#or stared at him without saying anything

[captmuldoon]

'He sees something in me. Could lead anywhere. Anywhere.'

[ri-afan]

Thought posed:

Danny does the college stuff and interning for stuff at Wayne Enterprises while living in Gotham, but he doesn’t catch the Bats attention because he simultaneously is both Just Normal Enough while the Bats are Slightly Out Of Step of normal long enough that things with Danny don’t catch their attention. (Gotham as a whole is a huge ‘well this might as well happen’ place and after however many years…the threshold is a bit off for weirdness. Pair that up with normal Batdrama and role-code-switching and minor things are likely going to be subconsciously overlooked if not clocked as Dangerous.)

(Does Danny know the Bats’ IDs? … He would deny it if asked. Not his circus business though. He does think it’s smart that they at least try to cover their faces, unlike when he played the hero. He meets Clark before Superman and feels like he’s on the Office or something.)

Danny moves on with the astro-stuff (whether an astronaut, an astrophysicist, or whatever else) in another city and catches the attention of another hero as Not Normal, What’s Up With That Guy?? (two parts coincidence, one part Danny’s willingness to trust for the better, one part Uncanny) and they track his history to Gotham/WE and decide to ask the Batclan if they knew anything.

They find out nothing really is wrong with Danny (…the JLD was not called or conferred with, unfortunately for all) but it does spark the reeducation refresher of the Gotham Clan for Human Weirdness (that also educated the rest in just how messed up Gotham can be).

[puppppppppy]

the cat seems to like being dragged across the floor that he goes still as im hauling him across the kitchen. he is a little too easygoing it scares me

[autisticrosewilson]

Pookie I’m thinking about obsessed loser Grant and Jason who doesn’t know he exists again 😔 I know when you wrote that little thing and sent it to me before it was like a high school AU. And now I’m thinking about Grant finding out that Dick is Jason‘s older brother in that specific context. But I can’t figure out what the Grant-Titans beef would be.

I just know that Grant was SO UPSET when he found out. 

THEMMMM Really funny if Grant's main goal at Gotham Prep is to become the quarterback, but Dick knocks him right out of top spot. And as a punishment for losing, Gym teacher Slade relegates him to water boy. So he absolutely hates Dick, and makes it his mission to make him and the Titans (their team name) lives miserable.

So you see the most beautiful creature that's ever existed, someone who's just been moved up into your grade because on top of stepping straight out of a Michaelangelo painting he's also a genius, only to find out that he's your arch nemesis' little brother. The asshole you've made life hell for since freshman year is neurotically protective of the love of your life. Grant's in shambles, but he won't let that stop him.

Especially when Grant gets Jason a job interning at Kane Corp. Not that Jason knows that. Adeline has never seen Grant so interested in the family business.

[monachopism]

am i autistic or am i just paranoid. level: impossible

[gyrovagi]

wip wednesday tuesday fools'day

(from the same Beautiful Dak-wai Vision fic that this is from, which i am increasingly certain isn't going to cohere into a narrative/i'm just so out of Veilguard Mode that i don't think it'll ever get finished)

The first question a Warden ever asked Dak-wai was, “Where’d you learn to fight?”

(They were called Schlegel, then, though they would not stop being called Schlegel for some time. By any name, it was the first time they’d been asked that, and so the first time they realized they both did and did not know how to answer.)

The villagers of Tassing asked them little, though they would have been owed their curiosity about the foreigner they’d pulled back from the brink of death. They contented themselves with the knowledge that their new resident possessed a strong pair of hands to work with and the skills to defend their homes from danger. 

Dak-wai had appreciated the villagers’ discretion these past two years. They hadn’t considered the possibility of a stranger asking questions. 

The sensation of darkspawn blood dripping from their cheek made it difficult to think of an answer, as Dak-wai fought a shudder. Their summoned flames were dying down to embers, and the cold of the night seeped in through the blood staining their clothes. Breathing heavily and intentionally through their nose, they found the last patch of clean fabric on their shirt to wipe their face with.

They spoke carefully, still, moving their mouth only as much as needed. “I used to be a mercenary.”

The words were true, though the answer was not. But the question he asked was more and less than its words, and he would understand the whole truth less than a lie. 

(They never remembered conversations being so complex in Seheron. They remembered less of Seheron every year.)

“The villagers hired you?”

Maybe even the smaller truth was too much. “I live here.” 

“Odd place for a mercenary to end up,” the Warden remarked. He had the eyes of a soldier, carefully assessing Dak-wai’s lack of armor, the rusted sword they’d pried from the burnt fingers of a fallen hurlock. “Especially one as skilled as you are.”

The question was unspoken, so Dak-wai said nothing, studying the Warden in turn. His own equipment was sturdily made, well-used and well-maintained. The blue in his coat had faded from time in the sun, but even in the fading firelight, caked in black blood, the griffon emblazoned on his breastplate held an almost defiant sheen.

There was a quiet gravity to him, that of a man who knew himself completely—who never doubted that his arm would move as he willed it, and held an unshakable faith in the cause he moved it for. Though the gray threaded through his beard placed him in middle age, he’d kept pace with Dak-wai in the skirmish, cutting down darkspawn with precision born from experience.

Dak-wai had never met a Warden before. If the corpses littering the dry ground were any indication, their reputation might be warranted after all.

(The Warden, Dak-wai supposed, might be thinking much the same about Tal-Vashoth mercenaries. It was an uneasy thought.)

They discarded it and broke the silence with a question of their own. “Will there be more?”

“We’ve cleared out the area,” the Warden said, so immediately assured that Dak-wai could not think of doubting him. “Should be safe for the villagers to come out. But there’ll be more soon enough, if the tunnel these ones crawled out of isn’t sealed off.”

He looked at them for a moment and seemed to come to a decision. “Could use a mage’s help with that, if you’re willing.”

That needed no answer.

[charmac]

Part of why I love ur fic so much is that Mac and Charlie fit so well as millennials/gen z without changing too much of their characters but Dennis and Dee could never!! Crotchety middle aged trash twins for life!! Idk if this makes sense but you just nailed it man

Yes! 100% makes sense and also why I feel that it works so well as an AU that can stay more-or-less close to current canon.

When you take a character out of their time, de-age or whatever, it sometimes comes at the cost of their character development as we know them, since time and aging is a pretty huge factor in evolution, but Mac (and Charlie) are weird exceptions to this, because their character development has very little to do with their age (they really haven't aged in their own minds) and almost everything to do with how their circumstances change over the course of the show.

Mac didn't have to get older to come out. There was nothing about him maturing mentally or physically that cause him to accept himself. It only took him so long because the Gang enabled him for years, let him hide and pretend because they didn't want to deal with it. So if you speed up that timeline, face Mac with the fact that he's gay early on (make it so there's a reason he can't run away), you can basically take any plot from S1-16 and apply it to a young Mac and find that it's pretty much in character.

I think with Dennis, it's clear why if you de-aged him you wouldn't be able to achieve canon Dennis past a certain season. So much of his character development and evolution is based in him grappling with growing older. Physically being older hurts him in a lot of ways, but it also helps him grow and understand who he is and how to mask himself even better (which could be for worse).

Dennis has to age to face his demons, Mac has to be taught to face his. Though, does facing their demons mean they concur them? Or are they devoured to become worse?

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Me, aged 5. Spoken to my extremely Catholic grandmother, matriarch of the family, who had crosses and pictures of saints hanging in every room of the house: [little, uncannily-enunciated voice] “Grandma, when your church gets destroyed in Armageddon, you can come to our kingdom hall!”

[earl-grey-crow]

so. coyle.

[thefinal-unsolvedriddle]

Booster accidentally signs a contract to appear in ads for raytheon or some military defense company on accident

[ebitenpura]

Been thinking about it lately, but Eight seems to have 3 'sides' to his personality that shows up in different situations/for different people. (If he were an animated character, he'd probably look different as well, but that's hard to express)

Mission Mode

- Selectively silent. If he does speak, it's out of necessity or kindness to his target; has both a menacing and melancholy air. Does have a certain charisma as a result of the heavy influence of his mentor's personality being adopted into this persona. Often merciless, but not masochistic, and very, very cold in complete contrast to the usual warmth of his personality. You could say this is when he's focused on nothing but the kill, and where his designation as a Cipher shines the most. Was like this when he was younger; goes into it less now after Keeper well, basically told him he that side of him was no good.

Around Loved Ones

- Complete contrast to Mission Mode. Cheery, mirthful, affectionate and mischievous, this is when he's at his most talkative. Since he was close to Keeper, this side came out a lot even on missions as he was happy doing work in ImpIntel, but also was a result of trying to bury his past and connect to others more. He shows this side of himself because he's comfortable, but it also results in his silliest antics because it brings out the goofball husky in him. ...Nevermind the fact that it's partially a way to distract others from his bloodier side.

- With Jadus, he retains his mischief and boldness, but it takes on a cryptic air that aids a lot in keeping the Lord on his toes in their shared mindgames. Always keep 'em guessing.

Around...Coworkers?

- You could say this side only came out in the Alliance/SoR-era when he was suddenly stuck with people he didn't know. Also completely silent, but in a benign way where he just stares at you with no expression and watches your reaction out of an unwillingness to make conversation. Half of the time he's ignoring you, though. Whether his stare unnerves or de-stresses tends to vary amongst personnel.

- Incredibly quiet and surprisingly meek, since he has no interest in being more appealing to people he just has to tolerate, but ends up being more eccentric than the other two sides combined because he a) doesn't communicate and b) does whatever he wants spontaneously. Tends to be more aware of people's feelings and charitable (in his own way) as a result of being a silent observer, which can either be cute or irritating depending on who you ask.

- •_• <- his reaction to that information

[solaceseven]

more than friends?

things they do that make you second-guess your friendship featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - being touchy.

you’re used to gojo’s touch.

the way he drapes himself over your shoulders like a human scarf, pulling you into his side without a second thought. the way his hand finds the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, his palm pressing firm against you, like he’s staking a silent claim. you’ve grown accustomed to the way he plays with your fingers absentmindedly—twisting your rings, tracing circles over your knuckles—while he rambles about something completely unrelated.

it’s always been like this.

that’s what you tell yourself, at least. that it doesn’t mean anything. that he’s like this with everyone.

but lately, it’s been getting harder to believe that.

because his touches have started to linger. his fingers don’t just graze your wrist anymore—they rest there, warm and grounding, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate strokes against your pulse. when he reaches for something above your head, he doesn’t just stretch over you; he presses his chest against your back, close enough that you feel the heat of him seep into your skin.

and then there’s the way he looks at you.

like right now.

you’re both sprawled out on his couch, half-watching some random movie he insisted was a classic (it’s not), when you feel it—his fingers, absentmindedly tracing shapes on your wrist.

you try not to react, try to focus on the screen, but your breath catches anyway. if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. he just keeps going, slow and lazy, the pads of his fingers skating along your skin like he’s mapping out something only he can see.

your pulse jumps when his fingers move up—tracing the inside of your forearm now, featherlight. it’s not accidental. you know it. he knows it.

but he doesn’t stop.

you sneak a glance at him, expecting that usual smug grin, but he’s still staring at the screen. too casual. too relaxed. he’s testing you.

like he’s waiting for you to do something about it.

you should move your arm. you should pull away. you should call him out.

but you don’t.

because the way he’s touching you now—it’s not friendly. it’s not casual. it’s not something he does with anyone else.

and the worst part?

he knows you know it.

GETO - never correcting people when they assume you’re his partner.

you don’t think anything of it at first.

you and geto move through the grocery store like you always do—bickering over which brand of cereal is better, tossing random snacks into the cart, laughing when he makes fun of your terrible attempts at balancing fruit on top of an already overflowing pile of groceries.

it’s easy. it’s comfortable. it’s just you and him.

and then you get to checkout.

the cashier, an older woman with kind eyes, watches as geto effortlessly lifts the heavy bags before you can even reach for them. he does it without thinking, just like how he had taken the cart from you earlier, just like how he always opens doors for you, just like how his hand had rested on the small of your back when guiding you through the aisles.

she smiles warmly.

“you two make such a lovely couple.”

you freeze.

your brain short-circuits for a split second, mouth already opening to correct her, but then—then you hear nothing from geto.

not a single word of clarification. not even a chuckle or a shake of his head.

nothing.

instead, he just hums, tilting his head slightly as if considering the statement. he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t laugh it off. just lets the words sit there, completely unbothered.

your head snaps toward him, eyes wide.

he meets your gaze, entirely too calm, a slow smirk forming at the corner of his lips. and then—because he’s absolutely insufferable—he leans in slightly, voice smooth as silk.

“you hear that?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “we’re a lovely couple.”

you want to strangle him.

your reaction must be obvious because the cashier just beams, clearly convinced she was right. “oh, young love is so sweet. you take good care of them, dear.”

geto chuckles, and before you can protest, he effortlessly places a hand on the back of your head, ruffling your hair like you’re some flustered little thing.

“always,” he says smoothly.

you don’t remember the rest of the transaction. you’re too busy contemplating whether it’s legal to strangle someone with a grocery bag.

as you’re walking out, geto leans in again, voice dripping with amusement.

“you could’ve corrected them,” he muses, lips dangerously close to your ear. “but you didn’t.”

your stomach flips. you hate that he’s right.

NANAMI - always taking care of you.

you don’t plan on staying this late.

but time slips away between deadlines and last-minute emails, and before you know it, the office is nearly empty, the sky outside painted in deep shades of navy. you sigh, rubbing your temples, already dreading the long commute home.

by the time you step out onto the quiet street, the city lights glowing around you, your phone buzzes.

you don’t have to check to know who it is.

nanami: where are you?

your stomach flips.

you: just leaving work. why?

the message is barely delivered before another one comes in.

nanami: stay there. i’ll be there in five.

you frown at your screen. he was nearby?

true to his word, exactly five minutes later, a familiar figure approaches.

nanami, dressed in his usual crisp attire, looking entirely too put together for this hour. he doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at you, scanning you over like he’s checking for any signs of exhaustion.

“you should have left earlier,” he says, voice even, but you catch the slight furrow of his brow.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, well, i got caught up.”

“hm.” he exhales, the sound bordering on exasperation, before tilting his head toward the direction of your apartment. “let’s go.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’ll walk you home.”

you huff a laugh. “nanami, it’s fine. i can handle walking alone.”

he gives you a flat look, as if the idea is so ridiculous it doesn’t even warrant a response. Instead of arguing, he simply starts walking, fully expecting you to follow.

and—of course—you do.

it’s not the first time he’s done this. You know it won’t be the last.

he doesn’t hover, doesn’t lecture you about staying late. but his presence is solid beside you, steady and unwavering. his hands stay in his pockets, but you know—if anything were to happen, if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way—he’d be on them in a second.

as you near your building, you sneak a glance at him. “you didn’t have to do this, you know.”

nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’re the one giving him a headache. “i know.”

“…then why do you?”

he stops walking. turns to face you, studying you for a long moment.

then, with a sigh—like he’s so tired of explaining the obvious—he simply mutters:

“because you don’t take care of yourself.”

and that’s that. no room for debate. no further explanation.

your heart stumbles in your chest.

because he doesn’t say i worry about you. he doesn’t say i do it because I care.

but he doesn’t have to.

the truth lingers in the quiet, in the way he watches you, in the way he makes sure you’re safe—every single time.

and when you step inside your building, looking back one last time, you catch him still standing there. waiting.

making sure you’re okay.

like he always does.

SUKUNA - being unreasonably jealous.

it starts off as nothing.

a passing comment here, an unimpressed scoff there. sukuna has always been blunt, always had a sharp tongue and an even sharper glare. but lately, you start to notice a pattern—one that becomes impossible to ignore.

it happens again tonight.

you’re out with friends, the atmosphere light and easy, laughter filling the air. you’re mid-conversation with some guy—a friend of a friend, nothing special—when you feel it.

that presence.

it’s not loud or obvious, but it’s there. a weight lingering at your back, pressing into your skin before you even turn around.

and when you do—

sukuna is already watching.

seated across the table, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his gaze locked onto you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. bored. blank. irritated.

you try to ignore it. you keep talking, keep laughing at whatever the guy is saying, but it doesn’t matter. because every time you sneak a glance in sukuna’s direction, his eyes are still on you.

unwavering. unrelenting.

you swallow, trying to shake the weird tension creeping up your spine. but then the guy leans in slightly—just slightly—and that’s all it takes.

there’s a sharp scrape of a chair against the floor.

and then sukuna is there, standing beside you, a hand dropping heavily onto your shoulder.

“alright,” he drawls, voice slow, lazy, but carrying something unmistakably sharp. “this conversation looks thrilling.”

the guy stiffens. you do, too.

you glance up at sukuna, narrowing your eyes. “what are you doing?”

“listening.” his fingers tap idly against your shoulder, his weight sinking into the space beside you like he belongs there. “should i join? or is this, what—special?”

your brows furrow. “are you serious?”

he tilts his head slightly, feigning confusion, but you know that look. the glint in his eyes, the smirk barely tugging at his lips—he’s enjoying this.

the guy across from you clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “uh—i was just—”

“no, no,” sukuna interrupts smoothly, finally dragging his gaze away from you to look at him. “you were just what?”

the guy hesitates, then shakes his head. “never mind.”

and just like that, he stands, mumbling something about needing another drink before walking away.

you whip around to face sukuna fully, shoving his arm off your shoulder. “what the hell is wrong with you?”

he doesn’t move, doesn’t even pretend to be remorseful. if anything, he looks amused. “relax,” he hums. “didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

you scoff. “oh? and how exactly was he looking at me?”

sukuna shrugs, completely nonchalant. “like he could have you.” his head tilts, eyes flickering over your face. “and he can’t.”

your heart stumbles.

you open your mouth, then close it. because what do you even say to that? what does he even mean by that?

he smirks at your silence, reaching out to flick your forehead lightly before leaning in—just close enough that your breath catches.

“relax, brat,” he murmurs, voice deep, low, too much. “i’m just looking out for you.”

you should shove him away. roll your eyes. call him out for acting like an overprotective asshole.

but instead, you just sit there, pulse unsteady, second-guessing everything you thought you knew about this friendship.

because you know sukuna. and you know damn well—

this wasn’t just him looking out for you.

TOJI - flirting with you consistently.

it starts small. barely noticeable at first.

a lazy smirk here, a lingering touch there.

you don’t even think much of it in the beginning. it’s just toji being toji, right? he flirts with everyone—cashiers, waitresses, random people in passing. it’s just how he is.

except… it’s different with you.

because when he leans in close, voice dropping lower just for you to hear— “that color looks real good on ya, sweetheart. what, tryna drive me crazy?”—his eyes don’t leave your face. because when his fingers skim the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, they stay there a second too long to be casual. because when he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth, he’s comfortable like he belongs there—like he’s claiming that space.

and then there are the compliments.

not just the casual you look nice or that suits you. no, never that simple.

“bet guys lose their damn minds over you.” he says it so offhandedly, like it’s just a fact—just something everyone knows.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “yeah, sure.”

“i mean it,” he murmurs, and you hate the way your stomach flips when his gaze settles on you, something dark and unreadable in his eyes. “if i were them, i wouldn’t let you outta my sight.”

you tell yourself you’re imagining it—that he’s just messing with you. that’s what he does.

but then it keeps happening.

every single time, without fail.

you’re just trying to grab something from a high shelf? suddenly, he’s behind you, reaching over your head, his chest nearly brushing against your back. he doesn’t have to get that close. he knows it. you know it. but he does it anyway, voice low in your ear as he hands you whatever you needed.

“next time, just ask me, yeah? don’t gotta strain that pretty little neck of yours.”

you push him away, muttering something under your breath, and he just laughs, all smug amusement.

he’s always touching you, like he can’t help himself. a hand grazing the back of your neck when he adjusts your hoodie. his palm resting against your thigh when he leans in to say something. he doesn’t cling to you, doesn’t make a big show of it—but it’s there. subtle. constant. a quiet, unspoken thing.

and then—then, there are the moments that really get to you.

like when you’re out with friends, sitting side by side, and his fingers find the hem of your sleeve. absentmindedly playing with the fabric, rolling it between his fingertips. he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, just listening to the conversation, relaxed and completely at ease. like touching you is second nature to him.

or when you’re waiting in line for something, standing close, and he leans in just slightly, dropping his voice low.

“keep looking at me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second. “gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’ from me.”

your breath catches.

and the worst part? the absolute worst part?

he sees it. every damn time.

sees the way your pulse flutters at your throat. sees the way your fingers twitch, like you don’t know what to do with them. sees the way you avoid his gaze, pretending like your entire body isn’t reacting to him.

and every time, without fail—he just smirks.

like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. like he’s enjoying it. like he’s waiting—patient, unhurried—for you to break first.

and the thing is…

you think he knows you will.

eventually.

[tojbnuy]

boyfriend!toji who doesn’t know why but he feels this weird jealousy everytime he sees you meet your friends and greet them all with a big hug. you never did that with him. you relationship was still fairly new to the both of you, but you kissed you fucked you even held hands sometimes when walking around. but, what toji was now realizing, was that he wanted a hug. well, he wanted a hug from You. not a casual little hug, a hug. holding each other. he didn’t know how to broach the subject without sounding needy and like the complete opposite of how he usually acts. he had never cared about this kinda stuff with other people, he’d never experienced it growing up and he thought he could live without it. until you. until you showed him that wanting to be held was normal. he’d been thinking about it for a while until one night, as the two of you got ready for bed it simply slipped out.

‘how come you don’t hug me?’

immediately you stopped plaiting your hair and turned to him with a shocked look.

‘what?’

‘how come you don’t hug me? like when you see your friends or you say bye you hug them. you don’t hug me.’

as soon as he said it he felt stupid. a grown man like him, older than you and he was sat here asking for a fucking hug. what if you turned the question around and said ‘well you don’t hug me’ what would he say? that i’ve never done that before sorry i don’t know how? his thoughts came to a stop when he felt a small hand grab his own larger one.

‘i- toji im so sorry. i’m sorry i didn’t think that was something you wanted.’

fuck now he’s made you feel bad.

‘nah doll you don’t have to say sorry, its nothing let’s just go to bed’

‘no toji please. let’s talk about it.’

you lifted the blanket and made your way over to his side of the bed so you could sit face to face. everything about you was so soft, so kind. such a complete contrast to himself. he was panicking, he didn’t do stuff like this, never talked about stuff like this.

‘honestly toji, i really just thought you weren’t a touchy person. i’m sorry for just assuming especially considering everything you’ve been through,’

‘no please doll. i wasn’t trying to blame you for anything. i just’

his palms were actually sweating, but your face. god your darling sweet face, looking at him like he hung up the stars in sky. like every word out of his mouth meant the world to you. you would wait for him to get the words out no matter how long he took.

‘i don’t know to be honest. you’re right i’m not a touchy person i’ve never really hugged anyone. but i want that. with you. and im sorry, i should be the one to initiate it i just didn’t really know how doll.’ his voice was so quiet, just a rough whisper.

he looked up to stare into your glassy eyes when you leaned in and kissed him. a small whisper of a kiss.

‘can i hug you?’ you said with your lips pressed against his.

he knew you knew he would prefer not to dwell on it.

and then he wrapped his arms around your back so tightly like he was showing the universe just how bad he needed you. he pulled you into his lap and let his cheek fall to your shoulder. he felt your arms wrap around his neck and you fingers stroking the hairs at his nape.

neither of you spoke, you simply sat and held each other and made a silent promise to maintain the closeness from today onwards.

‘thank you for telling me toji. you big baby.’

‘yeah that’s enough. time for bed.’

your giggle was music to his ears.

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ GIVING ROOMMATE TOJI A HONEY PACKET TO MAKE HIM HARD

You’re digging through the kitchen drawer for a pen but instead, you find a single, slightly crumpled honey packet— one of those ones from a diner Toji probably pocketed without even thinking.

That’s when the memory hits you: someone once told you honey boosts testosterone. Supposedly gets the blood flowing or something like that. You don’t know if it’s true but suddenly, you’re struck with the image of Toji randomly getting hard for no reason— looking all confused and irritated and the idea of teasing and laughing at him for being a confused old man is too good to pass up.

You find him at the kitchen table, slouched in one of the chairs with a pile of mail in front of him. He’s fresh off work, still in his dusty jeans and oil-stained shirt, arms looking way too good folded up like that. His hair’s a little messy with his bangs cascading down his forehead and slightly tickling his eyes. He smells like outside yet he still looks like sin.

You casually slide the honey packet across the table like it’s a top-secret document. He glances up. “What’s this?”

“Just try it,” you say softly, feigning innocence as you open the fridge for a drink. “Natural energy booster. Thought it might help after work, y’know?”.

Toji raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t question you. Just casually tears the packet open with his teeth and licks the honey off the edge like it’s nothing. You watch from the fridge, biting the inside of your cheek to hold in your laugh. It’s criminal how fucking good he looks doing something so simple. You grab your drink and vanish to your room before he can notice the grin creeping onto your face.

It takes a while but maybe thirty, forty minutes later, you hear him shifting around on the couch. You peek down the hallway— and fucking shit.

He’s still lounging there, TV on but he’s clearly not paying any attention. One hand is resting on his thigh, the other tucked under his head and his hips keep shifting. You freeze when you notice the obvious shape straining against the front of his sweats. It’s not subtle either— it’s blatant. The fabric’s tented, and he keeps adjusting himself with this irritated little scowl like he’s trying to figure out why he’s getting an erection without warning or doing anything.

You casually walk into the living room, trying not to beam. “You good?” you ask, doing your best to sound normal.

Toji grunts. “M’fine. Just—” He sits up a bit straighter because you were there, then glances down at himself. He frowns. “Dunno what the hell’s up. Got this fucking—”

He stops short, noticing your eyes lingering where they shouldn’t be. He tugs the hem of his shirt down over his crotch but it doesn’t do much. “You seeing this shit?” he mutters, looking genuinely confused. “Haven’t even been thinking about anything”.

You shrug, taking a sip of your drink. “Weird. Could be the honey,” you offer innocently. “You know, some people say it boosts testosterone”.

He stares at you. “You serious?”

You nod, lips twitching into a grin.

“…You gave me a fucking boner on purpose?” he says slowly, piecing everything together. You can’t help it. You burst out laughing like a immature child.

He rubs a hand over his face, groaning in annoyance. “Fucking brat,” he mutters, and when he stands up— yeahhh, there’s definitely no hiding it now. The fat bulge in his sweats is very prominent and you shamelessly glance down again.

He catches you.

“Oh, you like that?” he says teasingly, a slow smirk creeping across his face now. “All that just for you, huh?”

Your laughter dies in your throat. You did not think this far ahead. Toji takes a slow step toward you, still adjusting his sweatpants. “You think you’re real funny, sweetheart. Gonna be even funnier when I make you deal with it”.

You blink up at him, your heart racing.

“Still feeling like a joke to you?

You open your mouth to answer, but your brain has completely short-circuited. The taunting grin on his face grows wider when he sees the panic start to creep into your expression.

Toji watches you squirm for a second longer, then chuckles low in his throat, eyes glinting with amusement. “Look at you,” he murmurs, taking one more step toward you, close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him and maybeeee even the tiniest hint of his hardened bulge pressed against your tummy, but you don't dare look down. “All flustered over a little blood flow”.

You glare at him, trying to muster a comeback, but he just leans down a bit, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Y’know, if you wanted to see my dick that bad, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask”.

Your jaw drops. “What?! I did not!”

He starts laughing— really laughing this time, the kind that makes his shoulders shake as he straightens back up and ruffles your hair like you’re a dumb little sibling who walked straight into a trap.

“Oh my fuck, your face,” he says between laughs. “Worth every second”.

“You’re the worst,” you hiss, shoving his arm annoyingly but he doesn’t budge.

“And you’re a little brat,” he throws back, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Giving a grown man unsolicited honey just to watch him pop a boner? That’s sick behavior, kid”.

“You didn’t have to eat it!”

“You slid it across the table like a damn drug deal!”

You try to storm off, but he catches your wrist gently just as you turn. You pause, blinking up at him again, and he just gives you a crooked smile and murmurs, “Next time you wanna see it, just knock”.

Your whole soul leaves your body.

He lets you go, snickering to himself as he flops back down on the couch like he didn’t just commit a crime against your sanity.

[the-ferocious-kittyrose]

Simon gets a message from reader while he’s on base. It’s a video. The thumbnail looks like a blurred image of a store isle

Once he has a moment to himself, he’s able to sit back and finally check out what you had sent.

The camera pans down to show yours and simon’s two year old daughter. She has half a mini chocolate muffin clutched in her little baby fist and chocolate smudges on her nose and bright pink cheeks. She’s standing, staring at something out of frame.

The camera is a bit shaky and Simon can hear you trying desperately to hide your laughter.

“Baby,” you say, “baby, look at me.” You bend down to bring the camera closer to your daughter, who only turns to look at you for a second before going back to staring at the same spot out of frame.

“Who is that?”

Your daughter raised one of her chocolate covered hands to point towards whatever it was that had been captivating her the entire video. “Daddy.”

Simon here’s more of your pained stifled laughter and the camera follows your daughter’s gaze, revealing a cheaply made Halloween grim reaper statue, with dusty purple robes, a plastic scythe, and a hilariously misshapen skull face.

He reads the accompanying texts that had followed the video.

[She just started saying “daddy daddy” over and over and it took me forever to figure out what she was talking about]

[for a second I thought, “oh is he here?”]

[Im so dense lol]

[she really misses you ]

[I miss you too]

The next text was a picture of your daughter fast asleep in her car seat. Now cleaned of chocolate, she had replaced her muffin with a giant plastic rat that she hugged to her chest like a teddy bear.

[she refused to leave without it]

Simon smiles. It had been a long time since he had a family. People who loved waiting for him to come home.

Your texts had been sent hours ago, and he felt bad about not responding all day.

[that’s unfair. My mask is made of much better materials]

[I miss you both too. If everything goes right I should be home by Monday]

[and don’t call yourself dense]

Simon thinks for a moment, something eating at him about that video

[I wish she didn’t know about the mask. I don’t want her to see me that way]

You respond quickly, making Simon feel worse about his delayed reply

[Dont worry about that honey. She’s only two, and I think she only saw you wear in mask once once or twice. She’ll forget in a month.]

[She doesn’t see you as anything other than her daddy]

[her daddy and her jungle gym]

[lol yes that too]

[Im sorry I don’t have a lot of time. I’ll try and call you tomorrow]

[ok Im heading to bed now anyway]

[goodnight I love you ❤️]

[goodnight I love you too ❤️]

[maskedbyghost]

when simon wakes up in a hospital, the last thing you expect is for him to grab your hand, pull you close, and say, “hey, there you are, love.” his voice is so soft, so sure, it leaves you speechless. you stare at him, half in shock, because this is ghost—simon riley, the one person who’s kept every feeling locked up.

“simon, do you… do you remember anything?” you ask, testing the waters.

he blinks, looking at you with confidence. “of course, i remember. you’re my wife.”

you freeze. his wife? this is new, and you’re not sure where he got the idea, but before you can correct him, johnny walks in, taking one look at the two of you and biting back a grin. he leans in, whispering to you, “maybe just… go with it for now, eh?” he’s got that teasing glint in his eye, and something tells you there’s no harm in humoring simon for a bit, if it can be helpful for his recovery.

so, you go along with it. and to your surprise, simon doesn’t act confused—in fact, he’s more open with you than he’s ever been. suddenly, he’s holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, always looking for you, keeping you close, calling you “love” or “darlin’” in front of everyone. he’s even got that soft smile every time you catch his eye, one that makes it hard to remember this isn’t real.

the team’s amused but supportive, playing along with the whole story. simon keeps asking you little things, like what your favorite meal is, or how you usually spend your days when he’s away, as if filling in gaps in a life he believes you share. you find yourself answering with things that feel so genuine, and the way he listens—focused, attentive—feels more intimate than anything you’ve shared before.

one day, you’re patching up a minor scrape on his hand, and he just watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing every detail. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it’s so genuine, so open, that for a second, you forget it’s all just part of his memory loss.

then, one night, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, eyes serious. “do you ever think about us?” he asks softly, like he’s trying to get at something just out of reach. “how we’d be if things were… different?”

you’re not sure how to answer because there’s no script for this. “sometimes,” you admit, feeling a pang of something deep and unspoken. and for the first time, you’re almost grateful he can’t remember—because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only reason he’s letting himself be this vulnerable with you.

as the days pass, you start catching little glimpses, small things that make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. he catches you watching him once, and instead of asking why, he just gives you this little smile, one that feels like he’s in on the secret. and just when you’re starting to think this is all some kind of twisted dream, he pulls you aside.

“i know i’m supposed to remember,” he whispers, “but i don’t want this to end. not yet.”

it’s in that moment you realize the truth. he’s been aware all along—he’s been pretending just as much as you, holding on to this fragile, temporary illusion because, maybe, he needs it just as much as you do.

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