#this will definitely be his villain origin story

[gu6chan]

speaking of nickel-type observations i was drawing something from and old rp and just now realised that TWICE both my biggest ships with barnabas have been fucked up in one way or another. first was also my very first OC ship and i had only come to realise the brow-raisingly large age gap like 8 years later but it was between this spinstress??? tailor girl named ella who met him while going to deliver a dress (17) and "omg ive never met another person in my life before. sit by the fire and let me tell you about how im going to become an angel someday :3<" barnabas (12) back on g+ between like 2011-2013 and the SECOND was relatively recent, like 4.... 5 years ago which had a boy who was abandoned by his father after birth because of an affair, and that father happened to be BARNABAS' father and deciding he was tired of being treated like dirt by the rest of the clan he wound up in and that he wanted his title back the former sacks the whole kingdom, kills both of barnabas parents and is like "Okay <3 barnabas announce that youre giving your title over to ME and MAYBE (maybe) i will let you live with me <333 i think it could be silly and fun" and barnabas despite starting out as a coward by all means does it starting out simply not wanting to die but later is like "hmmmmm :-)" and starts subtly manipulating him so he can gain his favour and influence and stab him in the back when the time comes (it never did, my poor rp partner was living in argentina and their account is gone now :( but i'll remember you rip....) anyways im drawing them now and just realised their whole toxic yaoi deal was also aided by them being half-brothers. 4-5 years later. hm i am not a very smart or intelligent person i think

[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

[bighitfics]

jungkook oneshots that I will keep re-reading till the end of time!

(a much needed recommendation) ִ ࣪𖤐

The Broken Vow ୨ৎ by @lleldey

— major angst, teeny bit of fluff, yandere husband jungkook.

(this is an eight star, no doubt! i’ve read it nine times already)

When She Loved Me ✦ by @jungkookstatts

— angst, fluff, and more angst, triple the angst.

(reading this is like drinking poisoned honey, this has to be both my villain origin story & guilty pleasure fic)

Champange Confetti ִ ࣪𖤐 by @pennyellee

— dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s.

(gawd this was the perfect blend of everything and the accurate references of the 90s just made it more perfect than it already is)

I Love You Too ✧₊⁺ by @smileyoongle

— therapist!jk, found family, angst, healing, second chances.

(sceaming, blushing, giggling, sliding down the door, he’s so disgustingly sweet in this!) 😮‍💨🤌🏼

Unwaveringly Forever ⭑ by @loststarxox

— alcoholic jk, self destructive, healing/comfort, established relationship, found family <3 (i have a soft spot for this jungkook, this precious being must be protected at all cost! ps : he’s lowkey segci asf in this from the way he clings to her, to needing her by his side all the time even tho he’s drunk as hell *sighs* my dream man)

Slow And Steady ౨ৎ by @yoonia

— painter jungkook, infidelity, smut, angst.

(this women never misses with her 10/10 plotline, her ridiculous 100/10 writing skills & her ability to bring the scenes alive! mad talent)

Tempest ⭑.ᐟ by @kooktrash

— yandere boyfriend, romance, established relationship.

(obsessed is an understatement, she writes jk the best)

Fifth Wish ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ by @jiminrings

— bodyguard!au, fake dating, angst, fluff.

(this is girl breakfast, girl lunch and girl dinner! i can scream ab it all day!)

Kaiho 𓍯𓂃 by @99liners

— marriage au, age gap, controlling husband jk, trophy wife reader. (screaming, wailing, barking for toxic tsundere husband jk. i need therapy ya’ll)

What was I made for? ☽ by @spideyjimin

— strangers to lovers, soldier jungkook, angst, fluff.

(he’s so dreamy in this, oh how i pray to be loved like this)

Stars Behind Waves 𓇼 by @taegularities

— estranged best friends to lovers, fluff, smut.

(im wordless, this was too good to be true)

Rock God ⊹ ˖ by @venusjeon

— 80s au, angst, smut, humour, fluff, s2f2l.

(such a refreshing plotline, writing is top tier!)

Definition Of Love 𐙚 by @sparklingchim

— established relationship, fluff, smut.

(if there was one fic i could hug i’d hug this one)

Secret Crime ⋆⑅˚₊ by @kimnjss

— fwb (with feelings), smut, angst.

(the smut was so well executed, it got me all heated)

Night After Night ⊹₊ ⋆ by @brown-bi-beautiful

— fuckboy jungkook, exes to lovers, cute simp (red flag) jungkook.

(literally seven mv storyline executed and written in the best way possible i read it a countless time, tbh she did it even better!)

have a good read girlies <3

follow for more.

[chow0w]

Hi, I love you’re redesigns so much, and I am wondering if my favorite character (Waspy) is on the character waitlist or if you have already redesigned her?

Thank you!! I actually tried to do her a few times before, but it was kind of a struggle since I want her to be super devious but never knew how - until today. @kingfisher298 and @nickyblurrymind33 also wanted to see, so I am proud to finally announce my redesign of Queen Wasp! I apologize in advance.

Edit: (putting this up here so nobody misses it, but I was informed this morning that the person who’s request I replied to is actually an extremely problematic individual. I didn’t know this at the time and would’ve blocked/used someone else’s request if I did, and I deeply apologize for this mistake.)

Getting the obvious out of the way, yes, she is creepy. Very creepy. When making this redesign, illustrating Queen Wasp in the scariest way possible was the main thing on my mind. I wanted to create a design which would accurately reflect (and justify) every thought Blue has ever had in regards to Wasp, as well as truly vilifying her even down to the first impression. She is described as incredibly tall and lanky: and as much as I tried to make this visible through her build, I did end up shortening her neck + making her head bigger to give her a more passively intimidating vibe. I think it would be way creepier if she was so large that she could still tower over other dragons even with the posture I drew her with. I imagine the bottom of her mouth is about how tall an average dragon is.

I took a lot of inspiration from the ichneumonid wasp, a parasitic insect which A) looks disturbing, and B) lays its eggs in caterpillars. Not only is that horrifying in itself - I also thought it fit Wasp very well, given that she injects hivewing eggs with the breath of evil to gain control over them. Her ribcage and bones are well-defined through her patterns, since I had her plant-only diet in mind when creating this and imagined she would be rather malnourished. Outside of the oodles of spikes I added to her limbs and spine, I also decided on giving her three stingers instead of one - because one isn't enough for someone as evil as her. (I also thought that the single stinger looked really stupid while I drew this.) You may have noticed the breath of evil along her stinger! Whilst I did originally plan on making this a consistent feature in her design, I waited until the end to add it and by that time it just clashed really hard with the other details in place.

I'm a fan of how Queen Wasp was presented as a villain, and I really wish she stayed the main antagonist through the entirety of arc 3. I was really hoping to get more story on social justice for silkwings + a chrysalis-focused rebellion type thing, but I'm not entirely unhappy with the ending since at least we got to meet Freedom. Either way, this redesign is definitely one of the more abstract, but I'm personally pretty happy with how it turned out!

As always, thank you all so much for your constant support! It's super cool how quickly this community has grown, and I'm so thankful to all of you for tuning in every weekend to see what I made! To anyone who'd like to join, here's the link to my server! We have tons of art-related stuff, as well as an active contest with cash prizes (You also have the option to get a free commission instead, but let's be so forreal. You probably want money. I respect that.)

If you want to submit a request for redesign, check out my pinned post to see which WoF characters are already on the waitlist - or head straight to my inbox and ask!

later (─‿‿─)♡

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #27

Danny wasn’t trying to become a supervillain’s protégé. Honestly, he was just trying to survive another semester at MIT without spontaneously combusting from stress. At nineteen, between triple-majoring in Astrophysics, Mechanical Engineering, and Paranormal Biochemistry—and moonlighting as the occasionally-glowy, occasionally-exploding, semi-competent vigilante known to the public as Phantom—Danny was hanging on by a thread. A very frayed, very caffeine-soaked thread. So when one of his professors suggested a special “independent study project” with a visiting Latverian dignitary-slash-scientist, Danny said yes without thinking. He needed the credits. He needed the money. He needed the free lunch vouchers. What he did not need, apparently, was to accidentally apprentice himself to Doctor Fucking’ Doom.

At first, he didn’t know. To Danny, “Victor” was just this weird, intense European dude with a crazy sense of fashion (who the hell wore a green cape in broad daylight?) and a laugh that definitely belonged in a villain origin story. But Victor paid well, never judged him for falling asleep mid-sentence, and always had the best coffee imported from who-knows-where. Danny figured he was just some rich old nerd with a lot of quirks. Maybe a little murder-y, but hey, Danny was from Amity Park. His standards for “dangerous mentor figure” were catastrophically low.

“Daniel,” Victor intoned one day, standing over a schematic that looked suspiciously like a laser death satellite. “Tell me: what improvements would you make to a mobile interdimensional particle cannon capable of vaporizing Manhattan?”

Danny, who hadn’t slept in three days and thought this was just a theoretical design, squinted at the blueprints and muttered, “Uh… you forgot the phase stabilizer. Without it, the cannon would rip itself apart before you could fire. Also, your aim’s gonna suck unless you recalibrate the gyroscopic system.”

Victor went unnaturally still. “Explain.”

Danny yawned so hard his jaw cracked. “M’kay, so if you adjust the vibrational harmonics here”—he drew all over the deadly weapon diagram with a crayon—“and rework the mana-infused crystal lattice to resonate at a higher frequency… boom. Stable, precise, terrifying. A+ on your murder machine, Professor Von Evilcape.”

Victor stared at him for a long time. Then he laughed. Not just any laugh. A full, villainous, booming laugh that echoed through the lab and set off three alarms in the next building over. Danny didn’t even blink. He just kept doodling tiny ghosts on the margins of the schematic.

From that moment onward, Victor—Doctor Doom, actual dictator of Latveria, sorcerer supreme wannabe, world-class narcissist—decided Danny was his heir apparent. His secret weapon. His beautiful chaotic son who understood him better than any of the clowns in Latveria ever had. He didn’t ask Danny if he wanted the role. He just started sending Danny increasingly absurd “assignments” that Danny, running on Monster Energy and bad life choices, completed without registering how criminally insane they were.

Case in point: one evening, Danny stumbled into the lab with a Red Bull in one hand and a half-eaten burrito in the other. Victor handed him a device.

“Install this at Stark Tower.”

Danny blinked at the tiny, harmless-looking black box. “Uh, what is it?”

“A signal booster for quantum research purposes.”

Danny, who trusted absolutely no one and also didn’t care because he had a paper due at midnight, shrugged. “Okay, cool.”

He broke into Stark Tower that night with the ease of a sleepwalking raccoon, installed the “signal booster” inside one of Tony Stark’s servers, and left. The next morning, the news was screaming about a massive data breach that almost triggered World War III. Danny was too busy trying to finish his midterm essay on quantum entanglement to notice.

“Good work, Daniel,” Victor said approvingly during their next meeting, clapping him on the back so hard he almost faceplanted into a dimensional rift. “You have the soul of a conqueror.”

“Thanks, man,” Danny mumbled, chugging coffee straight from the pot.

Victor took it a step further. He started introducing Danny at fancy functions. “This is Daniel. He is my most promising apprentice. One day he will inherit my empire.”

Danny, half-dead from exams and not paying attention, just nodded absently and said, “Yup. Love the Empire Strikes Back. Great movie. Big fan.”

Victor beamed.

It wasn’t until six months later, after the “Study Abroad” paperwork (actually an all-expenses-paid trip to Latveria) and the suspiciously grand laboratory gifted to him “for his brilliance,” that Danny realized something was deeply wrong.

He was skimming through some documents on Victor’s encrypted network—because of course Doom had an encrypted network called “DoomNet”—when he found it.

Last Will and Testament of Victor Von Doom: In the event of my death, all of Latveria, my scientific research, all proprietary technology, magical artifacts, nuclear launch codes, hidden doomsday devices, and the title of Supreme Monarch will pass to my chosen heir: Daniel Fenton, aka “Phantom,” aka “My Beautiful Disaster Child.”

Danny read it three times.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Am I—AM I A VILLAIN PRINCE?!”

Cue the world’s most pathetic breakdown.

“NO NO NO NO NO. I JUST WANTED A DAMN SCHOLARSHIP!” He hurled a coffee mug at the wall. It phased through because he lost control of his intangibility again. “THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR TRUSTING ANYONE IN A CAPE.”

Danny spent the next two hours panic-researching Victor Von Doom. It was bad. It was really bad. It was, like, world-endingly bad. Murder records. Wars. Kidnapping Reed Richards’ kids. Banning Beyoncé from Latveria because she rejected his dinner invitation. BAD.

And it was too late. Doom had gone on international television that morning and announced Danny’s name as his successor.

“I have chosen my heir,” Doom declared, standing proudly atop his gold-plated balcony while cameras flashed below. “The boy shall inherit everything I have built. Bow before your future king, Daniel Fenton!”

Meanwhile, in his MIT dorm room, Danny choked on his cereal.

“Oh my God,” Tucker screamed over Facetime. “YOU’RE DOOM JUNIOR!”

Jazz was furiously typing. “Danny, that’s treason. Like, actual treason.”

Sam just stared at him with unholy glee. “So… when are you conquering America?”

“NEVER,” Danny screeched.

Too late. The Avengers showed up at MIT the next day. It was not subtle.

Tony Stark crashed into Danny’s quantum physics lecture, kicked open the door, and pointed dramatically at him. “YOU!”

Danny, hunched over his notes and running on negative hours of sleep, blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, Doom Boy,” Tony said, stomping down the aisle while half the class screamed and ducked for cover. “You hacked my servers, hijacked my satellites, and installed a literal doom-signal into my mainframe. Care to explain, junior dictator?”

Danny held up his hands. “Okay, look. In my defense, I thought it was a Wi-Fi booster.”

Steve Rogers leaned in. “Are you actively trying to destroy America?”

Danny’s eye twitched. “Sir, I am actively trying to pass Organic Chemistry.”

Natasha Romanoff clicked a pen menacingly. “Are you or are you not plotting to overthrow the world?”

Danny hesitated. “I mean… define ‘plotting’?”

There was a long, painful silence.

Tony sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Kid. You’re on, like, several different international watchlists. Half of SHIELD thinks you’re planning to nuke New York.”

Danny’s voice cracked. “I didn’t even know how to do laundry until last month.”

And thus began the most chaotic custody battle in history: Doom versus the Avengers versus Danny versus himself.

Victor, naturally, was thrilled. He sent Danny monogrammed armor. A custom throne. A letter that read “My son, all great rulers are hated before they are loved. However feat not. Seize your destiny.”

Danny sent it back with a post-it note that said “pls stop.”

Tony tried to recruit him instead. “Work for me. You like tech, you like coffee, you’re already better at hacking than Peter—”

“HEY,” Peter Parker shouted from across the hall.

Danny groaned into his hands. “I don’t want to work for anyone! I just want a nap!”

Sam Wilson patted him on the back sympathetically. “Welcome to adulthood, kid.”

Things escalated horrifyingly fast. Latverian officials tried to smuggle Danny out of Massachusetts under the cover of night. Doom built a life-sized gold statue of him in Latveria’s capital square. The Avengers started putting “Phantom Threat Level: High” on their briefing files. Nick Fury cornered him in a diner and deadpanned, “Son, you’re one bad day away from becoming an international incident.”

Danny, shoving pancakes in his mouth, muffled, “I don’t wanna.”

Of course, life didn’t let him off that easy.

When Doom inevitably “died”—allegedly vaporized by a malfunctioning time machine because of course he did—Danny woke up to find a legal team at his dorm room.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” the lead lawyer said with an evil smile. “You are now King of Latveria.”

Danny fainted on the spot.

He woke up fifteen minutes later to find Sam fanning him with a Doom flag and Tucker wearing a Latverian general’s hat he stole from one of the lawyers.

“So…” Tucker grinned. “Wanna invade Canada first?”

Danny screamed into his pillow.

And somewhere, deep in the void between worlds, Doom—very much alive and sipping espresso—chuckled darkly.

“Atta boy, Daniel,” he whispered. “Atta boy.”

[kxsagi]

just so you know I'm down the bada lee rabbit hole again.

hear me out, professional dancer reader with bf bllk men going to her studio during off season, live streaming bc his visit was supposed to be a surprise only to open the door and see the most jaw dropping, pants bulging, down bad sexy dance known to mankind and their reaction was like "is the floor pregnant? Chat, are WE pregnant?" or or or "I have nothing appropriate to say"

(have you seen take me down by bada lee? oh god, I'm combusting. yeah, it's definitely inspired by that😩)

“𝐦𝐞�� 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧”

a/n: i don't know bada lee but i love the prompt 😩

suggestive content inside! 

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, kaiser michael, kunigami rensuke, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, karasu tabito, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

he thought he was slick. thought he was clever. he’s grinning all proud, walking up to your studio with his livestream on, whispering to the chat like “she has no idea i’m here, i’m gonna surprise her, she’s gonna freak out.” 

and she does, but not in the way he’s expecting because when he opens the door… it’s over. 

you’re mid-routine, hips rolling to the beat in a red cutout set that looks like it was made for war. thighs clenching around the floor, lips parted, sweat glistening, hands everywhere on your body as you arch and twist like a siren conjuring sinful thoughts from hell. 

isagi freezes in the doorway like he’s been sniped. his jaw unhinges. the phone almost slips from his hand. chat is already going crazy with: “bro blink once if you’re alive” “ISAGI?? EARTH TO ISAGI.” “GET HER OFF THE FLOOR YOICHI BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.” 

“chat i-i have nothing appropriate to say.” he sounds like he’s been run over by a freight train and revived solely to yearn. 

he turns off the live with trembling fingers and just stares. you pause, breathless, giving him a sheepish smile. “surprise?” 

he deadass just whispers “i need to sit down.” 

he never fully recovers. your dance becomes his villain origin story and the sole reason he wakes up every morning now. 

itoshi rin

he doesn’t do livestreams. he thinks they’re dumb. he also thinks surprises are lame. 

but he likes you, and unfortunately, that means he ends up walking into your studio mid-livestream because you forced him to use your account to “say hi to fans.” 

he was going to make a snarky comment, something like “this is stupid,” but the second the door opens and he sees you? he dies. 

you’re dancing like the song is inside you. your waist is so hypnotic, it’s spiritual. the way you bend over and spread your legs like the floor owed you money is– he almost drops your phone. chat immediately combusts. “IS HE FROZEN OR HARD.” “not him clutching his own chest” “rin.exe has stopped responding.” 

“… chat, is the floor pregnant?” he mutters. “are WE pregnant???” 

he shuts the stream off immediately. stands there with both hands over his face. you blink at him. 

“hi?” 

“what the fuck,” he breathes, “what the fuck was that. where did you learn that. why did you learn that. why are your hips doing that. is this even allowed. you’re going to jail.” 

he says all that while silently begging god to give him strength because he cannot unsee what he just saw. 

itoshi sae

sae is calm. smug. practically cocky. he agreed to do a livestream surprise visit purely because his fans begged. 

he does his little bored intro: “yo. she doesn’t know i’m coming. let’s get this over with.” 

he opens the door. walks in… and is immediately hit with something he was NOT spiritually prepared for. 

you’re performing a slow, seductive floor piece that’s basically the visual embodiment of “i can take your man.” your body moves like honey on fire. every grind, every roll, every moan-like breath into the music is pure lust incarnate. 

he stops. phone still recording. expression completely neutral. but the eye twitch gives him away. 

chat is LOSING IT. “HE’S IN SHOCK.” “sae.exe is buffering.” “he’s at 1% battery rn.” 

he slowly turns the camera to himself and deadpans, “chat, i… genuinely have no appropriate words. the things i’m thinking are illegal in most countries.” 

the stream explodes. 

you glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “hey.” 

he clicks off the live mid-greeting. doesn’t speak. doesn’t blink. just drags a hand down his face, walks up to you, and mumbles “you’re really trying to test my patience, huh?” 

you giggle and wrap your arms around him. he hugs you back stiffly. 

and then whispers, “get in the car. i’m buying you a cage. we’re gonna have to lock you up.” 

shidou ryusei

he’s the one who planned the livestream. he’s the one who planned the surprise. he’s the one who made sure your fans were watching. he was ready to make it a moment. 

but he was not ready for you. 

you’re moving like a goddess of lust summoned by the devil himself. hair sticking to your skin, tongue poking out, ass clapping back with godlike rhythm as you dip and grind and body roll to a beat that’s clearly trying to destroy him personally. 

he drops the phone. it lands face up, still streaming. 

chat gets a full view of shidou on his knees with his hands in his hair muttering “bro. bro. bro. bro.” “BRO YOU PLANNED THIS LMAOOO” “why are we on our knees” “i fear this is the end of ryusei shidou” 

he scrambles toward you like he’s being drawn by a tractor beam. “babe. babe. what the fuck is this choreography. you tryna give me a nosebleed?? who let you cook??? i feel like i’ve been assaulted, in a hot way.” 

you smirk. “you like it?” 

“i’d pay to be the floor,” he deadpans. “hell, i’d kill the floor. just to be under you like that.” 

he turns back to the phone and tells the chat “alright stream’s over, i’m about to risk it all.” and he means it. 

kaiser michael

you know how confident this man is. how cocky. how absolutely sure he has control over every situation. 

so when he walks into your studio mid-livestream with a dumb smirk and that trademark “guess who’s here, shatz” attitude, and then sees you dancing like the dictionary definition of wet dream, he crumbles. 

you’re giving a lapdance to empty air. you’re moaning with the music. your whole body is sin incarnate. 

chat immediately goes feral. “BRO THE KING HAS BEEN DEPOSED.” “kaiser rn: 🧍” “someone get this man CPR.” 

he stares for a solid minute before slowly raising the phone and muttering, “chat i think i’m in heat.” 

you pause the music. smirk. “enjoying the view?” 

“enjoying???” he laughs, chokes, then says: “liebe, i’m about to write a thesis about your hips. i’m about to drop out of football and dedicate my life to being your personal hype man. i am now YOUR fan.” 

and then he immediately ends the stream and walks straight to you with one goal: suffer. 

kunigami rensuke

kunigami isn’t a social media guy. the livestream was your idea and he only agreed because he missed you. 

but when he steps into your studio and sees you doing a routine that could make a priest reconsider his life choices, he’s done. 

you’re in fishnets. leather. there’s a chair involved. you’re gripping it with both hands, dropping into a split, and grinding like you’re trying to break the laws of physics. 

chat goes silent at first. then explodes: “YOOOOO????” “MY EYES. MY SOUL. MY LOINS.” “sir pls take your jaw off the floor” 

kunigami’s entire soul leaves his body. he turns the phone to his face and just stares into the camera like he’s seen god and god had thighs and a crop top. “uh… chat? i think i need to… lie down. or pray. or both.” 

he turns back to you, slack-jawed. “is that how you normally dance?” 

“mhm. you like it?” 

“… is liking it considered a sin?” 

he hasn’t blinked once. he’s stuck between respectfully worshipping you and full caveman mode. 

nagi seishiro

he didn’t even want to leave the house. you literally had to bribe him with snacks to get him to your studio. he shows up in sweats, phone in one hand, yawning into the livestream. 

“yo… surprise visit to my girlfriend’s studio. pretty boring but i was promised mochi…” 

and then the door opens. brain: gone. body: gone. peace: gone. 

he sees you on your knees, head thrown back, arching and rolling your body like you’re trying to audition for a music video that will get banned from the internet. 

and the worst part? you're not even trying. you're just moving naturally, hypnotic, seductive, everything nagi never thought he could be so down bad for. 

he drops his phone like it bit him. chat gets a full view of his shocked face tilted sideways on the ground. “WAIT PICK THE CAMERA UP” “HELLO??? IS THAT HIS GF???” “nagi you okay blink twice” 

he doesn't say a word. just stands there with his mouth open like someone rewired his brain with lust. 

you stop and wave, smiling all innocent. “hi baby!” 

nagi just lets out a choked noise. “... you didn’t tell me you were doing that.” 

“you like it?” 

“i’m gonna die,” he mumbles. “i think you just killed me.” 

mikage reo

oh, reo’s dramatic on purpose. he plans this livestream with lights, captions, music, filters, and everything because he wants it to look polished. 

“yo guys, today’s exclusive content: surprising my gorgeous girlfriend, live from her studio. watch her cry tears of joy when she sees me.” 

spoiler: he’s the one crying. 

because he opens that studio door and immediately regrets every decision that brought him here. 

you are dancing like a walking, talking problem. expensive-looking bodysuit, heels, arching off the floor like you’re performing for the gods. hair whip, thigh slap, booty drop, all of it. 

reo drops the phone like it’s a hot coal. chat gets shaky footage of his hand gripping the wall and him whispering: “chat. i’m weak. this is it. this is how i die. i’m about to pass out in gucci slides.” “SHE’S COOKING. WE’RE STARVING.” “yo someone help this man” “THE RICH BOY CAN’T BREATHE” 

he actually shuts off the stream and just kneels on the floor, dramatically fanning himself. 

you glance over. “too much?” 

“yes,” he hisses. “too much. never stop. marry me again.” 

bachira meguru

he’s just happy to be there. bouncing around, livestreaming, waving at chat like “i missed her soooo much you guys i’m gonna surprise her and squeeze her like a plushie!!!” 

and then. and then. he sees you mid-dance, slow and sensual, rolling your body against a mirror like it owes you money, and he goes from 🥰 to 😵‍💫 in 0.0004 seconds. 

“OH MY GOSH, CHAT, WHAT IS SHE DOING, SHE’S POSSESSED,” he screams. the phone spins like a horror movie scene. “NOT THE PHONE FLIP” “bachira’s in spiritual crisis rn” “he got whiplash just looking at her” 

bachira’s head is in his hands. he’s pacing in a circle, yelling, “WHY DID NO ONE WARN ME. WHY IS SHE ALLOWED TO BE THAT SEXY?? I’M GONNA EXPLODE INTO CONFETTI???” 

you giggle and blow him a kiss. he immediately falls to the ground. 

stream ends when he belly slides across the floor to hug your legs and sob into your thighs. 

karasu tabito

karasu was READY to roast you for taking “so long” at your studio. livestream on. smug face on. all like, “bout to show up and expose how long she takes to get sweaty and look hot–” 

he gets his karma INSTANTLY. 

you are mid-routine, perched on your toes, hands dragging slowly over your waist, eyes half-lidded like you’re on the verge of something illegal. 

karasu chokes. not like a soft cough either. full gasp-for-air sound while chat goes nuclear. “HE SAW A GHOST LMFAO” “this is the horniest man alive now.” “SHE DID THAT FOR HIM. LOOK AT HIM.” 

“is the room spinning???” he mutters. “i feel like i’ve been smacked with sex appeal. i need to… hydrate.” 

his phone is still on but tilted sideways on the bench, catching him muttering to himself. 

you wink. he full-on drops to his knees. “nah, you’re done. the world ain’t ready for that body. i’m not ready. this dance? banned. chat, i’m confiscating her immediately.” 

ness alexis

alexis ness is not built for this. he was just going to drop off lunch. maybe record a cute “boyfriend surprise” moment for his story. he even picked the right lighting and angle for maximum aesthetic. 

and then. you. mid-performance. on the floor. heels on. legs spread. doing things to the mirror that would make a saint faint. 

ness claps a hand over his mouth like he just witnessed a murder. the bag of lunch he brought hits the floor like it died, too. 

he’s STUNNED. FROZEN. experiencing his own personal scandal. “what… what is she doing? why are her hips doing that? how is she– oh my gosh. oh my gosh.” 

he instinctively flips his phone camera away from you and towards his face, as if protecting the world from your insane levels of sex appeal. 

chat is FLOODING with: “why is he breathing like that 😭” “ness is SWEATING” “IS SHE DANCING OR SUMMONING DEMONS???” 

he stammers out, “i-i can’t even show her on camera. she’s like—she’s like if temptation was a person.” 

you finally notice him and shoot a flirty wink. “you like it?” 

he SCREAMS. just screams. ends the stream, sprints toward you, and grabs you like you’re being banned from public spaces and he needs to protect the world from your sinful existence. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[sunderwight]

SV fic where Shen Yuan transmigrates into the former sect leader, Yue Qingyuan's shizun, right before Yue Qi shows up at the selection trials.

Shen Yuan is not sure why he's in one of his all-time hate-reads, let alone why he's gone so far back before the story actually begins (his system appears to be malfunctioning? something about an error and emergency backup...?), but he's making the most of it. This despite the fact that being a sect leader is a much more prestigious and political role than he likes.

But Shen Yuan is, at heart, actually a pretty good teacher, and he's spent enough time witnessing administrative work secondhand that he can competently tackle most of his duties. Whatever he can't handle, luckily there are other masters on Qiong Ding who always seem eager to curry favor by volunteering at the least hint that they should. Apparently his predecessor was known for being kind of cold-blooded and ruthless. (Shen Yuan gets checked for possession and it's concluded behind his back that he most have lost some of his memories, again, but also everyone kinda prefers this version anyway, again.)

But, so, he picks Yue Qi at the trials without even realizing at first who he's selecting, but just because that kid seems really determined to get in and clearly has been through it. Reminds him of Luo Binghe. Even when he puts it all together, all he feels mostly is kind of bad about it? He never thought Yue Qingyuan was sufficiently villainous to merit his end, even though he didn't blame Binghe for it either. He was always a mystery, an apparently kind person who nevertheless had some inexplicable fondness for the scum villain, turned a blind eye towards his abuses, and got dragged down with him. Shen Yuan feels even worse when he actually gets to know his solemn, smiling, secretive little disciple.

Yue Qi is very determined to advance, and as quickly as possible. Shen Yuan admonishes him. Obviously this kid has a protagonist-like aura and a similar drive to get places quickly, but you can't speedrun your disciple era, Mr. Future Sect Leader! There's no montage mode! Most of his attempts at intervening meet a brick wall that is Yue Qi's impenetrable smile and polite deference if he even hints at displeasure (this kid's gonna make a great politician one day), but Shen Yuan changes tactics and starts manufacturing excuses for breaks, taking Yue Qi on him with trips off the mountain and finding reasons to stop at local festivals and hot springs and etc. He can tell something's off with the quality of frustration that his disciple sometimes expresses, with how there's fear to it, but he's at a loss for the cause and it's difficult to get Yue Qi to talk. Despite appearances, he's actually very distrustful of adults.

When Yue Qi asks to claim his sword early, Shen Yuan says no. He remember how reputedly powerful Xuan Su was, and his disciple definitely needs a stronger base if he's going to pull a sword of that caliber. But he suspects this won't go over well, and when he catches Yue Qi sneaking off to Wan Jian Peak on his own, his disciple finally breaks down and admits that he needs to get strong in order to save his most important person.

Shen Yuan is moved. The way Yue Qi speaks, he's certain this person is a young maiden whom his student has fallen in love with. Truly, the sect leader was so very similar to Luo Binghe at heart! He must have failed in the original story, and that contributed to his difficulties and sorrows later on. Of course Shen Yuan will help him rescue his sweetheart!

Even if his sweetheart is... surprisingly butch? And is a slave owned by the Qiu family, and, wait a second, that name is kind of familiar... oh.

Oh dear.

Shen Yuan is internally screaming even as he helps buy Xiao Jiu out of bondage, even as he gives Yue Qi money to get his newly rescued friend all cleaned up and suitably dressed for the trip back to Cang Qiong, even as he buys the boys tanghulu for a treat, even as the System cheerfully informs him that his new quest is to get Xiao Jiu accepted onto Qing Jing Peak, even as Yue Qi tears up for the first time when he thanks him for helping.

He can only get to sleep that night by consoling himself with the knowledge that his generation is going to retire well before Luo Binghe and The Plot actually show up.

The System: (〜￣▽￣)〜

5 Years Later:

Huan Hua Palace Master: Sect Leader, we need your help! A terrible Heavenly Demon has come to threaten the whole of human society!

Shen Yuan: That's not possible. He isn't even born yet.

HHP Master: What?

Shen Yuan: What?

[spicymancer]

What was the process like for designing the ActiRangers, their civilian and suited forms? Their suits look so cool, it’s definitely clear you have a lot of familiarity with the genre while also having great ideas on how to innovate and add your own unique elements! Did they go through lots of conceptual iterations, or did they come pretty naturally? Any particular teams that inspired you, like SPD or RPM with their numbered members?

So the Actirangers started out as characters designed for a private little Tokusatsu OC jam I did with some friends! The design I submitted was Pink, (hence why she's kinda the main character of the story)

(Real name and certain background elements redacted for spoiler reasons)

So Pink's suit was the first one designed, hence how she's kinda the most basic of the Rangers. I had just got done watching Birdie Wing and Love After World Domination and thought it would be kinda fun for a golf themed sentai hero.

She was originally going to be ActiRanger 5 before I thought of the "Four/Fore" golf pun.

The rest of the team was then designed from there with each of their sports in mind and some general vibes.

I don't think they went through all that much iteration, though I will say since I tend to draw them in Black and White I sometimes mix up which parts of their suits are their color and which parts are black.

I wanted to give them each some kind of Power Weapon so I stuck to stick sports and also Table Tennis. (I am still weirdly fond of the old Penny Arcade Paint the Line comics)

As far as Power Ranger teams that inspired them, Mighty Morphin' is obviously the biggest inspo. (The Dan Mora run on the Go Go Power Rangers comics is awesome.) Time Force, S.P.D. and RPM were all on my mind as well.

For the Gambit Gang I was struggling to come up with a fun villain theme and eventually figureod out that the enemy to the "Sports" team had to be the "Chess Club". (Insert joke about polycules and board games)

Gray in particular was conceived at this point when I and wanted an Evil Ranger on their side. Chess Knights having a vague horse theme, he obviously had to be Polo! His design draws pretty heavily from Mystic Force's Koragg which is still IMO one of the sickest designs Sentai has ever cooked.

Wow that got a little more long winded than I inteded but I hope y'all enjoyed this little peek behind the curtain of the ActiRanger's development!

Thank you all for enjoying my silly OC comics and doodles!

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Fear factor||Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Just as Lando finally warms up to Y/N’s pet snake, Slinky, he discovers that she’s added a new member to the family—a tarantula. And now, once again, he has to face his fears.

Word count—964

What pet next?

Lando had officially made peace with Slinky. It had taken months of patience (and a lot of bribing with kisses from Y/N), but he could now sit comfortably with the ball python slithering across his lap. Hell, he’d even taken a few selfies with Slinky, which Y/N had definitely saved in a folder labeled “My Boys” on her phone.

And now, here he was, lying on Y/N’s couch, casually letting Slinky curl around his arm as he scrolled through his phone. If past Lando could see him now, he would’ve passed out.

“You’re not so bad, mate,” Lando muttered, giving Slinky a small pat on the head. The snake flicked his tongue in response, almost as if in agreement.

Y/N walked into the room, pausing to admire the scene. “You’re officially a reptile guy now.”

Lando scoffed, not looking up. “Let’s not get carried away. I tolerate one snake. That’s the extent of my growth.”

Y/N hesitated, shifting slightly on her feet. “…About that.”

Lando finally glanced up, immediately suspicious. “What?”

Y/N bit her lip before nodding toward the corner of the room. “I, uh… I got a new pet.”

Lando’s stomach dropped. “A new what?”

Y/N smiled nervously before leading him toward another glass enclosure—smaller than Slinky’s but still big enough to house something alive.

Lando stared at it warily, his brain already cycling through worst-case scenarios. “…Please tell me it’s, like, a fish. Or a gecko. Or literally anything that isn’t—”

She tapped on the glass.

A moment later, a large, very hairy, very eight-legged creature emerged from a hideout.

Lando screamed.

Not just a startled yelp. A full-on, heart-stopping, “this is the end” kind of scream.

He bolted backward so fast that Slinky nearly went flying.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!”

Y/N winced. “Lando—”

“IS THAT A SPIDER?!”

“She’s a Grammostola pulchra,” Y/N corrected, as if that made things any better. “A Brazilian Black Tarantula. And her name is Charlotte.”

Lando’s face was pure betrayal. “Oh my—why?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

Y/N sighed. “Because I love spiders. And she’s gorgeous.”

Lando pointed at Charlotte, who was now sitting still, minding her own business. “NO. SHE’S A NIGHTMARE WITH LEGS.”

“She’s harmless,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “She’s actually one of the most docile tarantula species out there. They’re super calm.”

“‘Calm’ and ‘spider’ don’t belong in the same sentence!”

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping closer to the tank. “Come on, just look at her. She’s adorable.”

Lando did not look. “Nope. Nope. This is my villain origin story.”

After Lando calmed down (which took a while), Y/N sat with him on the couch, gently rubbing circles on his back.

“Okay,” she started, “I get that you’re scared. And I won’t force you to hold her or anything.”

“Good,” Lando muttered. “Because I was considering moving out.”

Y/N laughed. “But… maybe you could just sit with me while I handle her? See that she’s not scary?”

Lando side-eyed her. “You do realize I only just got used to Slinky, right?”

“I know. And I’m proud of you.” She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Which is why I think you can do this too.”

Lando huffed, but his face softened slightly. “…She doesn’t, like… jump, does she?”

Y/N grinned. “Not unless you startle her.”

“Great. That’s so comforting.”

An hour later, Y/N sat on the floor, legs crossed, with Charlotte resting in her hands.

Lando sat a very safe distance away, watching with a look of deep distrust.

“She’s so gentle,” Y/N cooed, letting Charlotte slowly walk across her palm. “See? Just a little fuzzy baby.”

Lando’s entire body was tense. “That is not a baby. That is a horror movie prop.”

Y/N giggled. “You said the same thing about Slinky at first.”

“Yeah, but snakes don’t have eight legs!”

Y/N let Charlotte continue her slow crawl, keeping her movements steady. “She’s just curious. She likes to explore.”

Lando squinted. “Does she know she’s terrifying?”

“Not at all. She thinks she’s cute.”

“Delusional.”

Y/N smirked. “Come a little closer.”

Lando’s expression screamed absolutely not, but after a long internal debate (and some very convincing puppy eyes from Y/N), he scooted forward.

Charlotte, seemingly unbothered, remained perfectly still in Y/N’s hands.

Lando hesitated. “She’s not gonna, like… lunge at me, right?”

Y/N chuckled. “She’s not a werewolf, Lando.”

Slowly, cautiously, Lando extended a single finger, hovering just above Charlotte’s fuzzy body.

Y/N nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”

With a deep breath, Lando barely brushed his fingertip against Charlotte’s back.

The tarantula didn’t react.

Lando exhaled. “…Huh.”

“She’s really soft, isn’t she?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “…Yeah.”

For the first time that evening, he looked properly at Charlotte—not as some monstrous beast, but as an animal, just doing her own thing.

“She’s not as awful as I thought,” he admitted.

Y/N beamed. “That’s progress!”

Lando sat back with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah. But just so we’re clear—if she ever escapes, I’m moving out.”

Y/N smirked. “Noted.”

Lando side-eyed Charlotte. “And tell her if she tries to befriend me, I will scream.”

Charlotte, of course, remained unbothered.

A week later, Y/N walked into the living room to find Lando sitting near Charlotte’s enclosure, arms crossed.

She paused. “What are you doing?”

Lando didn’t look up. “Having a staring contest.”

Y/N blinked. “…And?”

“She’s winning.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you like her now, don’t you?”

Lando huffed. “I tolerate her.”

But when Charlotte twitched her legs, Lando muttered under his breath:

“Nice one, mate.”

Y/N grinned. Yep. He was officially warming up.

The End (…Until the Next Pet).

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 2/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 2 : SMAU

@landonorris accidentally became the DJ again

📍London

@pietrapilao: you pressed two buttons and acted like you closed Coachella 💀 @maxfewtrell: never seen a man take credit for autoplay this confidently @carlos55: we left you alone for 5 minutes and this happens @oscarpiastri: how much to make this stop @maxverstappen1: your dj era again?? help. @chaoticgp: every off-season has its villain arc and this one’s giving ✨dj lando✨ @landozoned: this man cannot stay away from a soundboard @mclarenwitch: i just KNOW he said “trust me, I got this” before messing everything up @gridgirliez: lando the club menace is back and we’re not surviving

@arianariverria slow mornings, long rehearsals, quiet evenings 🤍

📍London

@maya.ross: the “main character in a French film” energy is overwhelming @juliettedlcrx: this post just cured my anxiety @claireballetco: i gasped at slide 2. actual sculpture. @balletwithluna: you live in an aesthetic moodboard and i’m just passing through @ellieharperballet: how do you make pink look like a power color @sylviaballet: the definition of stillness in strength @softshoesandsatin: every slide is a different kind of calm

@gridwatchgossip Spotted 👀 #LandoNorris seen behind the DJ booth and chatting closely with a mystery brunette at a London club a few nights ago during winter break. Sources say she wasn’t part of his usual crew, and the two were seen talking more than once throughout the night. No clear photos of the girl — but fans are already buzzing. 👀

@landozoned: NOT ANOTHER DJ ERA LMAOOO @softlandoz: "mystery brunette" is PR-speak for heartbreak incoming @tifosibae: girl if you see this, blink twice for a soft launch @chaoticgp: she better be able to handle his freak @gridtea: lando deep in convo = man is hooked @mclarencurls: plot twist: she’s the reason he didn’t break anything at the DJ booth @numberonechaos: new WAG watch? it's always the winter break

Texts messages :

Group Chat — "🌟 Chaos Trio 🌟"

Pietra: Gentle reminder that you both owe me for putting up with your entire existence last weekend So this Saturday: ballet night. Royal Opera House. We’re going.

Max Fewtrell: wait are we seriously doing this ?

Lando: is this revenge for making you walk through Mayfair with us for 3 hours

Pietra: No. This is me adding culture to your lives because I love one of you and tolerate the other

Max Fewtrell: I’m assuming I’m the one you love but I can’t be completely sure right now

Lando: I’m honored to be tolerated. truly.

Pietra: Dress code is smart. No trainers. No caps.

Max Fewtrell: Define “smart.” Because last time you said that I ended up in a turtleneck at a BBQ

Pietra: Blazer. Nice shirt. Clean shoes. Try not to look like you rolled out of a Twitch stream

Lando: so basically dress like Max but without the part where he’s trying to impress you

Max Fewtrell: rude but not inaccurate

Lando: ok but what if I fall asleep hypothetically

Pietra: Then I will elbow you in the ribs gently. and Max will pretend not to know you

Max Fewtrell: I’m bringing espresso and a respectful attitude also please hold my hand if it gets dramatic

Pietra: obviously it’s Tchaikovsky. we will feel things.

Lando: so we clap when? during? after? I don’t want to be the guy clapping in a tragic death scene

Pietra: clap when everyone else claps don’t start anything, don’t shout "bravo" in random moments

Max Fewtrell: ok but if the intermission has macarons I’ll call it a success

Lando: deal. I’m only coming for the macarons

Pietra: See? We’re growing. 6pm sharp. Don’t be late or I’m giving your ticket to someone cultured.

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[jaxon-exe]

Fighting for Friendship

So Danny ends up in Gotham, how is up to u, but he is put in the same class as Damian.

Now Gotham is weird. Amity Park is weird to. But they r two different kinds of weird. Like Amity park is the “oh ur a bit weird, cool, so is everyone” kinda weird where Gotham is the “wait ur weird?? Fuck ur gonna be a rogue ain’t u?? Get tf away from me. Go have ur villain origin story over there” kinda weird.

So Danny can’t really make any friends bc he’s weird weird. Tho he’s not the only one in his class with this problem. The other guy, Damian Wayne, mainly sticks to himself and seems to be the only sane person in this school. Well, to Danny at least. This made Danny want to befriend him. Even if only to not be alone in his suffering. More than that Danny can feel the traces of ectoplasm on him! Even more reason for him to be friend shaped.

The problem is Damian seems to be in denial about his friend shapeness. Well to bad for him if Danny is one thing it’s stubborn. But dammit Damian seems to be a new level of stubborn. Nothing Danny does works!! It’s almost like this kid is from a different world or at least a different time!! Before he gives up however he has one last attempt. All or nothing!!

So he spends an inter week annoying the fuck outta Damian!! Looks it’s not a smart plan but it is a desperate one. It is also a plan that works a bit better than expected!!

He started his plan on Monday and it took til Friday for Damian to crack. After a full day of maximum annoyance Danny started following Damian home. They made it several blocks before Damian dragged him into a nearby alley and started swinging.

Now this Danny understood!!!

The universal language of ghost, Violence!!!

So the two beat the shit out of each other and r pretty evenly matched. Both of them r on even levels when it comes to speed and battle awareness and while Damian is definitely the better trained Danny is stronger and more durable. Needless to say the fight goes on for awhile.

A few hours later Damian and Danny shuffle into Wayne manor looking like they lost a fight with a wood chipper and when Bruce goes to ask what happen Danny just smiles and goes- We’re friends now 

With Damian nodding in agreement

[meanbossart]

I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the Bhaalist AU at all, but I still can't stop feeling sorry for Astarion. Does he even still love Drow or is he just playing along?

Iiiit's a little complicated. If you recall the original intentions behind the Ascended Astarion romance (before the devs made tav all smiles no matter what) it somewhat mirrors that. This is what Astarion "wanted" in that version of the story, he definitely helped encourage DU drow down that path with the naive expectation that he would do the same for him when it came time for his ascension. When DU drow hijacks Cazador's ritual (with just enough ambiguity so Astarion couldn't outwardly accuse him of doing so) Astarion's choices are either to end the relationship and wander a dangerous world by himself as his ex lover massacres it, OR stay by his side and live a lavish life under his careful gaze. In that moment, the choice would have seemed simple and not all that bad, even desirable, given his circumstances; he may have failed to ascend, but he gets to be the world's aspiring killer's favorite person, that IS the best possible spot you could probably be in.

So he's not mad about it. At first. And even when he does finally start to get mad about it, his pride will work overtime to dampen that feeling - while Astarion could not help falling into Cazador's clutches, this is something he explicitly sought out, and to admit he ended up more or less back in square one (minus the physical torture, at least) would be too big a hit to his ego.

For an unspecified amount of time, Astarion will thrive within the boundaries that DU drow sets for him. He will have nourishment on tap, sleep in a huge luxurious bed with a man that adores him, be frequently showered with fine clothes and jewels, and know that his safety is one of his partner's utmost priority - he even has a butler now! As weird tiny and nasty as he is - there will be the occasional unease that comes to ruin the moment and, over time, said unease might start to stick around for longer and longer - but that will be a while from now.

For the time being (aka in all spicy pieces I make of this AU, LOL) he's just going to enjoy being an evil villain's partner to the fullest and have a fair amount of fun playing mafia wife.

[lyvhie]

┈─★ “bestfriend!haechan who...”

| cw | headcanon, fluff (?), death/murder mentions, stalking, haechan is kinda... yandere, obsessive haechan (and definitely let me know if i forgot something). | a/n | i dont know guys, dont ask me questions I DONT KNOW!!! i dont even know how to tag this, jesus....

Bestfriend!Haechan, who’s been hopelessly in love with you ever since the dramatic kindergarten incident where you yanked his hair because he dared to steal your toy—his villain origin story, as he calls it.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who became a master at disguising his feelings behind teasing smirks and loud laughs, pulling the "what are best friends for?" card every time he does something that screams boyfriend behavior.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who absolutely thrives on physical affection. Casual cuddles that last way too long to be just friendly, tangling his limbs with yours while claiming you’re just “warm,” resting his head on your shoulder until you end up lying on top of him, your head tucked under his chin or laid across his lap while he strokes your hair like it’s his favorite pastime.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who’s still proud of the day he stole your first kiss—messy, sudden, and right after you admitted you’d never had one. He remembers the way you froze, stared at him with wide eyes, and then smacked his shoulder so hard he saw stars. You didn’t speak to him for three days. Three. But he knew you weren’t really mad… you were just flustered, maybe even curious. Because after that, you never brought it up again, but you also never pushed him away when he leaned in a little too close, lingered a little too long, or held your gaze a beat past comfortable. It was cute.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who goes weak when you say his name in that soft, affectionate way only you can. He's used to hearing his name from everyone else, but when you say it, it feels different, like it's only meant for him.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who absolutely despises hearing you talk about your crushes, even though he nods, gives advice, and pretends to be the supportive bestie. Inside, he’s screaming. Because no matter how charming, pretty, funny, or smart they are, he knows none of them could love you the way he does. No one gets you like he does. No one deserves you like he does.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who marched straight to your boyfriend’s house the moment he found out that jerk was cheating on you. He broke the guy’s fingers one by one, calmly, methodically, each with a reason: for every lie he told you, for every time he made you question your worth, for every night you stayed up thinking about him, for every tear you shed over someone so pathetic. He didn’t yell, didn’t scream, his voice was low, cold, and deadly serious as he made the guy promise to break up with you and never show his face near you again.

Bestfriend!Haechan, the very first person you called when your boyfriend suddenly broke up with you out of nowhere!

Bestfriend!Haechan, who showed up at your place in record time, arms full of your favorite snacks, and spent the night comforting you while you cried your heart out. He held you close, whispered gentle words into your ear like, "He didn’t deserve you anyway," and "You were always way too much for that idiot." God, he had to bite his tongue not to smile—not because you were hurting, but because that jerk was finally out of the picture and he, Haechan, was still the one by your side.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who masks his jealousy behind lighthearted jabs and exaggerated whining anytime you dare to give someone else—like that too friendly waitress—a bit of attention. “Wow, so she gets heart eyes and I get ignored? Rude,” he’d pout dramatically, tugging at your sleeve until you sigh, pull him into a hug, and roll your eyes. Only then does he finally shut up, his smug little grin hidden in your shoulder.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who follows you everywhere, and not just to make sure you're safe—but because he has to know where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing at every moment. He's not stalking, he just cares about you <3.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who always seems to know when someone is bothering you—even when you never tell him. And somehow, those people always disappear from your life. That clingy coworker who wouldn't leave you alone? Gone. That guy who ghosted you after three dates? Found dead in a river, and Haechan just happened to be free that night to comfort you.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who has a habit of "joking" about how he'd do anything to keep you safe. Even kill. He always laughs right after, but something in his eyes doesn't.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who rehearses killing your future husband or wife—just in case. He doesn't want to do it, but if someone ever tried to take you away forever? He has a plan.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who kisses your forehead and tucks you in when you fall asleep on his couch, then stays awake beside you for hours just watching you breathe. He's memorized every expression you make in your sleep. Sometimes he whispers things like, “I love you so much,” or "You'll love me back someday. I'll make sure of it.”

Bestfriend!Haechan, who makes you breakfast every morning you sleep over, humming to himself while cooking your favorite meal, imagining your future together—married, isolated, just the two of you. He doesn't need anyone else. Neither do you.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

[vera-deville]

Between Worlds, Between Words

04/14/2025

Pairing: N/A Word Count: 1,829 Warnings: Depression that builds up from the fact that you're in a world that's not yours Gender: Gender Neutral Tags: @qaxdea, @katzline, @die-remastered Notes: Totally didn't take me like two years to write this. Inspired by this. Masterlist

It all began with a history lecture.

Professor Trein was going on and on (passionately, as always), about the Seven Great Sorcerers and the founding of the Queendom of Roses. Something-something ancient magic, something-something territorial disputes. You weren't sure. It all sounded like the dramatic backstory of an MMO.

You blinked down at your notes. You had written Queendom of Roses five times in a row, underlined one of them, and then - without fully realizing it - drawn an itty-bitty round-headed T-Rex beside the word. Your pencil hovered. You stared at the creation.

That was the moment you'd pinpoint.

The moment you realized you hadn't thought about dinosaurs or anything of the sort in weeks. Not a single pterodactyl. Not a single deinosuchus. Not a single Berthasaura leopoldinae. You used to be able to rattle off entire prehistoric eras like a party trick.

And now?

Now you were sitting in a gothic castle-school in another dimension, learning about long-dead magic monarchs, while wearing a uniform that quite literally had gold embroidery.

You raised your hand.

Trein, ever the professional, paused mid-sentence and looked up from his book. "Yes, Y/N?"

"Do you..." Your voice was very calm, very reasonable. "Do you know what dinosaurs are?" You waited for him to cause your world to crash down (and further cause you to crash out in the middle of a classroom, of all places).

The classroom fell silent. Deuce blinked at you from across the aisle. Ace looked up from where he was doodling something suspiciously inappropriate in the margins of his textbook. A few heads tilted. Professor Trein furrowed his brow.

"Dinosaurs?" He repeated.

You nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Y'know. Giant lizards? Extinct? Kind of a big deal where I'm from."

"I suppose you must be referring to the draconic species," Trein said slowly. "Dragons were once prominent in the Land of Briar, but-"

"No. No, no, no. Not dragons." You waved your hand. "They didn't have magic or fire-breathing. They just...ran around and roared and occasionally ate each other. Real chill. They had feathers sometimes. I think? And they're all dead. Very important part."

Trein blinked at you, confused. "I've never heard of such a creature."

You nodded again, eyes wide. "Yeah. That tracks. That definitely tracks."

And then you laughed.

It wasn't a cute laugh. Not a giggle. Certainly not a dainty little chuckle. No, it was a full-body, slightly breathless guffaw that escaped from your chest like it had been trying to get out for days. You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified, but it was too late. The dam had burst. You were cracking up in the middle of lecture like a sitcom character who finally snapped.

"Oh my God," You wheezed, "I'm losing it. I'm actually going insane. This is my villain origin story."

Trein just looked tired.

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You didn't get detention, miraculously. (Trein may have chalked it up to "dimensional stress" and decided not to poke the hornet's nest).

But it was only the first domino in a long, long line.

The rest fell fairly quickly.

Later that day, at lunch, you tried to make a joke about TikTok and go blank stares from every single table. You had something dumb like "It's giving ✨depression✨" and the silence that followed was deafening.

Even Grim had paused mid-bite. "Giving what now?"

You wanted to scream. Instead, you chuckled weakly and pretended to choke on your food.

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"Do you ever," You muttered to Ace and Deuce one day while walking back from Alchemy, "make a really niche reference and then realize - oh. I'm all alone. No one here gets it. I'm never going to have a meme-based conversation again."

Ace shrugged. "You could just make a new meme?"

"That's not how that works!" You cried, clutching your textbook like a lifeline. "They're...they're communal! They're sacred!"

"Maybe you oughtta get used to the memes here then. Dunno what you're complaining about."

Deuce patted your back with a concerned frown. "Maybe you should take a nap."

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

It would've been bearable, maybe, if you didn't keep catching yourself saying things no one understood.

Once, in P.E., you muttered, "I'd sell my soul for a Baja Blast right now," after running laps.

Cater turned to you. "What kind of spell is that?"

You nearly bit your tongue.

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There were good days, sure. Days when the chaos of NRC felt almost normal, the strange magic of the world you'd landed in had a fairytale charm. You even liked it sometimes. The floating candles, the enchanted mirror, the weirdly attractive student body (seriously, what on Earth was in the water here?).

But then something would happen - a throwaway line from a friend, a specific smell, a distant memory - and the homesickness would sucker-punch you in the gut.

You missed your old phone. You missed a steady flow of electricity. You missed your precious animes from back home. You missed complaining about anything and everything to your friends in your group chat at 2 in the bloody morning. You missed sending them cursed memes and sobbing over fictional characters they knew you'd been in love with since forever.

You missed feeling understood.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You think the final straw was a joke.

Ace said something stupid and punny in class. Something about cauldrons and bad grades - classic Ace. Everyone laughed.

You didn't.

Not because it wasn't funny. You figured maybe it was. Surely it had to be, with the reaction of your classmates. But you didn't get it.

You didn't understand the slang. The reference. The cultural context.

So you just sat there, frozen in place, smile tight and fake, and your laughter coming out a few seconds too late.

You felt weirdly hollow.

Not the dramatic, tragic kind of hollow. Just the kind where something that should've made you feel warm instead made you feel like a cracked mug. Still functioning. Still upright. But leaking a little.

And of course, Professor Trein noticed.

He didn't say anything at first, just gave you a quiet, thoughtful look before resuming the lecture. You sat up straighter. Tried to look attentive.

But even so, at the end of class, while everyone packed up their books and filtered out of the room in clusters of laughter and inside jokes, Trein called your name.

"Y/N," He said, tone gentle enough that you flinched a little.

You turned, your bag slung over one shoulder. "Yes, Professor?"

"If you're not in a rush," He said, adjusting his glasses, "would you...care to join me for tea this afternoon?"

You blinked. "Oh. Uh. Sure. Is this - like - a detention-in-disguise kind of tea or...?"

He chuckled softly. "No punishment involved, I assure you."

So that was how you found yourself, after classes ended, sitting in the most scholarly little office you'd ever seen, across a worn oak desk from Professor Trein, with two steaming teacups between you.

Grim of course, had no reason to be there, so it was just you, Trein, and Lucius - who sat on the windowsill like a furry, judgemental gargoyle.

Trein poured your tea and added a sugar cube to his own with great precision. His movements reminded you greatly of Vil.

"I find," He said slowly, "that I don't understand half the things my students say anymore."

You blinked.

"They speak in riddles," He continued, "about things I cannot begin to visualize. They once referred to something as 'mid." I assumed it meant middling, perhaps average. But then I was told - by Ruggie, I believe - that it was an insult?"

You snorted. "Oh, yeah. 'Mid' is like the fancy new word for 'meh.' A good way to start a fight in a cafeteria."

Trein's eyes twinkled. "Yes. Precisely. I've taught for nearly four decades and still find myself utterly baffled by whatever new linguistic virus has infected the student body."

You laughed - genuinely, this time.

"I don't get any of their references either," You admitted. "But, like...from the opposite direction. I say stuff and they look at me like I've sprouted wings."

Trein leaned back in his chair. "I did wonder about your question in class earlier this week. About...dinosaurs, was it?"

"Oh my god, yes!" You set your teacup down. "They don't know what dinosaurs are, Professor. Dinosaurs! Like - prehistoric lizards! We have museums about them! They've made animated movies!

"Fascinating," He said, and it was clear he meant it.

"They thought I was talking about dragons," You muttered, sinking in your chair. "I nearly cried."

Trein's mouth quirked into a small smile. "It must be terribly isolating."

Your shoulders tensed. "Sometimes I don't feel like a person here. I feel like a joke. Like a weird little artifact that fell out of some ancient time machine and nobody's quite sure how to categorize."

"You're not a joke," He said, kind but firm. "You're someone trying to survive in a world that was no built for you."

That hit you right in the gut.

Lucius lept off the windowsill and sidled your leg, promptly resting his head near your foot. You sipped your tea quietly for a moment.

"...Thanks," You said, voice a little hoarse. "I think I needed to hear that."

He nodded, then tilted his head, thoughtful. "Would you be willing to tell me more about your world?"

You blinked. "Wait, really?"

"I may be old, but I've always valued learning," He said. "And you're a living library of knowledge we've never had access to before."

You grinned. "Okay, then. Where do I start?"

You ended up talking until the sun dipped low in the sky. You explained your version of the internet, social media, reality TV, electric cars, and theme parks. You showed him how memes worked. You drew a rough sketch of a dinosaur. You explained your favorite movies, and how music was streamed, and how cooking shows were a national obsession. Trein took notes with the fascinated curiosity of someone rediscovering the joy of being a student.

He, in turn, told you stories about past generations of students. About how the slang used to be different even back then, about the way magic has changed, and about the first time Lucius clawed someone in the middle of class for disrespecting history.

You both laughed a lot.

You scratched Lucius behind his ears for a bit, allowing the soft purrs to lull you further into your feelings. The conversation was exactly what you needed. As you left his office, you heard him say, "You are more than welcome to come to me for anything you may need. I am more than willing to explain the ways of this world to you so that you may pass your classes."

As you walked back to your dorm, the castle halls a little quieter, a little softer in the dimming light, you didn't feel so lonely.

Not everyone got you.

But someone was trying.

And for now...that was more than enough.

Author's Note: I'd just like to say that I genuinely think that Twisted Wonderland had dinosaurs and that their existence has long been known worldwide, etc. I like to further think that modern-day dragons (as rare as they may be) are descendants of old-day dinosaurs and that they somehow magically evolved into dragons. Having said that, I thought it would be admittedly funnier if the Reader found out that the people of Twisted Wonderland don't know anything about dinosaurs, and they crash out because of it. So, I went with that for this story!

Masterlist

[imjustdelusionalok]

yandere!dc: goddess! darling

ⁱⁿᶠᵒ ᵃᵇᵗ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵈᵃʳˡⁱⁿᵍ۫ ꣑ৎ

darling is a god from another world who just so happens to immigrate into the dc universe after a very long time of probably embodying... well, everything.

firstly having to live for love as a human, and then ending it all to fight for the beauty of life as god.

she is the reason for existence, from the big to the miniscule.

(so basically op goddess reader who has wayyyy too much power in their hands-- ex: nothing can kill them, nothing can put an end to them, etc--)

the least you could do is seal away her powers, but even that would truly not be enough because your only sealing away 0.000000000000001%. (i mean that 💀)

*cough* anyway... aside from goddess reader backstory, lets go to the inspiration <33

she's a mix of Madokami from Puella Magi, HoF Kiana Kaslana from Honkai Impact, and mostly of Ishtar Ashtart/Space Ishtar from Fate Grand Order <3

originally kind and lighthearted after becoming 'God', but as time passes and stars dimmed, she has become... well... neutral. not good, but DEFINITELY not bad. like this!

"let me help you :)" to "...From the dawn of creation. Man has come from the ground not by his hand but mine. go back to the land and return to dust."

summary: lawful, void, alien... yet beautiful, destructive, human.

sooooo. yup.

:p

ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ۫ ꣑ৎ

...she has met the justice league before. because, who in their right minds would ignore the giant falling 'star' that came out of a very visible tear in the sky caused by said celestial body???

dramatically crashing down the surface like a meteorite, you lowkey may have destroyed a 'few' buildings... whoopsies :p

they are surprised. this... girl, no- alien, exudes endless quantity of power, leaking from every blurred pore. it also seems like they might be power themselves...

batman goes bazingas at the amount of destruction caused by your fall leading to an airheaded you getting towed to the JL headquarters and any sort of refusal or fighting back is unallowed. (even tho your more than capable of destroying anything AND everything you still oblige)

though cool as ice, you are so confused deep down. head tilted, vacant expression, the usual from the emotionally detached goddess albeit with a little change. 'what are these humans talking about?' you think, 'what threat?' you think again, unaware that you are the threat being spoken of.

the white slits of the vigilante's mask narrows at your disposition. everything about you seems... off. from your oppressing aura, to the... heavenly allure your blankness brings.

"more alien than the actual alien," a familiar scarlet speedster jokes, in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood. (he failed horribly btw) said alien rolls their eyes and sighs. though he has to admit, you lowkey look kind of cute... but he stops, remembering lois.

once you say your side of the story, they go all shocked pikachu faces again. your a god from another seperate world??? i mean dont get them wrong though, they had their fair share of situations like these, as some dc villains and heroes they know arent even from here originally. but they cant help but feel a bit different about you, something about you makes their soul writhe... and its not in a bad way.

so once B confirms your not a threat despite your extreme potential to act like one, everybody is relieved. you just need a littleeeeeee supervision, thats all :3

and oh look at that, your actually not that bad. your cold demeanor fades once they got to know you, and that void in your eyes is filled with a light comparable to the twilight star's soothing glow— pure, tranquil, and ever so mystifying.

every step you take, life seems to exist and flourish all around you. life heals around you. not only that, but also... them. the dead part of them actually, that died from complications now too complicated to be retold and remembered.

you fill the void they never knew they had, and all their aching scars were no longer painful but tolerable. bearable even, and its all because of you.

at this point, everybody knows how this all plays out. this ordinary tune, twisted into a fanatic's song.

their once innocent admiration has now spoiled into something darker, the more you stay in this world. holy eyes peeked at it, not at them but at the abyss that is their 'love.'

...you were starting to get aware. and a rarity occurred, you were... 'saddened'. for eternities you lived alone, and in an attempt to reconnect with that sliver of humanity you hid and kept, you went here to feel something again. and you did, and you were so successful.

too successful, in fact.

they loved you; so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, sooooo much. without you, they would die! :(

and that, in your eyes, is what makes you 'sad'. if your presence drives your beloved mortals to insanity's grip, then you must fly.

fly away from this despair, fly away from this madness.

your 'love' is your undoing, and ultimately also theirs.

their eyes widen as the sky is torn once again, and a familiar star flies back into it, meaning that you--- left. left? left. left? left... left.

something inside them breaks. both hearts any sense of rationality and morality left.

there is no reason to exist without you it seems, and they will do everything just to see you once more, even a second's glimpse.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

...you can't help but feel something you havent felt for a very long time. what was it again, sadness? anxiety? fear? you dont know. the endless rows of your ivory silks flutter even in the slightest movement. something tugs at you, your mind and heart. something tugs at you, telling... that it is far from over.

they call for you, their cries drowned in obsession masquerading as love.

you never answer, as your supposed concern and care for them lessens and your patience dwindles. reality is cruel, but never crueler than you. and that's when you realized it.

...they make your skin crawl. they make you want to vomit. they make you want to scream and cry. they make your ichor run cold. and if they touch you again, you'll--

...huh. who would have thought that was how you truly felt, goddess.

[cheshireliam]

Nica Schwartz 2nd Birthday Campaign: Story

Epilogue [His POV]

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

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Kate was such a good person, it was laughable. 

“There's no night that never ends, and despair never lasts.”

Her mouth only ever spoke beautiful words. 

(The environment she grew up in must've been one that allowed her to say such things.) 

She and I were nothing alike. 

Despite being with Crown, a den of villains, and has most definitely witnessed injustice, irrationality, and gruesome violence, she remained the virtuous woman she was. 

She was honest to the point of foolishness, and always wore a smile that made her look like she had never witnessed corruption. 

Sometimes… 

— That smile was so blindingly bright, I found it unbearable to look at.

…

Kate’s eyes stared straight at me.

(I said too much.) 

I let go of her restrained hands and picked up the bouquet that had fallen to the floor.

The ribbon came undone, the flowers were scattered everywhere, and Kate only watched in silence as I picked them up one by one. 

Nica: Thanks. For this. 

I plastered on a friendly smile and thanked her. 

While clearly startled, Kate blurted out something incomprehensible. 

Kate: A-ah-res, gu-teh, sum, geh-fu-ah-ta-kuh! 

Nica: Huh? 

Kate: Wait, hang on, umm… ah-res…

Her clumsy pronunciation reminded me of a certain phrase. 

Nica: Are you trying to say Alles Gute zum Geburtstag? 

Kate: Yes, that's it! 

Her eyes lit up and she gave a sheepish, relieved smile.

Kate: I wanted to say happy birthday in German while giving you the flowers, but… 

Kate: The words were too difficult to pronounce, so I couldn't say it very well. 

For some reason, the image of her awkwardly scratching her cheek and looking defeated burned itself into my mind. 

(Seriously, she’s just so pure or whatever it’s called.)

Reluctantly, I grabbed her arm and pulled her into the drawing room. 

…

Not really knowing why I brought her here, I seated Kate on the sofa and sat next to her.

Kate: Um, Nica… 

Nica: Okay, Spatzi. Watch my lips carefully and try to imitate me. 

Kate tilted her head in confusion when I pointed to my lips.

Nica: Alles. 

She was startled for a second, before speaking with a serious expression. 

Kate: A-Alles. 

Nica: Gute. 

Kate: Gute…

Nica: zum 

Kate: zum! 

Nica: Geburtstag

Kate: Geburtstag 

Nica: Alright, now try saying them together. 

Kate: Uhh, A-Alles zuu…

She tripped over the words right from the start, and her face turned bright red in embarrassment as she covered her mouth. 

I found that amusing to see and reached to grab her wrist. 

Nica: You’re so cute, young lady, turning this red over a little slip-up. 

Kate: G-geez! I’m taking this seriously, you know!? 

(Look at how she gets huffy over such a minor matter.)

(I mean, it's not like she’s someone scary.) 

Even though I was still holding onto her wrist, she didn't attempt to push me away. 

She took a deep breath and made another attempt at speaking in German.

But it seemed that the pronunciation was too difficult for her, she kept stumbling over the words and frowning in frustration before trying again. 

Entertained by the sight of her trying so hard, I leaned back against the sofa and continued watching her struggle. 

Kate: I can say each word on its own, but it suddenly gets hard to say when I put them together… 

Nica: Want me to give you lessons on German? 

Kate: Honestly, I’d love that. 

(But she doesn't need to learn to speak German.)

I scoffed internally at her efforts, seeing her serious facial expression. 

(She doesn't have any use for the language.)

We weren't going to stay in England forever, and her time as Fairytale Keeper was limited as well. 

Nica: Why are you so determined to learn German? 

(You could just wish me happy birthday in your own language.)

(It's not as if you need to speak in my language for me to understand you.) 

Besides, my birthday is just another day to me. 

Kate: That’s because I want to say it in your language. 

She said it so naturally and unhesitatingly that my thoughts froze.

(What?)

In my entire life, I had never met anyone like her.

That was the first time anyone said something like that to me. 

Nica: Alles Gute zum Geburtstag.

Kate: Huh…? 

Nice: Come on, repeat after me. Alles Gute zum Geburtstag.

Kate: A-Alles Gute zum Geburtstag…

When those words reached my ears, I realised that I instinctively smiled. 

(Ahh, I seriously can’t deal with this.) 

Nica: Well done. 

Kate’s face lit up with joy. 

Kate: Nica, Alles Gute zum Geburtstag. 

Kate: I hope happiness finds you this year. 

(How can you say something like that when you barely know me?) 

Kate: Well then, I should get going… 

Seemingly satisfied, Kate was about to stand up from her seat, but I rested my chin on her shoulder before she could. 

Kate: Nica…? 

In that moment, I thought I could hear the sound of her heart beating. 

Nica: You should really have more sense of danger, Kate. 

Nica: Who knows what could happen if you said such adorable things while alone in a room with a man. 

Kate: Huh— 

I lifted my chin off her shoulder and leaned in just enough to stop right before our lips touched, then I made a kissing sound. 

I smirked, amused by her reaction to the sound. 

Nica: See? It's dangerous, isn’t it? 

Kate instantly turned as red as an apple and pouted. 

Kate: — Ugh! If you’ll excuse me! 

She stomped toward the door, puffing out her cheeks. 

Nica: What kind of exit was that? So cute. 

I hated that the thought even crossed my mind.

Leaning back against the sofa, I stared up at the ceiling. 

Just then, the door opened again and Ring came inside. 

Ring: I just passed by Kate. She looked upset, but I’m not sure why. 

Nica: Hey, she’s cute, isn’t she?

Ring: … Did you make her angry? 

Ring’s gaze landed on the bouquet in my hands.

Ring: Are you giving that to someone?

Nica: Nope, it was given to me. 

He gave me a look of surprise, which was a rare facial expression coming from him. 

Nica: Got a vase?

Ring: Yeah, but it’s rare for you to keep something like that. 

Ring: You used to throw everything people gave you, because you never know what might be inside. 

Nica: Yeah, but this one doesn’t seem to have anything hidden in it. 

Ring didn't look very convinced, but he left the room to fetch a vase for the flowers. 

Alone once again, I adjusted my hold on the bouquet. 

Sunlight was streaming in through the window. 

(Yeah, there’s nothing hidden inside this bouquet.) 

Nica: But if I had to, I’d say it contains a straightforward and almost foolish kind of hope. 

The flowers whose name I didn’t know of, basking in the sunlight, shined so brilliantly.