing that Shamrock would be here soon enough to scoop you out of the ocean. It is too soon that the galleon reaches you, the massive ship sliding up to your rowboat. You refuse to move from where you sit, and seconds later, a pair of tall, black boots land in front of you.

Shamrock's chest feels thick in heady victory. It had taken a bit, but he had finally caught up with his brother. He crouches down, gloved hands snapping out to cup your cheeks and pull your face up to look at him. He takes in your expression, your eyes full of terror that make arousal burn hot in his stomach. Adrenaline running high, he bends and presses his lips to yours, drinking in the gasp you make and taking his chance to push his tongue past your lips.

The kiss is harsh and sloppy, a far cry from the one that you had shared with Shanks, but you don't fight against it. You have accepted what you've done, and it is time to face the consequences of your actions.

To your surprise, the kiss changes, his lips turning into a gentle caress and his tongue curious instead of demanding. Still, you do not kiss back, but it doesn't seem to matter to Shamrock. He sighs as he pulls away, his brow resting against your own as he opens his eyes to meet your own glassy ones.

“I have been waiting weeks to do that,” Shamrock murmurs, and his hold on you turns possessive, fingers curling around your jaw as he holds you closer, pressing his face against your own, his nose sliding across yours, “And now you are here, and I can have you whenever I desire.”

@mfreedomstuff @sanjisleggy @nocturnalrorobin @mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @sordidmusings

[luxthestrange]

BNHA Incorrect quotes#16 DAMMIT DAVE-

When Fatgum was on patrol he saw a food stand ...as he looked up to see the owner he saw you again...cooking with a smile

Villain!Y/n*Serving him a big plate of food with an excited grin*FATGUM-...i-um...HAVE DINNER WITH ME?! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!?~

Fatgum*Smilling abit flustered by your eagerness and takes the plate*Um...maybe one night?-

Villain!Y/n*Tears up and lower lip trembles, whining...taking a deep breath* C-COME ON MAN EVERY NIGHT!!!-OW*Was bonked in the head by your lackeys who...looked apologetic at Fatgum as they...dragged you away to your vehicle*

Henchman*Coughs into first bowing at fatgum*A-apologies for the inconvenience sir...if they bother you again-Uh here is my card...again sorry-

The henchmen give Fatgum his card "Dave Head-Henchman of Y/n Group xxx-xxx-xxxx"...Fatgum watches as they live with you whining and as he eats your plate...his eyes shined

Fatgum*Chewing your dish and continue to eat*...Delicious

part 2 of:

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 135

Julian has a favorite tree in the woods near his home. Julian was barely old enough to walk when he first hugged his favorite tree in the greenwood. For years he visited, picnicked with, spoke to it, hugged it, and tended it. When he was around 8 years old, an older boy began bullying him for escaping court and lessons to spend time in the woods and sing. Julian sobbed into the embrace he gave his favorite tree. Julian has told his tree for years that he loves music, that he hates being a viscount. He hates it, he hates it, he hates it. When his bully follows him into the woods one day, Julian is afraid. His bully raises a fist to hit him, only for a branch from his favorite tree to fall and bonk the older child on the head. The child ran away crying, and Julian was just fine. The bully never picked on him again. Julian thanked his tree, before growing worried over the dropped branch. Healthy trees don't drop branches, surely- So he makes sure to tend to his favorite tree extra the next few months, make sure it's healthy. No more branches drop, it was just that one on that one day. Julian continues to grow, and Julian continues to rebel. He decides one day as a teenager that he's decided he's going to run away. He climbs his tree, and lounges in the suspiciously comfortable set of branches, and tells his tree the whole plan. He's going to become a bard, and change his name, and travel the continent. "I'll miss you. Terribly. Thank you for being with me all these years." Julian sobs as he hugs his tree. He sleeps in the arms of his tree that night, away from his supposed home. It was his last night in the area for years. Jaskier is on his way to perform for a court, and unfortunately, to get there he must cut through lettenhove. He's sure if he keeps his head down, doesn't play any music, and just rushes through, they'll never even notice he was there. But he can't NOT visit his tree. It's been years. So one night, he creeps into the woods near his father's manor. When he spots the tree, healthy and strong as always, he tears up. "It's me. Julian. I- I'm Jaskier now, but It's still me. I'm so happy to see you. I'm so sorry it's been so long-" He walks closer, going to hug his tree, when he hears a voice clear it's throat, and he spins around in surprise. Fuck. His father. "Julian. I knew you'd end up back here." "...I was just leaving." "No. No, you weren't." And guards reveal themselves, coming out of the woodwork. Jaskier swears there's even extra hired muscle there, as if Jaskier is something to fear. In a fight against men with weapons? No. In a fight via poetry and insults? Yes! Doesn't help here, though. "You are coming home, and you will fulfil your duty." "I don't care about my duty! Just as you've never cared about me!" "And why would I care about such a disrespectful mutt, Julian!?" The guards creep closer, just as his father clenches his fist, and Jaskier is trapped. If he tries to run, they'll catch him. If he climbs, they'll climb too. If he fights, he'll just be hurt as they drag him away. But then the guards freeze, their eyes widening in horror. One drops his weapon and runs. Jaskier is confused. Sure, he raised his lute like a weapon, but it shouldn't be that frightening. I mean the men here had blades! "Back away from him." A deep voice growls, startling Jaskier. Jaskier turns and sees that a man is walking out of his favorite tree. The man is hench, and in armor, and holding two giant swords, and he just came out of Jaskier's tree. Tree man THERE IS A TREE MAN! Jaskier is trying very hard to process this, when he hears his father snap to the guards to fight the man off and capture the viscount by any means necessary. A guard grabs Jaskier's arm hard enough to bruise, and suddenly the man no longer had a hand, as the Man From The Tree slices it cleanly off, and blocks Jaskier from their view with his own body.

After a few minutes of sword clangs and panic, the men all retreat. Jaskier's father spits out one last insult to him before running off with his men.

And then the gorgeous guardian turns back to him and hugs him, tight and warm.

"My tree?" "My Jaskier."