#edit: three files actually

[egginfroggin]

A small look at a work in progress that I've been chipping away at for a while.

It'll be a while before it's done, but I felt like adding some cuteness to the submas tag.

Look at how smol they are. So tiny. Itty-bitty boys.

[thecaptainofcosmichorrors]

Hello Mr. Captain Cosmic

If you would be so kind to take my offering for a HSR Amphoreous Men (Anaxa, Mydei, and Phainon) x male reader, I would be delighted.

My idea was that the Amphoreous Men to be teaching male reader how to shave with a blade razor. If you don't do scenarios for multiple characters, just Phainon is fine.

[What a delightful little request and you speak so kindly to me as well, I suppose I can make that happen thezboss. (Also, thank you so much for being my first specifically male reader ask)]

Anaxagora

Anaxagoras watched you for a while—not that he wants you to cause yourself harm, it’s just… since you’re just so insistent on failing miserably; he might as well take this as a learning opportunity. Your refusal to ask for help surely means that his assistance is not needed, perhaps you had a special interest in nicking yourself—cleaning the newly formed drops of crimson of your face may be just another weird “quirk” of yours. Who is Anaxagoras to stop you?

Though eventually, you became sick of your crappy shave jobs; practically begging him for help.

…

You had grown far too used to the sensation cutting your skin to really flinch; at least that’s what you told yourself, still didn’t mean the feeling was pleasant—especially when you had to clean em afterwards, it hurt like hell. Eventually, you relented as you struggled quietly; unbeknown to you, your boyfriend saw your… sorry situation on his way in.

“Oh? I take it you started up your weird fascination with cutting yourself again.” His brow arched, taking in your expression. You were not pleased. “Hello to you too, dear.” Putting down the blade, you reached for some tissue; disgruntled.

Though Anaxagoras didn’t seem phased by your snippy response, moving closer to grab your cheek; examining your face just before you could put a newly ripped piece on it. “Not terribly deep,” he hummed. “though what you have chosen to remedy it...” With that, Anaxa let go of your face to dig into your shared medicine cabinet—pulling out a small square of cotton and some disinfectant. Before you knew it, the spot was meant with disinfectant and your gratitude was muddled by the slight sound of discomfort that unwillingly left your lips.

“I suppose since this is so challenging for you, that I can be of assistance.” That wasn’t a request, that much you were sure—but with a little options, you only sighed before nodding. Though your sudden moving was rewarded with more pressure on the newly opened spot, how sweet.

Soon though, his hands rested on top of yours with a surprising gentleness; guiding you along. When your angle was off, Anaxagoras stopped to explain how and why that normally would result in another cut—not that he would let that happen now that he was teaching you. When you two had finally finished, you put down the blade to properly thank your hero.

Yeah Anaxagoras had half the mind to gag at that foolish look of yours, but perhaps… it wasn’t all that bad. Anaxa sighed, “resigning” himself to accepting your praise. “I couldn’t allow you to walk around, face all tatted up. Don’t get comfortable with this arrangement, though.” He claimed, though he would likely be at your beckoning call when asked—so maybe he was softer than he would admit.

Phainon

Bold of you to assume he’s going to let you cut yourself; definitely believe Phainon will do it for you. He’ll say that he’s teaching you by letting you watch what he’s doing, but if you’re not a particularly visual learner? What a shame, because he isn’t fond of the notion of you getting nipped.

Failing is apart of learning, but the faces you make when you cut yourself brings Phainon more distress than he’ll ever vocalize; and if he can prevent you from feeling even the slightest of pain, Phainon will do it in a heartbeat.

“I could do it myself.” You once again groaned, though your white hair lover didn’t hear a lick of it; Phainon was insistent that he needed to make sure the love of his life wasn’t hurt, besides—he was teaching you. Clearly you would just needed to watch and learn! You knew better than to believe that.

“Hey now! I just wanted to help…” For a moment, you couldn’t tell if you should apologize or wait out his antics… you may have a soft spot for him. “Tell you what, I’ll teach you by showing you!”

And, there it was. Despite the eye roll, you begrudgingly stood still as Phainon gets himself into position; settling himself behind you. It was nice, though you would never outwardly admit that—you relaxed in his hold, one of his arms comfortably wrapped around your waist while the other took up the blade.

Occasionally Phainon will pause, if he notices that you’re not truly learning—rather just looking at him, he’ll tease you relentlessly.

Now, If you’re genuinely invested in learning; asking questions as he goes? He’ll smile before explaining, only when you push him to actually teach will he starts explaining. A telltale sign of his true intent with this, and yet, it almost seems like just common knowledge? Not that Phainon makes you feel stupid, more like just something he’d learned long ago. When he was finally finished, he’ll be practically beaming before hugging into you; nestling his face in the crook of your neck—commenting on how he oh-so missed your hair already. You grumble in response, though before you can tell him that it had to go. You noticed something.

Phainon had missed a spot, just was a small patch of hair. Huh. You hadn’t quite noticed it until now… maybe you could just leave it there, man had spotty cuts all the time… who were you kidding? You rinsed off the blade; it would be real quick—it starting to nag you anyhow. Once you finish, you noticed your ever attentive lover; lookin at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Looks like my teaching was actually helpful, no?” Crap, you fell right into his trap. In Phainon’s defense though, you had technically learned how to do It from him.

Any calls to reason would quickly be ignored as your boyfriend peppered your face with kisses after you rinsed. “I think you’re just embarrassed that you actually learned something, clearly I’m a good teacher.” Phainon grinned, and while you continued to protest against such an assumption; you couldn’t help but smile at the premise of it. Perhaps he was.

[kirisclangen]

Zelda

She/her, 65 moons, cis molly

[fromdove]

HOW I THINK SOCIAL MEDIA IS LIKE IN ㅤㅤㅤㅤ GOTHAM CITY

tiktoks where people are like “day 54 of trying to get batman to notice me by looking helpless and holding a brick outside of wayne tower.” and then like. a day later they upload another one like “guys it worked. i threw the brick at a window and he SWOOPED DOWN AND YELLED AT ME. i think we’re engaged now.”

BATMAN FAN ACCOUNTS. “batm4nslut6969: yall i saw him last night and his thighs were THIGHING. i can’t.” “i want him to run me over with the batmobile. respectfully.” “what does it say about ME that i’m in love with a man who beats people up in alleys.” “he punched my cousin and now my cousin’s life is on track. king.”

you’ll see a tiktok like “get ready with me to testify against the penguin 😘” and they’re curling their lashes like “trial’s at 10 i’m wearing valentino. hope the DA is hot.”

facebook moms in gotham be like “hi!! anyone else’s toddler develop shadow powers after playing near the narrows??? normal or???”

“guys u wont believe what just happened i was literally just tryna get a tuna sandwich and then scarecrow gassed the 6 train again 💀” followed by: “ok but like did anyone else get lowkey productive on fear toxin bc same”

and like imagine those "what's in my bag" videos but it’s like “what’s in my gotham emergency kit” and they pull out like mace, an inhaler, one (1) batarang they found in an alley, a granola bar, and a tiny bottle of holy water just in case it’s some demon this time.

every batman chase has like. three angles. one guy from his apartment, one guy hiding in a dumpster, and one guy who just happened to be doing a GRWM video when batman crashed through the laundromat window behind him like a medieval poltergeist in kevlar.

there’s also that one tiktoker who’s like. always posting “day in the life as a gothamite 🥰” and it’s literally her dodging debris from a police chase while trying to get a matcha. like she’s got wireless earbuds in while the riddler is detonating something in the background. caption: “when i said i wanted chaos i meant eyeliner not explosives 😭😭😭😭”

people be going live from literal crime scenes. like “hey besties so i’m outside ACE chemicals rn and idk what’s going on but i just saw a clown sprint past. anyone know what’s happening???” and everyone’s commenting like “GIRL GO HOME” and “go inside nowwwwww” and “live laugh leave gotham.”

you'd see youtube videos like “i lived in gotham for 2 days and here’s why i left” and it’s just footage of a man watching fire rain from the sky while eating a pretzel in pure silence.

twitter’s a HELLHOLE. people tweeting like “batman knocked over my hotdog stand again. this is the third time. i’m filing a restraining order” and “why does bruce wayne look like he hasn’t slept since 2003” and “if the joker had a podcast i’d listen. just being honest.”

ALSO fancams of villains??? OF COURSE. edits of scarecrow like “your mental health isn’t scary but he is 😍🔥” and joker fan edits with lana del rey playing over it like “he slayed literally. like a bunch of ppl.”

there’s discourse about EVERYTHING. “does batman exploit underage sidekicks??” vs “no they CHOSE to be there 🙄”

imagine gotham love confession tiktoks like “i met him in an alley while harley quinn was robbing a jewelry store” and the comments are like “literally gotham's version of a meet cute 💘💘💘💘💘💘💘”

theres podcasts like “the ethics of vigilante justice” and then they go off topic and start debating if bruce wayne and batman have ever been in the same room and one of the hosts is like “they have different jawlines 🙄”

the gentrification discourse?? YEAH. “just moved to crime alley!! rent was SO cheap!! the vibes are kind of ✨✨ except for the screaming at night. also someone left a human tooth in my mailbox. i think that means i’m accepted into the neighborhood??”

and of course. OF COURSE. the joker thirst edits. like i wish i was kidding. i wish. but someone posts “what if he kidnapped me actually. like what if i let him.” and it’s a picture of him looking crazy with 15 different filters and a caption that says “he’s literally me (i need therapy).”

and GOTHAM INFLUENCERS. OH MY GOD. the way they would be the WORST. “hey guys today i’m doing a billionaire morning routine <3” cue 6 am ice bath in the wayne building gym someone does a house tour and people in the comments are like “i think that’s *insert famous rich socialites name's* old penthouse????”

homeless ppl getting filmed for fake charity clout. omg. “today we’re giving a makeover to this unhoused gotham citizen 🥺”

gotham meme culture is top tier. like they’re actually so funny. because they have to be. it’s trauma response meets terminal irony meets "oh the joker blew up a costco again time to live tweet." they have memes like: “you vs the guy she told you not to worry about” - it’s a pic of bruce wayne (or some rich socialite) in a suit and then batman looking like roadkill in a cape or something like “just got mugged by harley quinn and she said i have bad taste in shoes. kinda valid tbh.” or “why is scarecrow hot now. like when did that happen.” “penguin looked at me sideways in the club. should i press charges or kiss him idk.”

some of them are rich rich. and also literally host giveaways with captions like: “win a week in my tower penthouse if you repost and comment ur favourite crime i’ve survived 💋”

the drama is UNREAL. like gotham reddit?? a cesspool. like there’s this one post every week like : “AMA: i dated bruce wayne for 3 weeks in 2018 and he ghosted me after i found a batarang under his couch.” and then batman side of reddit is like “this guy tried to sell me fake kryptonite at a gas station AMA” and the replies are like “was it the guy in the trenchcoat outside the CVS?? i knew he was shady.” oh and you know there’s a gotham reddit thread called r/gothamCitizenSupport and it’s just “does anyone know how to get joker gas out of your vents” “batman smashed my windshield again how do i file an insurance claim” “my roommate joined a cult and now she glows in the dark?? normal or should i move out?”

you know the “hot takes” girlies?? yeah they’re deranged. “ok but like… what does batman really do for the economy.” or “i’m just saying gotham has more billionaires than public libraries and i feel like that’s not a coincidence???” or “why is no one talking about the gentrification of *xyz place name* just because ivy turned a building into a forest resort spa”

the comments are always fighting for their lives like: “he saved my life leave him alone??” or “girl i got evicted because catwoman turned my apartment into a goth club shut up”

ALSOOOO there are entire sides of gotham tiktok like:

“batman sighting alerts”

“gotham thrift hauls (featuring actual riddler merch)”

“bruce wayne conspiracy theory corner”

“citizen thirst traps featuring blurry robins”

“updates from people who work at arkham: the podcast”

and every time a villain escapes it’s like “uhhh guys. just saw mr. freeze at the bodega. he said he wants vengeance.

"guys...my parents just told me we're moving to gotham because its cheaper...help me what should i expect?"

OH AND BATMAN WOULD HATE IT. and there are so many compilations like “BATMAN GETTING FED UP WITH CITIZENS PART 7” where it’s just clips of him looking pissed af. dramatically because someone asked for a selfie mid-chase or tried to ask him to do fit check in their video.

[strawberry-nugget]

Katsuki does his own Calvin Klein ad and the comments you see all over TikTok make you jealous!

Pairing: Bakugo x fem!reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, top! reader, oral (m receiving), cumflation(?), jealousy, a little fighting, LOADS of comfort, Jungkook mentioned ig? All characters are 20+

You're mad.

Extremely mad.

Ac/dc’s TNT plays on repeat from the speaker of your phone, your laptop, your TV, the Main Street screen from the building across your apartment a few stories below. And truly, every single time a replay goes on and on, each screen unsynced, your anger grows even worse inside your already too tight chest.

The reason?

Your boyfriend’s Calvin Klein ad has actually broke the internet.

It’s fucking ridiculous—The whole thing is worse than what happened with Bad Bunny a few months ago.

The comments are all over the place. Messy. Too messy. Too thirsty. Too delirious. Too fucking disrespectful.

You've scrolled through way too many edits. No scratch that. You've only scrolled through edits. With millions of likes, hundreds thousands of comments—that you've spent hours reading to their entirety. The actual video from the official Calvin Klein account has thirty, no forty million likes. Almost as many saves and shares too.

You’re naturally jealous. You knew you were bound to be even if you were the one who practically begged him to say yes to the offer and you definitely knew your boyfriend was the cause of thirst for many people worldwide.

It’s never been a problem until now. You've usually encountered the occasional ‘congratulations to whoever is bouncing on it’ edit, hell you’ve even smiled like an idiot at it, but now? After digging through comments that explicitly say ‘his girlfriend aint even deserve all that’ and ‘damn Dynamight’s gf i said LET GO’ you want to scream. Yell. Get back at him.

You can’t even bear to witness the video anymore. Only because when looking at it out of context, you feel like you can forgive him because of how hot he just looks!

It’s all over your screen; Katsuki flexing his muscles, biceps, forearms, back, thighs, torso. Letting off explosions, pulling the waistband of his boxers down just enough to tease, stomping his hero boots before he kneels completely. All while being extremely sweaty.

Seriously, fuck him and that hero work durability underwear line.

You’ve now unliked the original post out of pure spite. Then re-liked it. Then unliked it again because it felt like you were feeding the beast that's unleashing negativity and pumps jealousy throughout your whole body

You’ve closed the app, deleted it, redownloaded it, and then ended up stalking your own boyfriend like you were a crazed fan girl and not the person who literally shares a bathroom with him, only to be met with the same ten posts on TikTok—yes the one where he does push ups with you on his back and the other edit he has posted of you, even the one and only repost he has that’s of your ‘somebody point me to the best ass eater’ TikTok, where he acted like a feral beast and actually tried to bend you over. 

And then his instagram, where there are only a few yearly hero chart posts that have him as a co creator and like, three actual posts that he made himself. One from his agency, one from a school reunion and one with you smiling next to him, both bloody and bruised after a villain attack with the caption ‘you should see the other guy’.

Back to TikTok now, you take one last look at the ad before you ultimately close it, yes, for real this time, fists clenched like you’re about to march straight to Calvin Klein Japan HQ and file a formal complaint about emotional damages.

Instead, you exhale sharp through your nose and storm into the kitchen like a woman on a mission.

Fine.

If the internet wants to thirst over your man like they’ve never seen shoulders before, then so be it. You’re not threatened.

Not really. Not even a little.

You’re the one he comes home to. You’re the one who knows the exact way he likes his coffee in the morning, the brand of muscle balm he’ll pretend he doesn’t need, the scar on his side he never talks about. 

They don’t know him.

But you do.

And tonight, you’re going to prove it. Prove that you’re the most perfect girlfriend for him, that you won’t let go because someone on the internet begs you to. 

You slam the fridge door shut with the kind of force that makes the condiments rattle. Chicken breast. Garlic. Thyme. That expensive parmesan he rolls his eyes at but always eats the fastest. You’ve got all the ingredients for the dumb TikTok “marry me chicken” and honestly, yeah—maybe it’s manipulative. Maybe it’s desperate.

You don’t care. You've made it before and he adores it.

If the competition is public thirst, then your counterattack is a home-cooked seduction plan followed by a bath with that weird overpriced salt soak that smells like cedarwood, cocoa and sex. Let them drool behind screens—you’re setting the mood with candles and your favorite playlist and maybe even the nice satin robe with nothing underneath if it’s clean.

And it almost works.

It almost makes you feel better. Like maybe you’ve got the upper hand again. Like maybe you’re not going insane over a stupid fucking ad where he literally flexes his thighs and kneels and sweats on purpose. And flexes again.

Until you start chopping the garlic and realize your hands are shaking.

You stop abruptly.

You stare down at the cutting board, knife hovering mid-air, and realize your throat’s a little tight. Your chest’s a little too hollow.

Because the truth is—deep down, like deep deep deep down, where all the ugliest thoughts live—you’re not mad.

You’re scared that you’re not enough. Insecure. Like youve got any right to when you've literally grown up with him. When he’s never even bat an eye to anyone but you.

But you feel like a high school girl again. Standing in the hallway outside your class, so mad and sick of jealousy that fangirls from year one are swamping your boyfriend that you drag him by the ear into the classroom and shove your tongue down his throat. 

And damn, was that punishment from Aizawa worth it when he caught you.

No, now, it’s even worse. It’s not just the girls at school. Not just Japan. It’s the whole world.

And you're so scared that the world seeing him like that is going to remind him of what he could have. Of what else is out there. Of how easily people fall to their knees for him—not in ad campaigns, but in real life.

And what are you?

Somebody who gets overwhelmed easily. Somebody who overthinks. Somebody who can’t even watch a thirty-second ad without spiraling into a meltdown that tastes like garlic seeped deeply into fingernails and salt and the distinct flavor of not enough.

What if ‘animemencracker22’ could cook better for him or what if ‘Dynamightsleftbicep’ could massage his head better when they run him a bath? If ‘gymratgirl4life’ wanted to go out with him more and if ‘corrrrruptedlvr’ wasn’t throwing jealousy fits?

You’re not the girl in the comments. You’re not the fantasy.

You’re just you.

And even when you’re holding the knife and planning the perfect welcome-home meal and pretending like the bath you’re running later isn’t strategic—you still wonder if that’s going to be enough to keep a man like Katsuki Bakugou.

Worse, you wonder if he knows you’re trying this hard, because of your overwhelming need to feel like you deserve someone like him. 

You let the knife drop and suddenly, you’re not hungry anymore. You were never even hungry to begin with. Your fucking eyes are welling up with stupid tears that you dont want to shed. 

You’re not even a jealous person. Save for two or three times, you don’t feel like this over him. And it’s not because you’ve taken him for granted, but it’s been years that you two are together that have worked you into not thinking Katsuki could want anyone else other than you. You don’t want anyone else other than him.

But what if he’s tired. What if he feels youre the same old song stuck on repeat when he could have anyone. 30 million people in the world and you included.

The silence in the kitchen hums louder than any song on loop, only broken by the sound of your choking as you’re trying not to violently sob. The garlic’s sharp sting still clings to your fingers. The oven’s preheat light blinks like a mocking little eye. Your playlist, the one reserved for special nights, is halfway into some sultry R&B Aaliyah track that now feels like a joke.

Your arms go slack at your sides.

This was supposed to feel empowering. Sexy. A big middle finger to the comment section and the edited thirst traps and the “she doesn’t even deserve him” discourse that’s been hijacking your feed all damn day.

Instead, you feel small. Stupid. Still so embarrassingly in love.

You rub your eyes with the backs of your hands like that’ll somehow push the thoughts back in. Like that’ll make you forget the way your chest aches with that special kind of loneliness that only shows up when you’re still physically close to someone but emotionally spiraling into the trenches of your own insecurity.

You glance at the clock. Patrol should end in twenty minutes. Thirty, tops. And you push your lips together, scrunching the corners of your mouth in, pursing your lips and squint your eyes. 

You’ll push through, because even if you’re so extremely jealous, Katsuki still deserves a nice home cooked meal and a hot bath, even more often than every other day, when you stay home to handle the agency paperwork, because of your latest injury after a villain attack.

He really hasn’t done anything wrong, you tell yourself, other than being extremely hot.

So you end up cooking, with tears in your eyes and the most pouty expression and by the time you finish, setting the pan on a part of the stove that isn't hot and curl down in front of the fridge, dropping to your knees to cry your heart out—The door clicks open.

Oh. Shit.

Weighty boots make contact with the floor first. The heavy stomp of post-patrol exhaustion. Then the groan of his back hitting the door frame. You hear the soft rustle of his gloves coming off, his keys clinking in the ceramic dish by the entry.

You freeze—You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t let him be the one who finds you curled on the tile like some lovesick idiot who lost a battle to TikTok.

“Heyy I’m home” you hear and you grunt to yourself, trying not to let it be known you sniffle right after.

“…Smells fuckin’ good,” his voice calls out—gruff, like he’s trying not to yawn. “You cookin’ somethin’?”

You grunt again.

He doesn’t see you right away. But his voice gets closer. Each step across the hardwood is loud and certain and distinctly him. The kind of sound that always used to make you feel safe.

Now it just makes your stomach twist.

You force yourself to stand, too fast, too suddenly, brushing your hands on your thighs then your apron and you try to act normal when your chest is about to cave in again.

Katsuki rounds the corner, still in uniform, gauntlets off, sweat clinging to his hairline, a little dirt smudged near his jaw, where some blond scruff is starting to grow. His eyes find you instantly—and narrow.

“Babe? You okay? Say hi back”

You hate how quick he notices. How easy it is for him to read you. You’ve never been good at hiding from him, especially not when it comes to shit like this.

“Oh—uh, hey. I was,” you say, eyes glued to the counter. “Got distracted.” Still, you force a smile “im fine”

“You don’t look fine.”

You flinch. “Can we—can we not do this right now?”

The silence stretches.

Katsuki exhales through his nose, tilting his head like a puppy, eyes big with inquiry boring in yours as if he’s debating whether to let it go or push. You know which one he’ll pick. He’s never, ever been the let it go type.

“You saw the ad.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even said with guilt or amusement or defensiveness. Just certainty.

You look away. Embarrassed. “Everyone and their mama saw the ad Katsuki.”

A pause. Then a sigh. Then he rubs a tired hand over his jaw.

He walks over, slow and careful like you’re a spooked animal, and you hate it. You hate that he’s being gentle when all you want is to yell at him and fall into his arms and scream into his chest all at once.

His hand lands on your waist. Warm. Familiar. Real.

“You mad at me?” he murmurs, lips pouty in the way you just love.

You shake your head up and down. A silent yes.

“I’m mad at me too tho.”

His brows furrow. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“I shouldn’t care this much,” you mumble. “I shouldn’t be jealous of a bunch of people who don’t even know you. I shouldn’t be chopping garlic like it’s a last-ditch attempt to prove I deserve you, but I—I just—”

Your voice cracks.

Katsuki’s eyes soften, his lips too.

“You think I’d wanna be with anybody else?” he asks, so blunt it hits like a punch.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, thumb softly brushing lines across your bottom lip— he makes you look him in the eye.

“I did that ad ‘cause you told me to. ‘Cause you said I should. And I ain’t think it’d piss you off—but even if it did, I’d still be comin’ home to you.”

You swallow hard.

“They can watch,” he adds. “They can comment. They can make all the stupid fuckin’ edits they want. But you think I give a shit about any of ‘em when I’ve got you runnin’ me a bath?”

You blink. “…You knew I was running you a bath?”

“You only play that playlist when you’re tryna seduce me.” He snorts.

Your face burns, but your chest still burns hotter, tighter. Tight-est. You’re not ready to let go of this just yet. A hug and no kiss yet are already making your head spin back to that awful insecure state. You hate overthinking every little thing, but you can’t help getting caught up in it.

“Chicken smells good,” he adds casually. “Wanna feed it to me naked?”

You shove his chest gently. Though when you look up at him, you realise you're still greatly mad at him. “Shut up. No”

“C’mere,” he mutters, dragging you into his arms again. You go willingly, burying your face in his neck, nuzzling your nose too deep into his skin. “I love you,” he says into your hair. “All of them can choke.”

“They’re your fans, Katsuki”

“Yeah yeah. They can choke on my dick”

Oh that—that makes you snap.

“Im sure they’d love to” you hiss, lurching back away from him, too mad at how willingly his arms let you go. 

You want to jab, hurt him just a little. Make him jealous just a tad. Make yourself look like you've got better options than plain old ‘_narutoswife’ in his IG comment section.

He doesn’t deserve it. No, not at all. He just came back home from work and you want to catch a toxic attitude instead of communicating. You just want to make him a little mad over you too.

“Fyi, if you remember, Jungkook did say in an interview that im his type! He called me a strong female hero! Choi San also follows me on instagram” you say, crossing your arms, your eyes shut closed and lips pursed.

Unfortunately, you end up making him mad at you. That was so foul. Especially when he was about to sue Jeon freaking Jungkook for what he said in that interview. When the fuck did you become his type even? And why would he say that on national TV about some other man’s girlfriend?

His eye twitches. Just barely. But it definitely twitches. Great!

“…The fuck did you just say? You wanna start somethin’ now?” Katsuki says, voice low, sharp, practically growling, mouth pushed to the side of his face, one brow raised in desbelief,

Your arms are crossed like a petty little shield but it’s not enough to protect you from the instant shift in the air—his energy changing the moment those names leave your mouth. You can see it, feel it, in the sudden tension between his brows and the twitch of his jaw, in the way he takes one step back just so he can plant his hands on his hips and fully absorb the ridiculous thing you just said.

“Well I am his type,” you mutter, fake-casual, even adding a dramatic upward move of your chin for flair. “He literally said so. On record.”

You double down when you shouldn’t. Because now you’ve committed, and if you take it back, it’ll only make you look desperate. You tilt your head, faux-casual, all sugar and venom.

Katsuki blinks once—slow. Like he’s buffering. Like you’ve just spoken a dialect of petty he never expected to hear from your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet in that scary way, “are we talkin’ about Jeon fucking Jungkook right now?”

“I mean, he’s not the worst,” you say, airily. “He’s cute. Built. Has manners and a Calvin Klein ad too! Like you”

“You are not fuckin’ doin this with me—” His voice spikes as he takes a step forward, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s physically restraining himself from hurling the rice cooker across the room. “You’re mad at me for a promo gig and now you’re bringin’ up some K-pop bastard—?!”

You bite your lip to stop the smirk. It’s immature. Childish. And so, so satisfying—ah the sweet feeling of getting your lick back.

His hands fly up and immediately start doing that panicked, half-feral gesture thing he does when he’s so mad he doesn’t even know where to put his anger. “You think that’s cute? You think throwin’ other guys in my face is what’s gonna make this better? You want me to start listin’ all the bitches in my DMs right now? ‘Cause I will. I fuckin’ will—”

“Oh so now it’s bitches plural—”

“They don’t matter!” he barks. But you don’t seem like you believe him. “You’re just mad and you’re not telling me the actual reason”

Your face goes hot, tears rising again. “I’m mad because you don’t get it!”

“Then tell me! Tell me what I’m not gettin’!”

“I want you to care!” you explode. “I want you to see that this hurts! That I don’t feel good enough half the damn time, and now I’ve got people with 800k followers stitching your photos sayin’ how they’d treat you right while I’m in our kitchen  trying to figure out if I’m even the one you’d want anymore if you realise there’s someone better out th—”

“Don’t you fuckin’ finish that sentence.”

His voice goes deadly low.

You glare at him, eyes blazing. “Why not? Afraid I’m gonna be right?”

“No. Because you’re not.”

His chest is rising now, jaw clenched tight. You’ve both crossed the line, bleeding all over the tile floor with your words.

“None of them matter. Just like Jungkook doesn’t matter. I don’t care about anyone else on TikTok and I definitely don’t give a shit if he writes you a song and a marriage proposal and names his next album ‘Strong Female Hero I Wanna Wife’—you’re mine. You hear me?”

You’re stunned into silence. Half because of the outburst. Half because of the fact he just said you’re his with the kind of conviction that makes your skin burn and tingles run up your back.

“…You gonna tattoo that somewhere?” you murmur, trying to deflect your way out of being completely swept off your feet. 

He steps closer, wraps a hand around your waist, nose nearly brushing yours, eyes blazing. “Gonna put a ring on it. Don’t tempt me.”

You blink at him, wide-eyed. His palm feels hot, too quirk charged against your clothed skin “What if I’m not joking?”

He narrows his eyes. “You are.”

You shrug, then whisper just slightly. “…Maybe.”

Next thing you know, Katsuki’s scooping you up like a caveman—no warning, no prep, just two strong arms under your ass, your back colliding with his chest, and your feet dangling uselessly as he stalks toward the bathroom.

“Put me down! I haven’t even plated the chicken!”

“We’ll eat it later.”

“I— but—”

“You’re so mine, and I’m about to prove it.”

He kicks the door open like a man on a mission. Your bathwater is already perfectly hot and steamy, the playlist still humming from the speaker in the corner. You barely notice it because you’re too busy clinging to his shoulders like you’re about to be ravished.

“I can’t believe you got mad at me over a Calvin Klein ad,” he mutters against your neck, lips hot and dragging lower as he sets you down only to start untying your apron, aggressive and purposeful.

“It was a very public ad, and you were nearly naked” you argue, squirming, trying to twist out of his grasp—but he’s already unlooping the neck strap, already tossing the apron somewhere over his shoulder, not even watching where it lands on the bathroom floor “Katsuki, no—”

“Sex isn’t gonna fix everything, you know,” you say, breath hitching when his mouth finds that spot just below your jaw, the one he knows makes your knees buckle. He’s too fast to start pressing hot open mouthed kisses on your neck. 

“Then let’s talk about it” he says, calm as hell. He sinks onto the edge of the bathtub like a menace, eyes smoldering, hands still locked around your waist like you might run. “You said you don’t feel enough, why’s that? What part of us did I neglect that made you feel like this?”

You blink, thinking. Well he didn’t really do anything wrong, he just. Exists. And he’s gorgeous and amazing at everything he does.

Oh god? Do you resent him for being good at everything?

“You’re deranged.” You finally respond, pouting but refusing to look at him while you say it.

“I’m in love with you.”

Katsuki’s palms rub soothingly up and down your thighs, head tilted back to look up at you ever so slightly. He's trying to pull you in closer, get you loose, comfortable. He wants you to drop this ‘being difficult’ act you've got on right now.

You follow his lead, come in closer, until your knees scrape the edge of the bathtub and your thighs the inside of his.

“Yeah but,” you pause for a second, debating on whether this is the right thing to say. “why me”

Finally, you kneel between his legs. Your eyes are locked into his, trying to study him, his expression, trying to find a glimpse of hesitation behind his gaze, even if there’s none. 

Katsuki catches the insecurity in your head, with a simple bore of his eyes into yours. And it’s bad. How he can read you so well, like he isn't confused and insecure at times too.

“Is it cause we grew up together?”

“Well that’s why your dear to me, but no” 

“Then why?”

“Cause you’re you. Simply. You’re kind and fair. Too smart and you’re too pretty. You stand your ground and stand up for what’s right. I knew damn well who I hunched on my back and tried to set off with explosions at five years old”

He catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tips your face toward him until you’re locked in his orbit again.

You want to cry again. Be it the memory, or the fact that you've pushed him to say this much about why he’s in love with you. You've got no reason to get jealous over people on the internet. They don’t know Katsuki like you do. They never could. Fate chose you to be the one to grow up a few blocks away from him. All your shared memories together, no one on TikTok could live them out.

No matter any Vogue cover, any Calvin Klein ad, or late night show interview, you and Katsuki are two human beings who grew up together, beat the odds of death together. Fell in love with each other to top it. So many humans in history have had this storyline, they’ve shared their first time with each other the night before setting off to war, kissed for the first time behind the bleachers in middle school. 

“I was so scared back then” you sob. Just one violent sob after another “‘m sorry babe. I'm so sorry for how I acted right now. You're just so hot that I can’t handle it. Can you like, be that bratty little five year old again?”

Katsuki huffs a breath, mouth twitching like he wants to smirk but knows better. His hands stay firm around your waist, grounding you while leaning towards you.

“Well I can’t be five again,” he says, voice rough but fond, lips already pursing as his forehead sticks to yours “but I can give you a small brand new Bakugo”

You let out a choked, watery laugh, but he’s already shifting closer, his thighs spreading so you fit better between them. One of his hands, followed by his eyes, slides up to your chest, and with exaggerated slowness, he taps a finger just above your sternum.

Tap. Then a little higher. Tap.

Then again—until two fingers are softly “walking” their way up, up, up your chest like little boots. You blink at him.

“Katsukiiii”

Tap.

The pads of his fingers rest at the hollow of your throat for a beat before lifting to your chin, tipping your face toward him like you’re fragile glass he’s been carrying his whole life.

He’s pouting. You can see it clearly now—the petulant pull of his mouth, the faint crease between his brows, like he’s upset you made him feel things and doesn’t know how to ask for reassurance without being difficult.

“You sayin’ shit like that,” he mutters, eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back up, “makes me feel like I’m not doin’ enough. Like I ain’t sayin’ it right. And I already suck at this.”

You open your mouth to protest, say you didn’t really mean it when you said that you don’t feel enough, that it was a moment of weakness, just like when you tried to tell him you’ve got options, but he presses his thumb gently against your bottom lip, quieting you, you’ve already apologised. He hasn’t.

“Lemme show you instead,” he says.

His voice isn’t cocky. Not quite. It’s soft—almost shy. Like how it was when you asked him to walk you home a week into UA, like he knows now, sex won’t fix anything, for sure, but the humanity of it, the lack of personal space between you as you groan in each other's open mouths, will help, just a little to ease the pain of your words.

“You’re my soft spot,” he adds under his breath, kissing the corner of your mouth like he’s afraid you’ll vanish off to some hot idol that does fanservice for a living, before he finishes the sentence. “Always been. N’ I don’t want you forgettin’ it. I ain’t leaving you for no one”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw now, slow and reverent. The pout still hasn’t left. You’re not sure it ever will. But now it’s paired with heat, and a pull between your legs that starts low and deep as he finally—finally—brushes his mouth against yours.

Just a whisper of a kiss. All pout. All need. All Katsuki.

You wouldn’t really trade him for anyone, either.

You can feel how badly he wants to be touched back. He always wants to be physical and touchy after an argument. You know how grounded and real it makes him feel, how reassuring it is to him to know he is still loved enough to be touched, despite words that are meant to sting.

You make a move to peck him, only right as this was your fault, and he slowly moves his lips against your own, soft, smooth. Slipping between every hollow space until you can't pull away. Seems like the chapstick you got for him last week has done wonders to make his lips so soft and plump, when they’re usually so chapped; his mouth glides against yours with practiced ease.

“M sorry” he whispers, so faint against your lips, but you still catch it.

His voice stays in your skin long after it’s said, like steam caught between your ribs, not ready to evaporate just yet.

You don’t say anything at first—just lift your hand to cradle the back of his neck, drawing tiny circles at his nape with your thumb. His eyes flutter a little at the touch, and it’s so Katsuki the way he tries not to lean into it. Still pouting, still pretending he’s not craving softness like it’s the only thing that could save him, but you know him better.

You let your other hand wander, trailing along the hem of his work top, your fingertips skating just beneath the fabric—slow, just the way he likes it. And when your hands drift to the button of his pants, you catch that tiny hitch in his breath. Barely audible. But it’s there. His lashes drop, golden. Sun-kissed. His grip on your waist tightens, not to stop you, just to hold on.

“You said you’d show me,” you murmur, your voice dipping low, warm against the shell of his ear. “But maybe I show you first.”

He doesn’t answer. Just swallows hard. And you skip the rest of the sentence ‘how much better I am than those TikTok bitches who want you’.

The button of his work cargos clicks open beneath your fingers.

It’s intimate, the quiet that settles between you. Not awkward. Not even heated yet. Just close. Bathwater is still steaming behind him. The scent of your shared home in the air—sandalwood, white musk soap, the thick smell of chicken being cooked—him. 

His cologne, faded but still clinging to the collar of his shirt. The playlist hums something slow and familiar in the background—Hot like fire, because maybe Aaliyah wasn’t mocking you a while ago—like this moment has its own soundtrack and the world outside doesn’t exist.

Your fingers fiddle with his zipper, slow and smooth. He looks down at you—heavy-lidded, and all vermillion, lips slightly parted, like he’s already halfway gone from just being touched with intention for pleasure.

“You looked so confident in the ad” you whisper as your fingers brush just below his waistband, teasing. “But this is better. This right here. When you’re a little shy for me.”

He exhales shakily, like you cracked something open inside him. And you feel it—something primal and possessive bloom in your chest.

“No one gets to see you like this but me”

“You’re tryin’ to kill me” he mutters.

You smile up at him, biting your lower lip. “No, Katsuki. I’m just trying to blow you away with my insane head skills”

He laughs, a breathy little sound, as his hands move to take off his shirt, softly ungluing his eyes from yours for only a second. You lick your lips at the way his muscles flex, so thick and bulky and by all means yours.

Suddenly, the ad pops back into your head, every shot, every zoom in. You’re overtaken by lust driven jealousy again.

No one on fucking TikTok gets to see the way his abs flex when he cums. You do.

So you work to lower his pants in fast movements, pushing the heavy fabric down until it hits the floor in shuffling sounds. 

Your hands slide lower, palms flattening against his calves, then his hips as you stick your cheek to his thigh. He watches you like you’re a sunrise—warm and tender, grazing where his skin ends with where your skin begins, or running tender, teasing circles all over his tip through his boxers.

His fingers twitch against his thighs, unsure of where to go—if he should cup your cheek, fist your hair, or just hold on to the edge of the tub before he slides down into something desperate.

And when you look up at him from where you’re knelt, his breath catches. His hand finds the top of your head, like he needs the grounding contact, thumb brushing a gentle path through your hair, and his eyes are wide with something soft and so, so red and open.

“Yesssss” he says hoarsely, half-laughing, half-moan “im about to get the best head of my life”

You quirk your brow and pucker your lips as if it’s your turn to pout now, then, you jab “Was it bad before?”

He shakes his head, cheeks already pink. “It’s always damn perfect”

His breathing catches in his chest but by now, your lips catch onto the skin of his thigh, placing a kiss there while still looking at him. It makes him go completely red now, face ears and chest flustered.

You kiss higher on his inner thigh, barely missing where he’s straining against the fabric of his boxers. Katsuki’s knuckles press into the edge of the tub now, trying to keep himself grounded, but his hips twitch when your lips ghost just beneath the band of his boxers.

He looks like he might fall apart already. Lower lip caught between his teeth, lashes fluttering low, cheeks warm and pink in the bathroom light.

Your fingers tug at the elastic slowly—like a question. And he nods, fast, almost frantic.

You hum, and finally pull the waistband down, freeing him.

He’s already hard, tip flushed and leaking, twitching a little in the cool air. And the way he watches you—mouth parted, chest rising and falling quick—is nothing short of irrelevant. He looks at you with hunger, full blown everywhere on his face, like it burns just to feel it. His hand hovers near your cheek, and you guide it up into your hair with your own.

“Keep it here,” you murmur. “I want you to touch.”

Katsuki’s thumb brushes your scalp, tender, trembling.

His thumb twitches as it strokes your scalp.

You press your lips softly to the base of his cock. Not rushing. Just placing open mouthed kisses over his length. Letting the heat of your mouth register on every kiss before you move to the next one. Then again, higher this time. Then again—closer to the tip, where he shudders and grips your hair a little tighter. Your lips wrap tenderly around half of his tip, your tongue storming out for a circular lick before you give him a little suck.

His hips shift like he’s trying to stay still and failing. Then you kiss just beneath the tip, so close your breath makes him hiss.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, hips twitching once more. “You’re—baby, you’re—”

You wrap your hand around the base of him and drag your tongue along the underside, slow, teasing, drawing a whimper from him so small and raw that your thighs clench just hearing it.

“You gonna beg?” you ask softly, glancing up.

His head falls back against the tiled wall for a second, mouth parted, so red in the face. “Don’t make me—fuck—‘m already losin’ it.”

You take him into your mouth inch by inch, slow and careful, tongue flat underneath, eyes still locked on him. You feel his thighs shake.

He moans—a rough, broken sound—and his hand fists harder your hair. You pull back with a wet pop and stroke him slowly, thumb brushing over his leaking tip. “You’re so easy to ruin, Katsuki. One suck and you’re falling apart.”

“You—you're evil,” he pants, biting his knuckle. “You can’t say shit like that when your fuckin’ mouth is on me.”

You grin, licking your lips. “It’s on you again now.”

You take him deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue drag in deliberate patterns. He groans, head tipping down again to watch, jaw slack. His voice is wrecked. Raw. Low in his throat.

“Katsuki–” you pause, you murmur, pulling off again, cupping him with both hands now. ogling your eyes into his “Tell me i'm the only one who’s ever gonna make you feel this good’

Every movement you make is intentional—little flicks of your tongue, your hand twisting at the base, your lips tight around him. You don’t let him cum yet. Every time you feel him start to twitch harder, you ease back, sucking gently on just the tip.

“Babe,’s all you—” he chokes out, voice ragged. “Never gonna be anyone else but you”

“Yeah?” you breathe. “No thirsty fangirl, no fantasy, no fuckin’ ad? Just me?”

His eyes lock on yours—glassy, wild. He nods hard. “Just you.”

You glance up again. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown. He looks desperate. Like he’s holding onto the last threads of sanity. But this moment is bathed in vulnerability, raw love that makes you want to claim again and again. Katsuki’s had his moments like this, way more than you. He lets you go through with it, he even likes how jealous you are right now, but this doesn’t mean he’s not utterly and completely ruined and under your spell right now.

You kiss his head again, so sweet, and finally wrap your mouth around him once more—this time faster, deeper, your hand working in tandem. He lets out a strangled cry, almost panicked with how hard he’s trying to hold on.

“You’re mine, Katsuki. You know that, right? Doesn’t matter how many people thirst over you online.” You press your lips around him again, drag your mouth up slow, just to the tip. “They don’t get this. They don’t get you like I do.”

He looks down at you again, eyes still glassy. So red. So wrecked.

You take him deeper, your cheeks hollowed, your tongue gliding in slow circles, teasing him at every sensitive spot. The veins on the underside of his cock, the base, as he hits the back of your throat. Katsuki moans, raw and shaky and his hips stutter forward before he forces himself still. The inside of your mouth is so slippery, so warm, he’s literally going crazy with each movement.

“Don’t even fuckin’ want anyone else.” He sounds destroyed now, ruined into a slurring mess as your hand is sliding along his thigh. 

“Let me—let me cum, shit—please, let me—”

His tip kisses the back of your throat, and you gag around him, just a little—just enough for him to choke on a moan that sounds like he’s dying.

You don’t let up. You feel the way he twitches, the way his thighs tense, the way his grip in your hair tightens. He’s close. So close. You hum against him, nodding just a little, eyes locked into his in such an intimate, tender way. You take him all the way in one last time, his tip hitting the back of your throat, eliciting just a small choking sound from you, letting him fall apart in your mouth, with every soft roll of his hips into you.

He grunts. Head lolling back again, so hard that is adam’s apple protrudes enough even for you to see. His hips stutter, and he tries to hold back—but his thighs are trembling, breath breaking. He snaps his head again, desperate to look at you and he swallows now, bites his lower lip in concentration before he clenches his legs, to buck his hips into your mouth.

His hands come to cradle your head, your cheeks, like he’s afraid to let go, like you’re the one keeping him from falling through the floor. And the way you keep eye contact with him while swallowing him down your pretty little throat–It’s a killer.

You back up, worrying his tip between your soft, plump lips and that's it–He shatters. Violently and way faster than he thought he would. Clawing at your face to make you take him in once again; he bottoms out, and you… you take him in easily, like a champ.

Katsuki falls apart in your mouth with a raw, choked moan, hips bucking just once as you hold him steady, taking every twitch, every pulse, every broken sound he makes as his cum spills in ropes down your throat. You try to swallow as much as you can, eyes tearing up at the amount of cum that’s making you choke– Katsuki’s favorite sounds when you’re giving him a blowjob. He’s only urged to spill more, but this time you back up a little, letting him fill your mouth until it spills down the sides of your lips.

“F-fuck. Baby. Fuck.” He gasps like you’ve already stolen the air from his lungs, and he spasms. His hips jerk forward once, like instinct takes over.

Your eyes well up again, tears beading on your lashes from the stretch, from the pressure, from the sheer force of him.

He groans again at the sight—his cock buried in your mouth, cum spilling out the corners of your lips, glistening. His hands cradle your cheeks like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the feel of your skin under his thumbs.

You swallow again, letting him ride it out with one last soft suck, and he moans like he’s unraveling from the inside out. His knees almost buckle.

And still, you don’t stop touching him. Your hand strokes slow at his base as you pull back with the loudest pop, letting some of the mess trail down lower at your chin, your lips swollen and glistening as you tilt your head up.

“You came so much,” you murmur, licking a drop from your bottom lip. “Were you that needy for me, baby?”

He groans as he’s still recovering, hips twitching slightly as your breath ghosts over him. His hands finally leave your cheeks, fumbling around, still shaky, down to where his pants are.

“Where the fuck’s my phone?” he rasps, breath catching on the tail end.

You blink up at him, mock-innocent. “Why do you want it, hmm?”

His gaze drops back to you, pupils blown wide, chest heaving as he glares like you’ve just personally offended him by being too hot to handle yourself.

“First, I’m taking a fuckin’ photo of you like this,” he grits out, voice still rough and low, “with your mouth all messy, lookin’ proud of yourself like that.”

You smirk, tilting your head as cum still drips slowly down your chin, your fingers catching it just to suck them clean. “So you can jerk off to it later?”

“So I can frame it,” he mutters darkly, eyes dragging over every inch of your face. “And then you’re watchin’ the ad again. Every second of it.”

You blink slowly. “But it makes me mad”

He nods. “Yeah exactly. Youre watching it.‘Til you get so fuckin’ riled up you suck me off meaner than this.”

Your lips curl. “Meaner? Baby… I was being sweet to you.”

“Exactly,” he pants, reaching for your wrist to drag you up into his lap. “I wanna see you do it when you're pissed.”

You climb into his space, knees bracketing his thighs, grinning into his mouth as you kiss him—messy, deep, still tasting like him. “Careful what you wish for, Katsuki. I might make your dick fall off”

His voice is just a whisper now and wrecked against your lips.

“Fuck yes”

Yeah… maybe the Calvin Klein ad was a good idea.

______

The water’s somehow still warm, barely steaming, and smells like cocoa and the shea butter soap he always pretends he doesn’t use until you catch him stealing it.

You’re settled between his legs, your back against his chest, and he’s folded around you—arms over your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck, breath soft and steady against your skin. You sink into him, muscles loosening all at once.

The bathwater laps at your collarbones. His thumbs trace slow circles into your stomach. And for a while, the only sound is your breathing, synced. The occasional soft swish of water when one of you shifts. The playlist outside still hums faintly, muffled through the bathroom door. Just gentle vocals and low drums. Like the score to this quiet little world you’ve made.

“Sorry I was a dick,” he mutters. His voice remains unsure of what to say in a situation like this, yet muffled against your neck. “I just—y’know…”

“Yeah. Me too. I should not have mentioned Jungkook because people online are asking how I handle all of that” you chuckle, tenderly placing a kiss at the back of Katsuki’s hands when you lift it from the water.

He frowns, letting off a sound of annoyance “asshole, he can shove that seven song up his ass”

“Oop— you listening to him now?”

“No, it’s all over the radio though” Katsuki kisses your shoulder in response. Then again, higher this time. “But I don’t care about nobody. Just you. Always you.”

You tilt your head and press a kiss into his damp hair from the side, catching just a little bit of his ear in the process. “I know, baby. I know.”

And you do. Deep in your bones. The same way you know how his eyes soften and he whines when he’s sleepy, how his jaw ticks to the right when he’s embarrassed, how his voice drops an octave when he wants to be taken seriously. You know him. Not the whored out Calvin Klein version the world sees.

You curl your hands around his forearm and let yourself melt back into him completely, the bathwater swaying at the peak of your chest now. Safe. Soothed. Held.

He squeezes you a little tighter and rests his chin on your shoulder, finally quiet. And if you listen close, you can feel it: the rise and fall of him. The warmth of his skin. The steady thrum of his heartbeat under your back. 

“So” you murmur “wanna talk about that little mini Bakugo you mentioned earlier?”

Katsuki mumbles something under his breath, eyes closed against your skin. He’s mellowed out in the split of a second, but you’re riled up at the thought when your mind returns to it. 

“‘S no use.” He whines, finally, like he’s annoyed “Our kid’s gonna look like you”

“So you'll get a mini me all over again and I won’t get the same? Un-faiiiir! Booooooo” you groan, leaning your head back against his shoulder dramatically. The water sloshes with the motion, and he huffs a tired laugh into your neck, chest vibrating behind you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, lips brushing your skin. “Like I wouldn’t be fuckin’ obsessed with either version.”

You smile. Small. Soft. Let your thumb glide along the scar on his wrist and then you swallow. Blink a few times. Then nod once, slowly, before you speak.

“Wouldn’t be so bad, would it? A little baby with your temper and my sweet tooth?”

He lets out a real laugh now, low and gruff and warm against your back. “Fuckin’ menace. Our apartment wouldn’t survive.”

“Your PR team wouldn’t survive.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

You both laugh, muffled and close, and when it quiets again, you let your fingers lace through his under the water. His grip tightens like a reflex.

And then, just above a whisper:

“You really think about it sometimes?”

“…Yeah.”

“Me too.”

He kisses your shoulder again. No jokes this time. Just silence and warm water and cocoa steam. The both of you holding that dream quietly, like something sacred. 

In his arms, now, today, midst June, after feeling threatened that strangers online will ever do better than you when it comes to him, you think of you and him, back in his childhood room, watching Spirited Away as Mitsuki would fetch you cookies and milk before Katsuki would try to shove her away and she’d pretend to be knocked over.

“Hey…We’re still naming the baby Chihiro like we promised back then, right?”

He goes still behind you. Like, dead quiet. Like you’d short-circuited something in his brain.

You almost think he didn’t hear you until you feel the deep inhale against your spine, his arms tightening just a little more around you like he’s trying to fuse your body to his.

“…You remember that?” His voice is hoarse now, barely more than a breath.

You smile, eyes still half-lidded, watching the water ripple at the edges of the tub. “Of course I do. You made me pinky swear on it, when Mitsuki said we’d get married and have kids too!”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but it’s soft, affectionate—almost embarrassed. His nose nudges your jaw like he’s trying to hide the warmth in his face. “Was a fuckin’ loser.”

“No,” you say gently. “You were just sweet. Always were.”

There’s a beat. He swallows. You feel it in his throat against your shoulder.

“…Chihiro, huh?” he murmurs, finally. “Still want that? Even now?”

You nod, and his hand floats up from beneath the water, trailing along your stomach, resting just under your ribs. Protective. Hopeful. Like something unspoken is blooming there.

“I always loved that promise,” you whisper, throat a little tight. He doesn’t answer. At least not with words.

Katsuki grins against your neck, and the sound of it, the way he breathes in like he’s grounding himself in the smell of your skin—it’s everything. It’s homely. Warm water. Summer steam. A shared name from a shared childhood.

Take that ‘tojissecondworm222’, not only do you handle all that, but everything the world’s fantasy driven Dynamight has to offer, is yours. 

Always has been.

Always will be.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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Forget Streaming, Return to Winamp

I hear some of you are getting a little tired of the streaming service gauntlet! Did you know you can play mp3s with Winamp 5.6x, a very old program that plays songs perfectly fine from your PC, where your songs should be? (Newer versions add bullshit, you can decide whether you want that, but you don't.)

Did you know I made several really fucking good Utena Winamp skins? That aren't even on the website anymore because I broke the Multimedia section trying to make it easier to update in 2009? They might even be older than you, dear reader. I show my work hunting through my own website for shit I just forgot was there in a thread on Something Eternal, but if you just want the sauce:

Pictured in the order I made them, the first four are AT LEAST as old as April 2002. The last three were made in 2006 and 2007. All of them are in this 2mb ZIP, a comically small file for content I spent a small fortune hosting back when 2mb was a fucking massive amount of data, lmaaaao.

Enjoy! <3

Edit: Multiple people actually having these reblogging within ten minutes is fucking incredible because they've been off the site for over a decade, man we're really all still fucking here huh

[luna-azzurra]

What to Give a Sh*t About While Editing Your Book

↳ Emotional Impact

Ask yourself: Do I actually feel something here? If a scene is technically “well-written” but emotionally flat, it’s dead weight. Your readers won’t remember your clever metaphors, but they’ll remember the way a quiet line of dialogue made their stomach drop. So yeah—give a sh*t about that.

↳ Character Motivation That Actually Makes Sense

If your characters are making decisions just because the plot needs them to… we’ve got a problem. In edits, zoom in on their choices. Are they acting like real, flawed, complex humans? Or puppets? Edit until their actions make you nod and go, “Yep. That’s exactly what that little disaster would do.”

↳ Cutting the “Almost Good” Stuff

This hurts, but it’s necessary. Some lines are nice. Pretty. Kind of smart. But if they’re not serving the story, they’ve got to go. Save them in a “kill darlings” file. Grieve if needed. But don’t let “kinda good” block the greatness trying to come through.

↳ Scene Purpose

Every scene needs to earn its place like it’s paying rent. Does it move the plot? Deepen character? Build tension? Ideally, two out of three. If the answer is “it’s vibes,” that might work for a paragraph—but not for 3,000 words. Cut. Condense. Clarify. Your future reader will thank you.

↳ Pacing That Doesn’t Bore People to Death

Look, I love a moody slow burn too. But if your story crawls for 50 pages without conflict, tension, or curiosity—your reader will ghost you. Read your scenes out loud. If you’re zoning out? So will they. Tighten that sh*t up.

↳ Dialogue That Sounds Like Real People (and Not AI)

If your characters sound like they're reading from a very polite script, it’s time to rewrite. Interruptions, unfinished thoughts, weird little phrases—those are gold. Make it messy. Make it sound like how people actually talk when they’re nervous, angry, or halfway in love and lying about it.

↳ Themes You Accidentally Nailed (and Can Now Strengthen)

Themes tend to sneak in while you’re drafting. During edits? Time to spotlight them. Don’t slap it on with a neon sign—but do lean into the emotional throughline you already created. It’s probably smarter and more beautiful than you gave yourself credit for.

↳ Your Voice

Don’t edit your weird out. Editing is for clarity, not sanding down your style until it sounds like generic internet writing. Keep the voicey bits. The odd metaphors. The lines that sound exactly like you. That’s what readers fall in love with—not perfection.

↳ Trusting That You’ll Need Multiple Rounds

This isn’t one-and-done. Your second draft will suck differently than your first. Your third might suck less, but still suck. That’s fine. It’s part of the process. What matters is that each time, it gets sharper, truer, and more you.

↳ Not Quitting Halfway Through Just Because It’s Hard

Editing is hard. But you’ve already done the impossible: you wrote a damn book. That’s massive. Now you’re just sculpting it. Don’t give up because it’s messy. Don’t panic because it’s not “there” yet. Keep showing up. Even if it’s just one scene at a time. Even if you’re crying into your tea. Especially then.

[traumaone]

Mature

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 2k

warnings: angst, reader is purposefully petty, mentions of robby being an asshole, age gap, mentions of injury (care pile up, car crash), mentions of death

synopsis: Robby's POV of my fic Immature

note: Did somebody say Robby's POV??? (it was me, I said it). i'm probably going to come back and edit this a bit in the morning.

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

I’m your attending, and you’re my resident. Act like it.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

He’d been harsh, way too harsh. You made a difficult choice, chose to do a procedure you weren’t confident about in the interest of saving lives, and he’d torn you apart for it.

None of what he’d said was true; you didn’t lack discipline, you respected the chain of command, and respected him even more. He’d even taken a shot at Jack during his little spiel. 

The weight of his mistake had set in when he’d seen the tears threatening to spill, when you, so endlessly confident and sure of yourself, had refused to meet his eyes.

You’d bit back, put him in his place the way he deserved. He’d seen that kind of fire from you before, just never directed at him.

Robby watched you leave the hospital without even saying goodbye.

He calls a therapist after his shift, not his therapist, a therapist. It feels too real to sit down in an office, to let them open a file with his name on it, so he sticks to the phone, doesn’t even have the man named as a doctor in his phone.

He talks about you the entire appointment.

Day One

Robby texts you before he even gets out of bed.

He checks his phone while he’s making coffee, and finds no response from you.

He checks again before he showers, no response. 

And after he showers, still no response.

He leaves his apartment under the hopeful assumption that you’ll be waiting for him when he gets there, and you are. You’re pacing back and forth like a crazy person, but there none the less.

He smiles when he catches your eye, but the frown carved into your face stays.

“Do you need something, Dr. Robinavitch?” Ouch. That’s the tone you use with Gloria.

“I owe you an apology.” He’s starting to wilt under your frown.

“Yes, you do.”

“Tensions were high, I was struggling to keep it together, and I took it out on you. It was completely unfair, and I’m sorry.” He could say more, he could confess to you the millions of thoughts of guilt that had plagued him in his sleep, but it’s early, and you already seem tired of him.

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.” He knows from your tone that you don’t. “I guess I’ll see you inside.”

Robby watches you turn heel and walk away from him as casually as you would any stranger.

Robby trails after you, hoping that you’ll turn around for just a second, but you don’t.

He needs to earn your forgiveness, he knows that now. He pushed you too far, poked the bear too hard while knowing he’d get bit, and boy does that bite sting.

Day Three

Robby leaves his apartment twenty minutes early and takes a detour to stop by your favourite cafe.

He orders his coffee black, and yours with two creams and two sugars, the same way you’ve been drinking it since he met you.

There's a bit more of a pep in his step today. He knows that one coffee isn’t a fix all, but you’d actually spoken more than a few words at a time to him yesterday, so he thinks it’s a good step.

You’re already tucked behind your desk when he comes through the door, frowning at your computer as if it’s wronged you in some way. Something about the sight makes his chest ache.

“Abbot told me you came in early this morning, figured you didn’t have time for a coffee.” He’s lying through his teeth. He knows you never drink coffee before noon, it makes your hands shake.

You don’t even look at him, or reach for the coffee 

“Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch.” He’s heard you sound warmer with Garcia.

That ache from before only deepens. 

He nudges your chair with his foot, pushing you away from his desk so he can slip between your knees. It’s the closest he’s been to you in days, and the proximity, the lingering smell of your shampoo, is enough to make him feel weak in the knees.

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness?” It’s earnest, genuine, the most vulnerable he’s been in a while, and you dismiss him immediately. 

“You’re forgiven. I’m just working on my ‘respect problem’ you had so much to say about.”

You reach past him for your coffee, and Robby has to fight the urge to lean into the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Buttercup, I-”

The nickname slips out before he can correct himself.

Abbot had come up with years ago when you were new to your residency. The three of you had been sitting around a table in the staff lounge, eating breakfast in silence after a particularly long night shift. 

You were Abbot’s resident, almost a stranger to him, but you were sweet, incredible at your job, and you put an obscene amount of butter on the blueberry muffin you were eating, enough to show teeth marks. Abbot had laughed, cracked a joke about having to give you a stent some day, and from then on, you were buttercup.

“It’s Doctor,” You’re standing so close now Robby can smell the mint on your breath. “or my first name, or nothing. Respect goes both ways”

You’ve turned into a spitfire within a matter of seconds, and Robby loves it. He hates that you’re mad at him, really, he does, but this is a side of you he never sees, and the anger looks good on you, very good.

“Pull it together, you two.” Dana’s voice almost makes him flinch. “Incoming trauma, two minutes out.”

“On it.” Robby abandons his reconciliation plan. He doesn’t want your annoyance directed at him, but at least you’re talking. “Buttercup’s leading.”

You stomp away like a petulant child.

“Am I actually leading this, or are you going to take over the minute the patient comes through?”

“Oh, this is all you.” Robby reaches for the ties on the back of your gown, he’s not as gentle as he should be, but he can’t help but let his fingers brush against the nape of your neck when you pull away. “I’m not even gloving up.”

“Let's see how long that lasts.”

Robby stands vigilant at the trauma bay doors, eyes fixated on you and only you. You’re brilliant when you work, you always have been. It’s what he imagines watching daVinci paint the Mona Lisa would be like. 

When you stabilize the patient, faster than Robby knows he could’ve, you turn to him, a fox-like smile painted on your lips. “See how incredible I am when I’m not being pestered by questions?”

You’ve never looked sexier.

“Believe me, I’m well aware of how incredible you are.”

Day Five

“I’m covering Parker on the night shift for the next couple days.”

The two of you had been surprisingly civil yesterday, so of course you’re switching shifts.

“And who’s going to be covering you?” You don’t need to be covered, but he wants to know what you’ll say.

“You have Langdon, Collins, Mckay, and Mohan, not to mention King, Santos, Javadi, and Whitaker. You don’t need me here.”

“Sure, but I want you here.” He wants you here more than anybody, even Dana.

You fix him with a frown. “No you don’t. I’m not being nice to you this week.”

“No, you’re not,” He almost wants to laugh. “But that doesn’t mean I want you gone.”

“I appreciate that,” It’s the most sincere he’s heard you sound all week. “But I want to be gone for a little bit.”

“If Abbot were here he’d be telling us to talk out our problems.”

You laugh, and that ache in his chest returns.

“Then let’s be glad he’s not.”

Day Seven

Robby has a routine for Sundays; work his shift, say goodbye to you, stay a little late so he can talk to Abbot, walk to his favourite cafe, enjoy a cup of tea and watch the world pass by through the window.

He hasn’t deviated from it in years, but things are different today. 

He doesn’t know if you’re still upset with him, opposite shifts have kept the two of you from having a conversation that’s longer than a few words and related to anything other than work, but that doesn’t change that tomorrow is the anniversary of your arrival to the ED.

It’s silly of him, but he wants to commemorate it somehow, which is how he finds himself in a flower shop ten minutes before close, staring cluelessly at a fridge full of flowers while his nose starts to run. He settles on a multi coloured bouquet of hyacinths, both the flower of forgiveness, and your favourite. 

He tucks the bouquet away in a vase on his counter, and falls asleep thinking about your smile.

Night Seven

Robby wakes to nine missed calls, five from you, three from Dana, and one from Abbot.

He gathers from your messages that there was an accident, a bad one that has quickly overwhelmed the ER. He doesn’t hesitate to grab his things and flee from his apartment, not even bothering to lock his door behind him.

You were on the verge of tears by your last voicemail, and Robby just can’t grasp why. 

He makes it to the hospital in record time, and you’re the first thing he spots, standing in the same spot you’d been waiting for him a week ago. You’re standing eerily still, eyes focused on your phone, but you look okay, untouched.

“Did you guys get everything handled, or do you still need help in there?”  

It’s an attempt at playfulness, at easing the tension that had no doubt formed during his absence, but it doesn’t work, because the moment he sees his presence register on your face, you crumble.

Sobs tear from your throat with a sound that makes Robby’s heart shatter. 

He pulls you to his chest as quickly as he can, nuzzling his face into your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo as he feels your tears hit his neck. You’re shaking in his arms and he grips you tighter, hoping to compress your nervous system, but it only makes you worse.

“Shh, it's okay.” You only sob harder. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I thought you were dead.” Your voice sounds so small, almost broken.

Robby freezes. “Why would I be dead?”

“The transport crashed through the cafe you go to every Sunday, and you weren’t answering your phone. I thought you were going to die thinking I was mad at you.”

Suddenly it all pieces together. “Oh… Oh, I'm so sorry.”

He buries a hand in your hair, presses a kiss to your head and the sobs begin all over again.

It shakes him to his core. You’ve always been a force to be reckoned with, stronger than any of them by a long shot, but right now, you’re fractured, broken into pieces right between his arms.

You pull away eventually, and Robby misses the feeling of you in his arms instantly. “You have nothing to apologise for, I was being ridiculous.”

“That’s not ridiculous, I would’ve gone down the same road.” It’s true, painfully true.

You lift your eyes to look at him and Robby feels his heart break all over again. Even with tears streaming down your cheeks, your hair mussed, and your nose starting to run a bit, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m sorry.”

Robby smiles. “I know.”

“Everything’s mostly handled inside, we just have to get our shit together and prepare for the rest of the night.” You seem awkward now, unsure.

“I’ll come inside and help.” He’s not ready to be away from you yet.

“You don’t need to.” He knows you don’t mean it.

“I know,” He brushes the tears from your cheek, smiling again when you lean into his palm. “But I want to.”

[dacrystalsim]

TS3 Functional Closet Mod

The idea for this mod started with my want to convert TS2 Apartment Life closet. I could have used the Supernatural wardrobe as a base, but I wanted the doors to have proper animations and the ability to function like real closet doors against the wall, similar to how doors work in the game. So, this mod was created! 😊

What is this mod?

This mod functions as a dresser but includes a new animation that allows the doors to slide open like an actual closet. When the closet opens and closes, the Sim plays an idle animation, and when changing clothes, they use the spin animation.

The mod includes two different types, depending on the closet:

Dresser Type – Offers the same interactions as the base game dresser. This type is best for closets without mirrors.

Mirror Type – Includes interactions from the vanity table in Supernatural and Showtime (Don’t worry, the mod is 100% base game compatible!).

Important! This mod does not add a closet object to the game by itself. It only provides the necessary functionality for closet objects to work properly!

The Closet Object:

As mentioned earlier, this mod was created because I wanted to convert TS2 closet. The conversion is included with the mod, and you're welcome to use it as a base for creating your own closets! 😊

The closet comes in three different versions:

Opaque

Mirror – This version is split into two parts: the closet and a separate mirror for the animated door. To use it properly, simply place the mirror on the closet—it will slot into place and move with the door 😊

Glass

Both merged and unmerged versions are included—please install only one! (The merged file does not include the mod itself.)

How to Install?

Place the mod and the closet objects in your Mods/Packages folder.

Download links:

[SFS] | [MTS]

Credits: EA/Maxis, Blender, SimPE, S3PE, S3OC, TSRW, ILSpy, Visual Studio 2022 and Battery for the Script Mod Template Creator. Special thanks: @zoeoe-sims, @deniisu-sims, TS3CreatorCave discord server for all the help and Bloom from simlogical for creating a mirror door that I used as a reference to figure out how to make the closet move with the mirror ❤ @xto3conversionsfinds @pis3update @kpccfinds

Additional information, CASTable channels, polycount and how to make your own closet under the cut.

How to Create Your Own Closet?

Choose the version you'd like to clone as your base and ensure the OBJK is set correctly in S3PE for the closet type you want.

For a closet without a mirror: Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.ShelvesStorage.Crystal.Closet

For a closet with a mirror: Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.ShelvesStorage.Crystal.ClosetMirror

Polycount:

The 3 versions share the same polycount. LOD 0 (High Detail): 2430 LOD 1 (Medium Detail): 1070

Additional Info:

The closets are found under Storage -> Dressers in Buy Mode.

The original TS2 catalog description and price.

The meshes were UV edited to make them CASTable.

The package files are compressed.

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Rune, you/reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Parental yandere, infantilization gender neutral reader, forced age regression(?), language barriers, violence, death/murder (not major characters), kidnapping, SCP-inspired, implied dehumanization, Rune uses any pronouns

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while, just did some quick editing haha. Hope you enjoy! <3

You aren't a doctor, nor a psychiatrist, psychologist, or any sort of therapist. Your profession was actually to just tidy up the place and keep everything clean. Basically a janitor, but a little more specialized. You're not sure how you wound up getting the job, being completely inexperienced in this line of work.

But hey. It's money.

Working around such strange anomalies didn't scare you. You were only allowed to clean in the areas of those not deemed a threat, which is what made it not so bad. Most are kept in their own separate rooms where you wouldn't have to interact with them or look at them.

In the end, as long as you don't let curiosity get the best of you, it's just like cleaning any other facility.

Recently, you had been promoted to being allowed access to clean level three rooms, meaning a higher risk at being harmed.

But once again... it's money.

As you're doing your job, you hear a soft voice, but not quite human.

"Baby...?"

You turn your head. 9137, their file reads next to his door. They have long dark purple hair, long and pointy ears, and pink eyes that almost seem to glow. Their containment chamber is dark, so perhaps its just the lighting? Or maybe they just naturally do that.

The only clearly inhuman parts about them is their long thin black tail and claws, a gradient of black on their arms leading to their hands.

They wave softly, motioning for you to come closer.

"...me?" you say softly. Your coworkers had warned you about the friendlier SCP's. Their behavior may be innocent on the outside, but they know how to manipulate in order to get out. You know better, though. Surely you wouldn't fall victim to that. Its not like they can really do much behind this large bulletproof glass.

The humanoid creature seems content with this, sitting cross legged. They put their clawed hand against the glass. "You. My baby."

You squint at them in confusion, taking a moment to read the paper more thoroughly. As expected, it doesn't mention anything like this in their file.

The only information it gives is:

NUMBER: #9137

NAME: RUNE

HEIGHT: 6'10

WEIGHT: 236 LBS

AGE: (UNKNOWN)

CONTAINMENT CLASS: Euclid

SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES:

Subject 9137 must remain within their containment area at all times unless given permission from Dr. Kent. All rooms are to be kept dark or dimly lit, as Subject 9137 has been noted to become aggressive in brightly lit areas. No food or water is required for Subject 9137, as they seemingly have no need for any sort of nutrition.

Physical contact is not advised, but allowed if necessary.

All interactions must be recorded and filed.

ANOMALOUS PROPERTIES:

Subject 9137 is capable of some human speech, but does not understand it fluently.

Subject 9137 is able to emit a cognitohazard that decreases one's brain activity, rendering the person in a state similar to infancy. It is unknown how this happens, but it is theorized that 9137 is able to choose who it affects. It seems to only affect those in the same room as them.

There were some logs on interviews, but you didn't really have much time to read them before hearing the sound of what you could describe as purring. They are almost comparable to a cat with the wide-eyed look of admiration they're giving you.

You awkwardly smile. "I'm not your baby, I'm sorry..."

Their purring stops, looking saddened by your statement. But they shake their head, continuing to stare at you through the glass. "Name?"

Well, the file didn't say anything bad about telling them your name. "(Y/n)," you say. "You're Rune?"

"Yes," they smile, the tips of their teeth poking through their lips. They remind you of a shark. "You call me Mama or Papa. Because you are baby. Mine."

The way they said 'mine' sounds scarily possessive. You figure it'd be best to stay on their good side. As long as the lights aren't too bright and there's a wall between the two of you, you don't think they could try anything.

So you nod along. "Okay... Papa?"

They smile and clap their hands, making a cooing noise. They repeat your name under their breath as if they're committing it to memory. "(Y/n)... (Y/n)..." they make an attempt to pronounce your name as you did.

"Um... yeah, that's my name," you chuckle. "Well, I should get back to work. It was nice talking to you."

"No!" Rune slams their palm on the door. They begin speaking frantically in a language you do not know. The tone of their voice doesn't come off as malicious, however. If anything they just sound upset at the thought of you leaving. "Need baby! Please!"

"I can't," you sigh. "Look, um, I'll be back to clean tomorrow, we can see each other then. How's that sound?"

They seem conflicted, but ultimately nod. "Okay..."

...

True to your word, you come back the next day with the usual supplies.

"Baaaaby!" Rune smiles, hugging the closest thing near them; the glass.

"How are you?" you smile.

"Happy now. My baby here. Miss you very much."

They don't move an inch as you begin to sweep, simply staring at you contentedly with that same toothy grin on their face. Eventually they lay down on their stomach and rest their elbows on the floor, kicking their legs lazily while watching you.

It's almost cute. They feel more like a mother big cat with their cub than anything else.

When you've finally finished dusting everything off and spraying their table down, you take a break to sit on the floor opposite to them, as if you could share the space. They mimic you and sit criss-cross, smiling softly.

They point to the door, which requires a keycard from any level four staff, which you are not. "Open?"

"I'm not allowed," you admit sadly.

"Won't let you see Papa?" Their smile disappears again. "Bad white coats keep you from Papa...?"

You assume they're referring to the staff members dressed in white labcoats. You know why exactly the protocols are in place, so you can't bring yourself to agree, especially when you still have no idea how powerful they really are.

So you shrug. "Those are the rules. We can still talk, though. We just have to do it right here."

"Want to hold my baby," Rune sniffles. "You good. No one else good but you."

"Why's that?" you ask curiously. Sure, it's flattering. But you barely even know this person (can you even consider them a person?). It's nice having someone care for you so much, but its also quite sudden and suspicious. You know they're just an anomaly like everyone else here. And anomalies lie. They manipulate.

You cannot trust them, even if something in their expression breaks your heart a little bit.

"Been sad long time," they explain. "So so so sad until saw you." Their voice cracks. "White coats think me evil. Try hurting me. Poke me. Make me angry. All I wanted was family. Child I can love. Be parent to. White coats hurt you too. Right?" Rune points to the symbol of the foundation on your coat. They snarl angrily at it. "Make you wear. Don't let you leave. Trap you here."

You shake your head. "No... that's not true..."

"Mm-mm," Rune shakes their head. "Is."

They point to your eyes. You have heavy bags under them after being overworked. You look and feel drained. Not that they're wrong. The pay may be decent, but the environment isn't exactly... pleasant.

"It's fine though," you chuckle lightly. "I like working here. Besides, it's better than not having a job. There aren't many places hiring."

Rune crawls a bit closer, pressing their forehead against the glass. "I promise take care of you," they hum. "Soon you see Papa never hurt you."

This is becoming unsettling. While you doubt anyone as clingy and sweet as Rune could have bad intentions, there must be some sort of ulterior motive, right? They have to want something from you. Maybe its all a scheme to let them roam free and escape.

Not that you could blame them. Who would willingly live locked up in these conditions?

Still, you don't know anything about Rune outside of their file.

"What did you do when you weren't in here?" you ask. Hopefully you haven't upset them by rejecting their offer yet. But maybe this information could prove useful later on.

"Wander," Rune smiles. "Explore forest, rivers, cities. Walk the lands. Wandered far, never got lost. Know paths always. Then got put here."

"When did that happen?"

"Not sure," Rune murmurs. "Can't tell time. Long ago."

"I'm sorry," you say softly. This is a lot to take in, but you can't help but feel empathetic. You'd probably be going insane if you were in their shoes, away from a world you once knew for what could easily be decades, being studied every waking moment by people who may or may not even view you as a sentient lifeform.

Rune rubs the side of their face against the door, probably pretending its you. "I get revenge one day. Then (Y/n) be safe with Papa."

There's a chilling aura behind their words that you try to ignore.

...

A few more days pass by like this. Despite your skepticism towards their words, you find yourself falling into routine with the way you two behave. Rune acts almost like an actual parent in a way, even if its clear they're a bit confused on how humans work.

You find Rune waiting for you, which you're starting to become convinced they always do that whenever you leave. Like a dog waiting for its owner.

"Were you waiting for me?" you ask, smiling slightly.

"Of course," Rune replies, as if the idea of not doing so is unthinkable. "You come. So Papa wait."

"You don't need to do that all the time..." you sigh. "You can... go do whatever it is you usually do."

Rune tilts their head. "Like sleep?"

"Is there nothing else you can do?" you ask, a bit sad for them. "Do you have nothing to entertain yourself with? At all?" Rune shakes their head. "I'm sorry... I wish there was something I could do."

They coo, once again putting their large hand against the glass. "You talk with me. Make happy. Just wish you be in here with me. Want to hold my baby."

After you're done having your typical conversation with them, you leave with your supplies, only to see several of your higher-ups looking at you. A blonde-haired man gives a signal towards you, telling you to follow him in the other room. You oblige, knowing this was bound to happen eventually. He probably has seen the camera footage of you talking to them.

Great, this is the moment you get fired. You're sure of it.

When you're in your boss' office, you sit down. Your boss, Mr. Short, holds a hand up before you can begin.

"I want to offer you a promotion," he says.

"...pardon me?" you ask in shock. "Sir, I-I mean—"

"I've been going through camera footage and observing you speak with Subject 9137," he explains. "Usually staff interaction isn't allowed, but it seems that they really seem to like you." He slides you a folder. "We'd like you to assist us with our studies, getting close to them so we can collect information."

You blink dumboundedly, staring at the folder without taking it. "Why can't someone else more qualified do it? I'm just... a janitor."

"Well, to be honest with you," Mr. Short says. "All attempts to get personal information out of them have failed. Until now, that is. They seem very comfortable with you."

"But why do you want me to do this? Is it really that important?" you ask skeptically. Something feels off, but you can't place your finger on it.

"We simply want to know a bit more about them, is that so wrong?" Mr. Short asks. He opens the folder. "We'll take every single precaution necessary to make sure you aren't harmed. Even if we don't have much information about 9137's behavior, we will make sure to prepare ourselves for anything."

You fidget nervously, trying to read the documents.

Unfortunately, its complete jargon you don't understand.

"You'd be allowed in the same room as them," your boss continues. "We won't allow you in there for longer than an hour a day, due to the side effects others have gotten being in the same room as them."

Oh right, their special abilities or whatever. That whole brain activity thing.

"And... what do you need me to do?" you ask.

Mr. Short smiles. "Just act the way you always do. Get them to open up to you and reveal new information. There's some specific questions written down here, but you don't need to rush it. Act natural."

"How am I supposed to document it? Would you guys just use cameras?"

"We'd give you a recorder to keep inside your pockets and maybe plant a wire on you somewhere," Mr. Short says nonchalantly. "There's some things in the folder to sign if you wish to accept."

The thought of this is nauseating.

"So what do you say?"

Your eyes flicker back down to the paperwork, staring at it anxiously.

"I guess... okay," you nod. "Yeah."

...

The door hisses open with a soft sound, your keycard sliding back into your pocket.

And now comes the moment where you have to pray Rune isn't secretly plotting to kill you.

When you step in, it locks immediately behind you. You take a deep breath, a bit panicked from the overwhelming feeling of anxiety building inside you.

It takes Rune a minute to realize you've entered, their expression changing from surprise to joy when they register that it really is happening. It makes the guilt build up even worse inside you, but you force yourself to remember that Rune is technically your job now. In all fairness, its not like they would know you're gathering information about them, so what's the harm in asking?

Regardless, your morals feel compromised at best.

You figure there must be something your boss nor the doctors are telling you, because it doesn't make sense that they'd be so desperate as to make you do the grunt work rather than trained professionals.

But for now, you try your best to shove those doubts aside.

Rune wastes no time pulling you in for a hug, picking you up effortlessly in their arms as they purr loudly.

"My baby," Rune grins, holding you closely and squeezing tightly.

You pat their back and wiggle around in their grasp as a signal to put you down.

Rune does so reluctantly, continuing to hover over you like an overbearing parent. They smile with that toothy grin.

They make a hand motion, rushing out a quick, "Stay!" and scramble to grab several pillows, stacking them in the corner of the dimly lit containment chamber.

"Huh? What's this?" you ask, walking over to them.

"Nest!" they announce proudly, fluffing one more pillow.

You awkwardly sit on one of the pillows, smiling at the clear effort Rune has made to ensure you're comfortable.

"You didn't have to make a spot for me..."

"Papa make you comfortable," Rune replies as if it is obvious. "Do you like?"

"I do," you nod. You suppose there wouldn't be any harm in indulging Rune in their delusions, especially since its part of your task now to do so anyway. Its... a little fun. Not that you'd admit it. But hey, who hasn't wanted to be pampered at least once in their life?

Rune grabs you again, tugging you gently onto their lap with your back pressed against their chest. It makes you feel small. Fragile. You can hear Rune humming contentedly as they play with your hair.

"No more alone," they sigh happily, nuzzling the side of your head like a cat.

"Oh, um," you nervously glance at the door. "I can only stay for so long..."

They stop their gentle movements, wrapping both their arms tightly around your midsection. Rune squeezes you against them, hunching forward as if curling around you.

They don't reply. Its hard to tell whether or not they even heard you. For all you know, they may have known what you said and simply chose to ignore you.

Maybe its best not to test them.

"Can I ask you some questions?" you ask. At Rune stiffening, you stutter, "I just want to know more about my, um, papa. You can ask me questions, too."

Rune nods. "...yes," they reply. They lay their chin on top of your head. "What you want know?"

You think of a good question to start that isn't too sudden. Something casual that might seem natural. "How old are you?" You remember the file mentioning how Rune's age is unknown. "I know you said you can't tell time, but do you remember what it was like when you were born, maybe?"

They hum in thought. "My kind..." they struggle to find words. "My kind live very long."

"There's more of you?"

"Don't know," Rune murmurs. "Haven't found." They hug you closer. "Don't care. Baby only matter now."

You think about your next question. "Why do you see me as your baby?"

They tilt their head. "Instincts say you baby. Babies need love and protect. Like you."

That certainly clears things up.

"Do you see anyone else as a baby?"

Rune quickly shakes their head. "No. Others are mean. Scary."

You nod. "Do you have any questions for me now?"

That makes Rune perk up. They ask about your hobbies, favorite food, color, interests, all sorts of things to get to know you. Even though you're sure they have no idea what half of the things you said are, they still listen intently, trying to absorb as much information about you as possible. They seem overjoyed to know more about you.

Its genuinely pretty sweet.

As you answer the last question they had for you, you realize your time is almost up. You panic slightly, trying to pull away. Rune makes a confused cry, wondering why you suddenly jerked away.

"I have to go soon," you say sadly. "It's almost time for me to leave."

"No," Rune says lowly. "No, no no no..." They clutch onto you harder, keeping you still even as you try wiggling out of their grip.

"I can come back tomorrow," you remind them.

"Hurts when you leave!" Rune exclaims, tail wagging madly with their distress. "Hurts me here! Here!" They tap their heart repeatedly.

"They won't let me stay past visiting hours," you say apologetically. "They could get really angry with me. I'm sorry."

Rune purses their lips. "They keep you from me..." Rune mutters bitterly under their breath. You don't like the malice behind their voice. They pick you up, cradling you like one might do a swaddled infant. "Stay."

"You know I can't," you say sternly. "I'll come back tomorrow, I promise. Then we can talk some more."

It takes them a moment, but Rune finally sets you down on the floor, giving you one last bone-crushing hug before letting you stand up again.

"Papa promise keep baby safe one day," Rune whispers in your ear.

One day soon.

...

The next few days pass by fairly quickly. You wake up, arrive at work, and visit Rune, who greets you excitedly every single time, waiting for you to arrive just beyond the door.

You two spend most of the time cuddling while you converse with them.

One day, however, you decide to visit them, even though you've already visited them once that day for over an hour. But one or two more can't hurt that badly, right?

As usual, you use your card key, sliding it in smoothly before you hear it click and unlock. The door hisses open, and you enter their containment chamber. Rune perks up, smiling happily to see you again so soon.

"Hello, baby! Visit again?" Rune practically hovers over you, as they typically do if not holding you. "Miss Papa?"

"Yeah," you chuckle.

"Want nest?"

You nod, making your way to the pile of pillows with Rune. As soon as you're sitting down, Rune pulls you into their lap yet again, circling their long legs around you and your waist. You aren't even wearing the hearing device, but then again, you aren't here to get more information, anyway. This is just purely to spend time with Rune.

For whatever reason, being with them comforts you in a strange way.

Even though they've said some slightly worrying things, you figure they're safe enough. Their files may be limited, but your higher-ups don't seem worried about Rune hurting anyone.

They could have easily hurt you, yet you've been kept safe and sound.

You even notice them getting a little better at speaking your language. Sure, it still has a lot of grammar issues, and sometimes they use incorrect words completely, but its still improvement.

"Tired?" they ask, cocking their head to the side to observe your face. You jump slightly when you feel them trace underneath your eyes with their claws. "Dark spots here."

"Oh," you mumble. "Yeah, just a little sleep-deprived. That's all."

Rune looks concerned by this, kissing your forehead tenderly. "Poor baby. Sleep in nest."

"It's against the rules—"

"Sleep," Rune repeats firmly. They pick you up and lie sideways on the cushions. Your body is pulled until your back is against their chest. Almost instinctively, Rune wraps their limbs around you, caging you in protectively. "(Y/n) rest. Papa sing."

At first you want to argue that this is definitely a safety hazard, and that if anyone catches you sleeping here you could lose your job. But Rune starts rubbing soothing circles across your back while humming a tune from their own language, and you find yourself dozing off slowly.

...

When you wake up, Rune is still humming quietly.

You feel a brief sesne of dread; they told you not to spend longer than the time they gave you each day, right? And you're sure spending the night certainly crossed that threshold.

Especially when your mind feels as numb as the file had warned.

You attempt to pull yourself up, only for Rune to tug you back down, keeping you laying on the pillows with them. Rune seems to realize you've woken up, smiling contently when your eyes open blearily.

They greet you lovingly. "Sleep well?"

On top of your mind feeling numb, you realize its also hard to talk. Now you're sure your superiors were correct about you needing to stay away for too long, otherwise it could render you useless. Maybe if you hurry back right now, it could reverse the effects.

You wriggle slightly in their hold, attempting to communicate that you'd like to stand up.

Rune stares at you curiously for a moment, until your intentions dawn on them. They pull back a few inches, narrowing their eyes coldly. "Where going?" their tone is scarily sharp, contrasting greatly with the overly affectionate purring from before.

"Need to get back to work," you grit out. You're impressed you managed to say even one word to them.

They look conflicted, gazing between you and the door. Then, they smile. It isn't the sweet smiles you're used to, this one looks far more unnerving. It makes your skin crawl.

Rune picks you up with ease. Before you can begin questioning what they're doing, they grab your keycard from your pocket and slide it through the card reader by the door.

It still requires a code. You feel only a brief relief, until you see Rune enter it: 78500.

They must've memorized it after watching you put in the pin, which you admittedly never paid attention to whether Rune had been watching you or not. You had assumed they weren't smart enough to memorize codes.

Now, they walk you both outside, and into the halls.

The lights are blinding compared to what you've grown used to in Rune's containment room. They hiss at them, holding you tighter while keeping a swift pace despite not knowing where they're headed. They hide your head in the crook of their shoulder, as if they think you hate the lights just as much.

Alarms go off quickly as several researchers and doctors scramble to find the problem, realizing what has happened.

Just when a group of guards tries to intervene, Rune just lifts their hand and twists it gracefully, causing several of them to drop limply in the middle of the floor.

Noticing you had turned your head to stare in horror, Rune coos and hides your face back to their chest, cradling the back of your head.

"Don't look, (Y/n)," they murmur sympathetically.

You hear several screams and loud banging noises, as if bodies are being thrown across walls. Rune continues walking at the same pace.

Never have you once predicted they were this strong. Sure, they're an euclid class anomaly, but based on your encounters with them, they never appeared threatening.

Part of you wonders if even the doctors and other workers here know that they were capable of this amount of carnage.

You begin crying, though you doubt Rune hears it over the screaming people and blaring alarms surrounding them.

They must've been biding their time this entire duration just for this exact moment. And you played right into their plans perfectly.

There's someone's voice in the intercom telling all staff to evacuate immediately.

Rune mutters something in that language you don't understand. You start to understand when you feel yourself getting increasingly tired again, unable to fight as Rune uses their ability.

You wonder if the lights make them stronger. Normally the foundation doesn't care about their subjects' comfort unless it poses as a risk. But it would explain how they were able to keep such an overwhelmingly powerful creature in a room for this long; still, you doubt even they knew the extent of their abilities.

They carry you out of the facility, stopping only momentarily to breathe in fresh air. Or maybe they're basking in victory, you aren't really sure. Neither do you care anymore.

"Why...?" you sob. It's the only word you can manage.

They shush you, cradling your head against them even still. You feel yourself falling asleep, eyelids drooping lazily despite your struggles.

Rune rocks you gently. "We go home."

You don't know where that even is, and you doubt they do either.

They look scary right now; their eyes glowing brighter than ever, sharp teeth glinting from the sunlight. Long black claws that could tear apart anyone who dared cross them. Yet they treat you with such delicacy, even as specks of blood lie on their face.

All you can do is drift back to sleep, overcome by their powers.

[joojconverts]

4T3 Conversion of HistoricalSimsLife's CC Catalogue

So… here we are, haha! This is the grand project I’ve been working on for about three months now! I made a promise to all of you, so I’m here not only to fulfill that promise and make a bit of a comeback but also to celebrate reaching the incredible milestone of 3,000 FOLLOWERS!!!

I’m so grateful to all of you for everything that has happened since I joined this community, it’s one of the little shining points of my life, lol. So, let me give back by bringing your sims MORE THAN 150 pieces of CC, including clothes, hairstyles, accessories, and buy mode objects!

You’ve probably already guessed that I have A LOT to say about this set, so please, follow me after the cut! 💖

Hope you like it, enjoy!

In this compilation are included sets, mini-sets and standalone pieces that the original creator made! Posepacks, patterns, mods, and pieces categorized as “modern” are not included! HistoricalSimsLife has a lot of 3T4 conversions, and naturally they're also not included EXCEPT for the ones that are mesh edits (e.g. here and here)! TSM to 4 conversions are also not included, as you can find every item converted to TS3 here by votenga! I also re-converted CC that I had previously converted before, such as the printing press set and the dandy suit!

————— —————

I'll link the CC just so you know what I'm talking about!

Known Problems:

Most of the time the sleeping animation that comes with the One With Nature mod looks off when making your sim sleep under the prehistoric lean-to shelter. I'm not sure why but instead of sleeping horizontally they sleep vertically, so they clip with the branches that are on the floor. Two times while I was testing they slept horizontally tho, so I'm not sure if I can fix it. Sorry!!

The drawer (chest) of the Kativip Library set doesn't have an animation!

The telescope's eyepiece looks a bit off when a sim is using it. The way the mesh is made is very different from ts3's telescopes, and it would be quite hard to make it looks seamless and also it wouldn't look good, as ts3's telescopes all look kinda silly imo hahah. Hope you don't mind it very much!

The celtic cape might clip depending on the clothes being used and the animation being played!

The round weave rug of the Rustic Living Set generates some white lines when zooming really far out. I thought it was UV map, but I tweaked it and they're still showing up. It's only apparent if you look closely tho!

LIGHTING GLITCHES ONLY APPEAR ON CAS!

* Note that teens and elders have neck gaps. This is sadly the price for having them available! For teens, try using this and this slider by gruesim!

Please let me know if you find any problems!

————— —————

ALL OG CREDITS GO T​O @historicalsimslife, Kativip and EA/Maxis! IT'S NOT MY MESHES, AND IT’S NOT MY TEXTURES, I JUST CONVERTED THEM TO THE SIMS 3!

————— —————  

Buckle up now...

NOTES & INFO:

The whole catalogue is quite low-poly and gameplay friendly, so don’t worry about that!

The whole catalogue is categorized into folders once you extract the zip, so you can pick and choose if you're playing in a specific era!

The buy mode items have collection files so you can find them a lot easier (except for the crib, the map painting and the aztek sink)! Just put them inside your "collections" folder in ts3's documents folder!

I highly recommend using the One With Nature mod by @spheresims while using the prehistoric collection!

The printing press letter plate works as a functional computer, and it's categorized as so!

The printing press desk and chair both have 4 matching presets! They're all different wood presets!

The hollow food storage works as a functional fridge for your prehistoric sims!

The Pile of Rocks cave works as, you guessed it, a cave! Actually no lol, it works as a tent, and your sims can sleep inside! It also has 5 presets, all stone textures, first one is an overlay, the rest is recolorable!

The sleeping underlay works as a sleeping bag! It has 2 recolorable presets!

The Skyrim lean-to has 2 presets! First one has an overlay texture, second one is recolorable!

The prehistoric lean-to shelter has 7 presets. The last one (fur) is recolorable, the others are overlays!

The rustic living set has two bed frames (single and double bed) and two matresses! All you need to do is to put the bed frame first, and then the matress on top of it, now you have two separate objects that can be customized!

The weave rug has 6 recolorable presets!

The round weave rug has 7 presets, and they're all combinations of recolorable and overlayed parts!

Both love seats and both bed frames of the rustic living set have 3 presets, different types of wood! Not recolorable.

The matresses also have 3 presets, they're combinations of overlayed and recolorable parts!

The old map painting has 4 non-recolorable presets!

The aztek sink has 4 presets, and they're combinations of overlayed and recolorables parts except for the last one! It also works as a functional sink!

The two empty boockases of the Katvip library set work as displays, so there are many slots for you to put decor on!

All hats/caps are hat-slider compatible and unissex!

The Dandy Lady hat (renamed it from ts3's hairstyle) has 3 different versions: One with feathers (that I made), one without them, and one without feathers nor decorations (renamed as Gone to Riding Hat)! You need to have V1 installed for the textures of the other two to show up, as they're linked!

The maid dress has 4 different versions (i know the post says 3 but it's 4 lol), as you can see on the preview! They work just like the Dandy Lady hat, above!

The Pirate Dress has an overlay you can find in accessories! Using it with the outfit you can recolor the belt and the buckle! If you don't use the accessory, those parts will just be a usual overlay texture!

You need to use a no feet mesh to use the Boy's 1700s Frock Coat, you can find one here!

The Boy's 1700s Frock Coat has has an overlay accessory, same thing as the Pirate Dress! With it you can recolor the belt, the pockets and the buckle!

The Edwardian Tea In The Garden dress has 6 presets, 5 of them are floral overlays, and the last one is a solid version.

The Regency Morning Dress has 11 presets. First one is a solid version, the last four are patterned overlays, and the rest are recolorable patterns.

The Ester Wedding Dress has 4 recolorable presets, the patterns of the bodice change!

The Simply Rococo Dress has 15 totally recolorable patterned presets!

The Embroided Rococo Dress has 2 presets: the first one is the original texture as an overlay, and the second one is a recolorable version of it (though not as good, since it's a very complicated texture).

The Vintage Men's Exercise Outfit has 6 patterned presets, all recolorable!

The Edwardian Men's underwear and the Edwardian Men's nightgown both have 2 presets, one striped and one solid. Both recolorable!

The Dandy Suit has 9 presets, first one's solid and the rest are patterned, all recolorable!

The Celtic Warrior Outfit has 2 presets. In the first one the plaid is an overlay, original texture. In the second one you can change it however you want using CASt!

The Bodacious Boy Suit has 2 presets! The mask is different, so you can recolour different parts!

The Vintage Girl's Dress With Bows has 8 presets, one of them is a solid version, another one is a recolorable patterned preset, and the rest are patterned overlays!

The Colonial Living Girl's Dress has 5 presets, last one is a solid recolorable version, and the rest are patterned overlays!

The Victorian Tweed Dress Top has 6 presets. The last one is a totally recolorable preset, the other 5 are overlay presets!

The Celtic Dress Top has 2 presets. First one is a long sleeved version, and the second is a vest like top with long sleeved white shirt underneath. Both recolorable!

The Victorian Tweed Dress Skirt has 6 presets, same thing as the top!

The Celtic Dress Skirt has 2 presets. First one has an apron with it, and the second one doesn't! Both recolorable.

I think that’s all haha! Now to the download! <3

G-Drive |  Dropbox

☕  buy me a coffee or become a patron!

————— —————

Credits & Special Thanks:

@historicalsimslife, Kativip and EA/Maxis for all the meshes and textures! Check out the full catalogue here!

Thank you @deniisu-sims, @suteflower, @sideshowsnob and @twinsimming for the general support (and help, where needed lol) when creating this collection!

💖 @eternalccfinds @katsujiiccfinds @sisilou @darkccfinds @xto3conversionsfinds @wanderingsimsfinds

[sixeyesonathiel]

HEAR ME OUT. TELL ME Y'ALL SEE THE VISION AND I WILL COOK SMTH IMMEDIATELY.

i heard y'all loud and clear now, now i need y'all's help in deciding what type of satoru will be in the fic, help me here! <3

POSTED!

satoru gojo is the guy everyone in your major knows—ridiculously smart, annoyingly hot, borderline unapproachable unless you’re part of his stupid little circle. he’s got freelance gigs pouring in, edits promo reels for actual brands, and once got a professor to extend a deadline just by smiling.

you worked together once—on a boring group project no one else cared about. but he edited your presentation slides into a cinematic masterpiece and you’ve never forgotten it.

so months later, when your fashion content finally starts gaining traction, and you’re drowning in vlog footage with no time to cut it down—you text him.

hey. remember when u edited our project? can u help me trim some vids pls… i suck at this lol”

you say it’s just a favor. just cutting out the boring parts.

but the videos you send him? yeah, they’re anything but boring.

you talk to the camera like it’s a boyfriend.

you laugh too loud.

you try on heels in front of full-body mirrors.

and every time you drop a necklace or lean over to pick up a perfume bottle? you look straight into the lens.

no jump cuts. no edits. just intent.

and fine, maybe he spends way too long on the lingerie try-on segment. maybe he pauses every time you bend over, frame-by-frame, like he’s adjusting color grading—but really he’s just watching the way your thighs press together. maybe he syncs your audio and loops your giggle four, five, six times, rewinding the way you say “oops” like it’s a fucking song.

maybe he exports that three-second timestamp—just the part where your fingers hook into the band of your panties and you whisper “should i keep this one?”—into a separate folder buried deep in his hard drive.

it’s not even named professionally. not “asset_ref3” or “raw_pull_b.”

nah.

it’s named "fuckmepls.mp4"

and it lives in a folder called "NOT work (unless)"

he tells himself it’s research. he tells himself every editor does this. but his dick’s in his hand more than it’s on his mouse these days, and you’re to blame. you with your lazy drawl and shiny lip gloss and the way you talk to the camera like it’s his mouth you’re feeding lines to.

but then, one day, a file comes in titled:

"march haul (raw).mp4"

he clicks play.

it’s you. in your bedroom. in new lingerie. in front of the mirror. saying things like—

“god, i hope this one fits…”

“oops, sorry—too much cleavage?”

"i bet you’d pause right here, wouldn’t you?"

it ends mid-sentence.

five minutes later, another file drops into the folder:

"march haul (real).mp4"

you text:

oops. wrong send lol. this is the real one!

you don’t even delete nor unsent the wrongfully sent file.

he doesn’t ask you to.

that night, he doesn’t even pretend. he edits the video with his cock in hand, moaning your name while you test lip colors like you’re daring him to fuck up a timestamp.

now every time you ask for “another quick edit,” he’s sweating. because you’ll drop something again. you'll bite your lip again. you’ll look into the camera like you know exactly what he’s doing with that footage.

and you’re still calling it a favor.

[reiding-writing]

Might be controversial but I like enemies to lovers more than cold reader x Reid. But kinda similar as they both could have slow burn. If that’s something you would wanna write I’d love it 🥹

PETTY & PETTIER. /spencer reid/

you knock over spencer’s favourite mug on your first day, big deal right? well, yes apparently.

s1!spencer enemy!reader 1.1k fluff? series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | minor break from cold!reader in the form of something that’s almost similar, guess i have a type— (also new blog theme means new fic layout so yay)

Your first day at the BAU is going well—until it isn’t.

Gideon had been your mentor since your academy days, which is how you found yourself standing awkwardly in the bullpen of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, a cup of coffee in one hand and the weight of expectation on your shoulders. You were young, sure, but Gideon saw something in you. He was good at that.

What he wasn’t good at, apparently, was warning you about Dr. Spencer Reid.

It’s an accident—your elbow knocks the mug off the counter before you even realise it’s there. The ceramic shatters against the tile floor, coffee splattering everywhere. You freeze, mortified.

“Are you serious?”

You turn toward the voice, already apologising. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

You’ve read about him in your files before starting—youngest FBI recruit, three PhDs, literal genius. You expected someone…awkward, maybe. Soft-spoken. A little nervous.

What you didn’t expect was the sheer level of contempt in his expression as he stares down at the broken pieces of his mug like you just ran over his childhood dog.

“That was my favourite mug,” he says, voice flat.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“It was a limited edition.”

Oh, God. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

He scoffs. “You can’t buy a new one. It was a vintage 1997 Star Trek Voyager mug featuring—”

“Okay, Jesus, I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender. “I screwed up. It was an accident.”

Reid makes a noise that is, without exaggeration, a huff. Like an actual hmph sound. It’s so ridiculously childish that you’d laugh if not for the intensity of his stare.

Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks away.

You watch him go, bemused, and then glance around. Elle and JJ exchange amused looks. Morgan grins. Gideon doesn’t seem to notice, which is so typical of him that it’s almost funny.

It’s fine, you think. He’ll get over it.

Except, Spencer does not get over it.

—

Over the next few weeks, you begin to notice it. The way Reid actively hates you.

At first, you assume it’s about the mug. But the way he glares at you when you so much as breathe near him? The way he sighs—loudly, dramatically—when Gideon assigns you both to work together? The way he outright avoids talking to you unless absolutely necessary?

No.

This isn’t about the mug.

This is a personal vendetta.

And honestly? If Reid wants to be petty, you can be pettier.

The war starts small.

Reid insists on taking the seat farthest from you in the briefing room? You get there earlier the next day and steal his spot.

He gives you pointed looks every time you mess up a minor detail in a case summary? You start correcting his grammar in reports.

He spends five minutes explaining a concept you already understand? You interrupt with, “Actually, I already knew that.”

The others notice.

Morgan looks between the two of you with pure amusement. “Okay. What’s going on with you two?”

“What?” you ask innocently.

Reid scowls. “Nothing.”

JJ and Elle exchange looks. Hotch sighs, rubbing his temple like he can already feel the migraine forming.

Morgan points between you. “No. No, there’s something going on. Because every time one of you speaks, the other looks like they’re plotting murder.”

“We’re fine,” you say, just to be petty.

“We’re not fine,” Reid snaps.

You smirk. “Wow, you sound upset.”

“You are infuriating.”

“You started it.”

Reid glares at you. “You started it.”

“You started it by hating me for no reason.”

The team watches this unfold like a ping-pong match.

“Okay, pause,” Elle interrupts. “Reid, why do you hate her?”

Reid crosses his arms. “Because she’s annoying.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“That’s enough of a reason.”

—

If the team was hoping that addressing it would fix things, they were wrong.

Now, it’s open warfare.

You start signing him up for unsolicited newsletters—scientific journals, conspiracy theory blogs, cat fact subscriptions.

He moves all your pens exactly one inch to the left every morning.

You convince Garcia to change his ringtone to the Barney & Friends theme song.

He leaves a 32-page thesis on the mathematical improbability of you ever besting him in psychological warfare on your desk.

The team is exhausted.

“They’re children,” Morgan says one day, watching as you and Reid glare at each other across the bullpen.

“No,” JJ says, “because children eventually grow out of it.”

Hotch looks like he’s considering transferring one of you just to get some peace.

—

The final straw is when you steal his coffee.

Which—okay. Maybe that’s fair.

But in your defence, you had no idea that Reid had some sort of special coffee blend that he kept in the breakroom. You’d run out of yours, saw an unmarked bag, and figured it was free game.

Apparently, it wasn’t.

Because the moment you walk around Reid’s desk with your coffee in hand, he scowls.

“You stole my coffee.”

“Yeah,” you say, blowing the steam from your mug pointedly in his direction. “What’s your point?”

His nostrils flare.

Reid doesn’t say anything. He just glares.

It’s a declaration of war.

Fine.

Bring it.

—

The rest of the team stops trying to intervene.

At some point, it just becomes a fact of life: the sky is blue, the BAU travels a lot, and you and Spencer Reid hate each other.

It’s not even professional rivalry at this point—it’s just petty.

You and Reid spend an entire plane ride passive-aggressively moving your seats to be as far from each other as possible.

When he lectures about a statistic, you purposefully contradict him—even when you know he’s right.

He takes your favorite pen? You take his entire stack of files and put them back out of order.

He switches the sugar in your coffee for salt? You swap his sugar for salt and take the last cookie from the breakroom.

It’s stupid.

It’s childish.

And it’s the principle of the thing.

If Reid is going to be petty, you refuse to be anything less than pettiest.

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

Only one guy on here has two eyes, and even then, they're fake eyes. It's big-tits-McGee, Mr. logic man extraordinaire, Geneva Suggestion Believer himself: Shockwave! Yep, all 12 of him, a reasonable amount of alternates to have, unlike some people... Shockwave Height Chart, everyone, fuckin wee.

Edit: I didn't like the old scaling I had so I changed it. The old chart is at the end of this post.

Quick Disclaimer, if any of the images look weird, it's because I had to stitch a few separate images together to create a full body shot of the character.

Here are links to my Bumblebee Chart, my Optimus Chart, my Megatron Chart, and my Soundwave Chart. !!NEW!! -> Ratchet & Ironhide. Please go gawk at how many Optimus designs there are, sweet fuck, there are so many. For future reference, all these charts will be filed under my "Transformers Height Charts" tag and my "aka the adventures of a..." tag.

Master Post

Explanations and Sources below the cut.

Unicron Trilogy Energon - ~14 feet 3 inches (No actual source, and Energon doesn't have any listed heights anywhere. For the uneducated, the Unicron Trilogy has given each of its 3 seasons separate names and 3 separate art styles. This is the design used in Energon (S2) though he only shows up in Energon. I was able to compare him to Optimus, and using Cybertron's listed heights, I got this number. I am in physical pain, it does not get better from here. Hilarious side note, his Japanese name is Laserwave, which contains the missing "wave" of Shockwave in this iteration's name.)

Earth Spark - ~15 feet (No actual source for ES, but using a barn door to get Bumblebee's height, then Optimus's, then Megatron's height, I was able to make a guess at Shockwave's. Shockwave comes up to about Megatron's chin; I lost the screenshot I used. It's so convoluted, I know, but it's all I have, also, tiny universe, everyone is so small)

TFA Longarm/V1 - 15 feet 2 inches (Animated has no actual numbers, but the lovely @phoenix-inanis has provided a frankly astounding resource with their own calculations for the heights of all the TFA characters. Go look at it, it's wonderful -> https://phoenix-inanis.notion.site/TFA-Height-Chart-f6ad2960ca8c4c5b859ee4958723aaa4?pvs=4)

Gen 1 - ~18 feet (TFWiki, uuuuh I've got nothing to add)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~18 feet (I have no source for this, other than assuming that because this design is identical to Gen 1, they are the same height. That's it, really)

Knight/Capel-Verse - ~18 feet (No source, and he never stands next to anyone I can measure him against, but because the TFOne director has said that this movie is both canon to the LA movies and its own separate canon, I am assuming the height I figured out for TFOne applies to this universe as well. Until proven otherwise. Capel directed the ROTB movie if you're wondering why his name is there)

One - ~18 feet (No source, I got this number by comparing him to Optimus. Now, I am aware of the TFO heights listed on the wiki, but I reject those numbers on principal. A: Those numbers are sourced from the Walmart Promotional AR Experience that came out before the movie. B: There are three decimal points, and that number does not convert into a whole number in meters (which is originally what I thought was weird about it). C: The director has said that this movie is both canon to the LA movies and its own separate canon, so I have elected to use the few given heights we have from KCV and worked from there. My Optimus post has slightly more context if you want it)

Cyberverse - 20 feet (This comes from a screenshot of this video which has the Cyberverse height chart everyone uses, though the quality of the screenshot is iffy.)

Aligned Cont. WF/FOC/TFP - 26 feet 2 inches (This number comes from Fandom and I completely believe it, even if they don't list their source, because the entirety of this universe is freakishly tall. Go look at my other charts, all the ALC designs are monstrous compared to the others)

TFA V2 - 29 feet 11 inches (Once again, phoenix-inanis did a fuck ton of work, go look at it, it's wonderful -> https://phoenix-inanis.notion.site/TFA-Height-Chart-f6ad2960ca8c4c5b859ee4958723aaa4?pvs=4)

Bayverse - ~30 feet (Ok, so I don't have a source for this one. There used to be one, BV Shockwave used to be listed as 40 feet tall bc of an article done to promote the movie, but that is no longer listed for reasons not known to me, and making some comparisons to Optimus, I have found them to be kinda close in height. It's very hard to actually validate any of this. Shockwave never stands normally next to anything I can use as a ruler at any point in the movie. He's always at a dramatic angle or partially covered by something in the shot. It's so violently frustrating. I am confident he is around this height though, I just can't figure out how much taller than Optimus he is)

And that's it. I didn't have to leave any designs out, all of them are included here (hopefully). It was so nice to work with a character where I wasn't drowning in 20+ designs across every goddamn universe.

Edit: Here are the different layers separated.

vvv Old scale vvv

[cimtee]

Actually. Here’s a thing.

Below: all canon physical descriptors of the characters. That I remember. And likely some that are made up bc my brain doesn’t have a working file system.

If any of them are incorrect please do let me know! And if there is anything significant I missed out, let me know that too! It will be very helpful as I finalize their designs 🙏

To be clear, my intention is NOT to be canon patrol. I love love love seeing all the different interpretations of characters. They are all so wonderful and distinctive and personal.

My own design development has been based on given details + incorporation of my own ideas, imaginings, etc. (Oft they are self-indulgent too. Always fighting the urge to put freckles and diastemas and prominent noses on every single person I ever draw)

Without further ado. A masterpost of sorts.

Edits in blue!

Blue

Race/ethnicity unspecified (personally imagine her with South Indian roots, through Maura ofc. Artemus is her Welsh half. Presumably. His DNA may just be chloroplasts…) See @transronanlynch’s reblog about this. Btw all these green edits are thanks to their infodumping I LOVE INFODUMPING

Short (5’?)

Brown eyes

Short dark uneven hair, often held in place with clips

Doesn’t shave

Both her and Maura are “compact, athletic, and hard to tip over.” Strong enough for the fair bit of manual labor she does on page

Weirdo clothes (affectionate). Lots of self-made or secondhand items and layering. Look at reblog for some specifics!

Gansey

Anglo-Saxon poster boy

Average height

Light brown hair

Hazel eyes

Contacts mostly, round gold wire-rims otherwise

Straight nose

Straight white teeth

High cheekbones. I think he’s even described as having a “regal” face structure but I could’ve pulled that outta my ass

Dimples!!! How did i forget to write this. I marked it as Extremely Important the moment i read about them

Tanned and fit. Described as muscular several times and was also on the rowing team, so at the very least his upper body is strong [I lied. I just read up on rower physique and they primarily work their lower body (core and legs). I’m sure Gansey’s got strong arms too tho]. Mentioned in trb that he has square shoulders actually!!

Good hair (usually styled)

Not very hairy, Ronan makes fun of him for not being able to grow a beard and Blue remarks as much at toga party

Golf club clothes fr🪦 often in brightly-colored polos. khaki slacks. boat shoes🪦🪦 fancy watch.

Adam

“White trash.” Really he is just some Creature

Tall and slim and “wiry” shoulders

He’s beautiful but it’s unconventional enough that he refuses to believe it

Dirt/sand colored hair that he cuts on his own (“close-cropped” in cdth. Nice. Always imagined he keeps it short for practicality)

Blue eyes

Tanned

“Barely there” eyebrows

Prominent cheekbones

Hands - yess all these are ringing a bell: they’re quite knobby, prominent knuckles and “thumbs that jut out boyishly” (thnx Ronan for being rlly gay and supplying us with these highly important details)

Alas the freckles are NOT canon but they might as well be

Secondhand uniform. Washed out/frayed. Always wears a cheap wind-up watch until he gives it to Opal in TRK. In TDT he has a dreamt watch that shows the time of wherever Ronan is

Casual: basic tees (infamous coca cola,, I think he looks so good in red tho) and jeans and cargos (wore a camo pair with the coke shirt). Has been described wearing boots. Probably sneakers too but I don’t remember a specific instance

Work: mechanic overalls for the most part. He’s often streaked and greasy from fixing cars

These three canon descriptors highly influence how I draw him: elegant, gaunt, sepia

Extra: He inherited Persephone’s tarot deck, whose cards are illustrated in pencil “vague, scratchy, and dark”

Ronan

Irish ancestry (again, presumably. He wasn’t exactly bred)

Tallest of the bunch. “Built” shoulders

Dark brown hair. Buzzed. Naturally curly

Icy/shark blue eyes

Pale skin

Thick brows

Thin lips

Misses one shave and looks like he crawled out of the backrooms (also affectionate)

Back tattoo (later: left arm)

Scars on forearms

Niall clone. They look the same

I believe Declan has been described with a Roman nose, and the Gray Man notes some of the brothers’ facial similarities, including their noses. In conclusion Ronan’s nose is arched in some sense. But in general his features are narrower/sharper than Declan’s.

Mostly black clothes. Tanks and jeans and boots and leather jackets (on the jackets: pretty sure he wears one in TDT when he’s on the run with Hennessy and Bryde. Also found a paper from when I first read trc that I wrote a bunch of descriptors on, and it said “has a biker jacket.” Not that I particularly trust my past self much). Leather bracelets that used to be Niall’s.

Incapable of wearing uniform properly. Loose tie, untucked shirt, just imagining him in the suit jacket is an atrocity

Noah

Czerny is a Slavic surname

Short

Pale. Light hair, eyes, and skin

Small eyes

Large ears yay!! I thought so but wasn’t sure enough to write it originally

Pointed, crooked nose (wonder if it was broken when he was killed?)

“Smudge” over his left cheekbone

Timid disposition, often slouching/making himself smaller. His hands often hang at his sides (it’s making me think of the typical socially-anxious “what do i do with my hands”)

Perpetually disheveled Aglionby uniform that is also perpetually on him

My guy wears Topsiders… (this makes sense but it also makes me uneasy. He’s a Vans kid in spirit. Is it even possible for him to change clothes, I have no idea. Weekends wearing Aglionby uniform would raise questions, but then again many other things should’ve raised questions too)

When he’s feeling particularly ghosty he becomes transparent/blurred/difficult to focus on. His eyes look dark and empty. The smudge on his cheek looks like an obvious injury.

Close to the end he starts lookin dead dead without Blue’s amplifying. I think bones n rotting flesh n stuff? “Soul threaded through naked bones.” Though I think what Blue perceives to be a terribly dead Noah is mainly metaphysical

Henry

Many thank to @robobee for all the Henry details (and some others above). I wrote this post at 3am and by the time I got down to Henry I was crashing out. I knew I had too little on him

Korean/Chinese

Tall!

“Glittering black hair.” Spiked but in a very deliberate Aglionby way idk

Can’t believe I for got the WICKED EYEBROWS they are literally my favorite part of his face to draw TT

And prominent cheek bones? What’s with all these boys and their chiseled faces

Wears showy clothing/accessories. “Snazzy jacket” I also could’ve sworn he wore Gucci glasses once but again my memory has a history of being fallible

Has been caught in HD in a Madonna tshirt

[callmeakaashi]

― liars ˚⋆｡.ᡣ˚ ˚

synopsis: you and the most guilty sneaky link of your life. genre: forbidden romance. situationship. power imbalance. wc: 302 warnings: smut. drinking. language. taglist: tbd

you didn't mean to fall for him.

in fact, you met him at a mixer. a small thing for actually important people in the sports industry.

as a social media manager, you needed to be there; as a brand rep, you weren't respected. you were supposed to smile and post, not network, not be taken seriously.

"stay in the shadows" as your boss, ayumi, describes it.

this could be the stepping stone of your career.

until there was a voice in your ear.

"what outlet are you here for?"

and now you're three months into whatever this is. in his apartment, his phone, his thoughts.

and haunting his girlfriend's, inadvertently of course.

but now your hands are splayed across his back, nails filed but somehow still making a red mess of his back. you can taste his breath – mint and a hint of citrus.

that goddamn martini.

first choice was to blame it on the alcohol. denial. maybe this could be something you could swallow easier if you thought of it as a mistake. a miscalculation. a fuck up.

but not reading an email correctly was a mistake. a typo is a fuck up. arriving late is a miscalculation.

this isn't swallowing. this is choking. shit, struggling to breathe.

and this isn't the first time. or the second. or even the third.

you'd lost count of the times you'd left his apartment in those early mornings – before ayumi—your boss and his girlfriend, came to visit before heading to work.

the irony of it burned worse than the tequila.

how you'd be in one of his shirts and damn near pantsless, carrying your clothes and praying to god she doesn't notice how the car parked behind him looks just like her coworkers'.

― kuroo, bokuto, oikawa, suna, akaashi, atsumu, ushijima, terushima

do not repost, translate, or edit my work. this blog is my digital altar. please respect it. ©callmeakaashi 2025.