hi, I’m Trix (20+ yrs old|black), and this is my anime writing blog (on the side) where I occasionally post imagines and the such.
about: character imagines/x readers/headcanons (here’s my masterlist; I’d recommend searching through it over my selected tags bcs tumblr’s tagging system is ass and won’t actually show every post tagged under a specific tag) & someplace to neatly collect all the anime posts I reblog
EXPECT SPOILERS
main writing blog: apocalypse-shuffle (see: marvel, dc, slashers, etc.)
connected (secondary) blog: apocalypse-boogie
my ao3 (note that my works are set to only show my work to registered users)
author’s ✍🏾 note: I cannot write for every type of person. Please don’t act like I can or should be. I am one singular person who has a life and feelings, not a genie in a bottle and I don’t have to do any one thing. Thx
DNI: minors; on my posts/reblogs that are 18+ (which I’m saying for my own peace of mind really, like with any dni).
racists; because ‘fuck you’ that’s why. race fetishists; see above quote in orange for why.
homophobes; because I’m not and never will be in the mood.
terfs, misogynists, & pedophiles
one more time, y’all
me: Trixie
20+ years of age, bitches
black; as in brown skinned
18+ only on posts labeled “18+”; minors dni with those (I’ll just block you)
Curled up under a blanket and comforter, the white noise of Toji’s snores streaming into your subconscious and motivating you to fall asleep faster.
At peace.
Unlike right now.
Not that you were irritated either, but fuck The Backyardigans playing at this point. Even the theme song couldn’t get a true rouse out of you— dubbed in Japanese or not. Wasn’t doing much but making your ears ring, really.
Frankly, you should still be in the throes of a dead sleep. But you know from experience that if you don’t get some food in you ASAP, you’ll be miserable for the rest of today and a good chunk of tomorrow too.
It wasn’t like the kid didn’t need to eat sometime before brunch passed you by either, and between you and Toji it was hardly a competition over who had a rougher night.
At least you weren’t nursing the possibility of a concussion.
If that was how concussions even worked…
Head pounding steadfast and buzzing to its own frequency, sure, but nothing so life threatening. Mainly because you weren’t security at a club fucked enough to be known for violent altercations— or Toji Fushiguro’s rowdy, trouble looking ass.
“Aw, damn,” you huff. Brain clicking back on enough for you to clock how you’re about to burn yourself on the still cooling pot of soup. Arms full of half a melon and what’s left of a couple other pre-portioned fruit, you freeze and pivot away with a glare at the simple broth.
There goes that lack of zanshin Toji was always poking at you about.
…or was that an inkling of it just now?
Did you care?
Oblivious child babble starts up just outside the kitchen and you wince at the noise increase.
And in the wake of that you suppose the answer is a tentative yes, but not right now.
Unfortunately, you needed to agonize first.
Pain medicine is apparently not enough to beat back your hangover from Hell this morning— maybe next time you’d try elephant tranquilizer and just sleep off the consequences of your night’s tomfoolery.
Sucking your teeth, you squint down at the knife in your hands with more concentration than probably necessary. The fruit you’re about to start slicing the rind from would not be your undoing.
Even for you cutting off the tips of any of your fingers would mean vetoing many a night of partying and bar hopping for however long it took for them stitches to come out.
Could you imagine? Dancing up on your homegirl then— BAM! Part of your finger’s on the floor, there’s blood in your cup and a stiletto skewering your detached digit?
Shivering, you don’t stop the disgust curling at your lip.
Didn’t matter how much your increased involvement in the life of your boyfriend’s son was steadily domesticating you, you were still a hot girl at heart. And you would not jeopardize that until you were good and ready to retire all the intensity.
No matter how quick the ‘aww’ comes to your tongue when Megumi swings his head around to look at you as the tv winds into an ad break. Jet black hair sticking out and spiky at the top of his head from a mixture of bed head musings and lingering static.
So early in his day his eyes are accented by a low-lidded, tired stare.
Looking over at you with a pout like you were the all seeing god who was dropping ads in the middle of his show just to spite him. Swinging a whole arm behind him to point at the cause of his woes.
Megumi skips and stutters and lisps over his call of your name, then— “Fix.”
“Please,” you correct.
Megumi frowns, points a little harder. “…P’ease.”
Letting out a snort, you flick your attention to the corner of the flat screen, before meeting that dour little stare.
“It’s just three minutes, Megs, you’ll live.”
Inevitably the boy doesn’t appreciate your dry, teasing tone. His eyes narrowing for real now.
“Uh uh.”
“Mm,” you hum, barely culling a snicker. “Well then you need to tell the tv that, not me. Maybe you’ll pressure it into going faster.”
That spiky head tilts.
“•••?”
“Eat your damn food,” a low, exasperated voice orders. All groggy as Toji creaks his way down the hallway in an oversized t-shirt, one you know is hiding a kaleidoscope of bruises and patched up switchblade slashes, and sweatpants.
The steady stream of the kid’s show you both don’t understand, and whose music was starting to ring like torture dispite it’s cuteness, acts as his entrance music for the morning.
You sigh, scraping the detached pieces of rind to the edge of the cutting board. Toji’s brashness wasn’t some secret facet of himself he kept hidden from you until you were too attached to get driven away by it, but it certainly wasn’t your favorite thing about the man either.
“Morning, Toji,” you murmur, and because someone has to instill manners into Megumi you get him in on it too. “Megumi, tell your father ‘good morning’.”
If you sound a smidge too mocking when you say it, he certainly can’t tell, and said father can’t do much else than narrow his eyes at you in retaliation.
After a steep moment of concentration, eyes scanning Toji from head to toe as if even he can sense the man’s recklessly gained knicks and bruises, Megumi lets out an almost dull echo of your command.
It makes you choke on your spit.
“Right back at you, brat,” Toji greets back, ruffling his hair as he makes his way to the kitchen. Somehow it pulls a giggle from the boy, his hair getting even more gravity defying as tiny palms swat at one comparatively giant hand.
Toji hides his chuckle in the turn of his head, a purpling bruise decorating his cheek and the beginnings of a black eye opposite it adding its own creative charm.
Just behind his back you can see Megumi doing what he was told. Even his show being briefly forgotten as it comes off of its ad break when he fists a ball of food.
Why a ball? Because balls were fun, you don’t fucking know. Really, you’re just mentally crossing your fingers that he’s old enough not to choke on anything.
Toji hits kitchen tile and immediately grabs for you. The kiss he places is quick, like he thinks you somehow won’t notice if he swoops in fast enough. Warm breath over your cheek followed by a mumbled ‘mornin’’ into umber skin.
“So…?” you poke at the swell of his bicep, raising a brow at him.
“It ain’t a concussion,” The scarred corner of his mouth edges into a grin— you clearly have no clue how concussions work. His head cocks the tiniest amount. “Though I’m sure that’s disappointing news for you.”
“Please,” you scoff. Letting him take you, muscled arms wrapping around your waist and dragging you against him. He doesn’t duck away from your hand when you gently rap your knuckles against his temple. “There’s not a hit hard enough to knock sense into you.”
Besides, Toji didn’t react productively to violence. Most people didn’t, really, but most people also didn’t resort to close combat when pushed too far.
“Hm,” Toji grumbles, pressing into your knuckles until you unfurl your fingers. He doesn’t let his eyes flutter closer for more than five seconds, but that’s still five more seconds of un-utilatarian, nonsexual touch than he used to allow.
Whispy, black strands of hair to match his son's glides between your fingers. The edges of your nails scrape lightly over his scalp. They’re just about to hit where you know the butterfly bandage cinching together a nasty scrape amidst his hair lies when Toji pulls back.
Satisfied chewing couples the slowness of the morning. The only contrast being the upbeat noises from the television.
As your partner ducks behind you to peer at the food you’ve got on the stove and generally shuffle around the kitchen, his feet bare and steps whisper light, you check on his son.
Your laughter trickles past your lips unbidden.
Megumi’s cheeks are full like a chipmunk’s, pudged as he pushes them to the limit to eat. Mouth falling open like a puffer fish for a few seconds before he settles.
There’s a fish ball in one of his tiny fists, the chunk taken out of its crispy outer layer with little teeth likely what’s being chewed away at inside of his mouth. In his other fist is the softer fish ball you cooked in the soup base of his udon. Both of which leave no room for a single utensil.
The fried balls you’ve had, so you know they’re not too hot for him and that he’s only playing— though the ones in the soup you haven’t gotten to yet. On account of the boy needing to be fed ASAP and all.
Smile tugging at your lips, you just shake your head.
“Megumi,” you cut in, voice light even as you project it. “Blow on the food before it’s in your mouth. Like we practiced.”
“Hmmph,” he grumbles at you, pouting with a mini glower that doesn’t look quite as convincing as the mature version of it you get leveled at you from his father.
You raise a brow, ignoring Toji audibly drinking from a carton of juice where he’s huddled in front of the open fridge, until the boy buckles.
Megumi blows on his next fried bite. Loud and spitty enough you’re not particularly confident it does much.
Nonetheless you’re satisfied. It wasn’t like the blowing was wholly necessary this time around, you were more instilling the practice into him early as it stood.
Still ignoring the throb at your temples, you turn your attention to Toji swiping a thumb across his chin to cut off a line of apple juice. He sucks the liquid from the pad next and you’re not sure which you’re more annoyed at. Not getting to lap the juice from his skin or that he drank straight from the carton at all.
“Messy,” you chide, teeth flashing when you smile. Toji just shrugs, cornering you between the counter and his bulk— fulfilling half of your wish without a word when he swoops in to let you in on how the juice tastes where it lingers on his lips, in his mouth and the glide of your tongues, before you break apart.
When you hand him the kitchen knife in your hand, Toji takes it from you without thought.
You lean more comfortably against the countertop as you put him to work. “How’s Megumi taking to his new nanny by the way?”
“Hn…oh?” While Toji thinks real hard about his son’s day to day, you slide the cutting board and hoard of fruit atop it towards him. Knife skill superior to your own, Toji doesn’t do more than blink down at the board before he starts slicing. “Guess he’s…having trouble making friends at daycare or something.”
“Damn, for real? What’s the plan there then?”
“Hn.” His nose scrunches. “Shiu says I should try taking him out for once.”
You snort, “Sound advice. Maybe start with the park?”
“That’s too many people.” Toji makes a face like you’ve threatened him with dismemberment.
“Ah,” you draw out, thinking. The man really wasn’t a fan of large crowds and open spaces where Megumi was involved. And as a matter of fact neither was the boy himself. Last year’s carnival trip had ended prematurely for a reason; cut short by a short, terrifying search for a Megumi who’d ducked under the lip of the booth you’d stopped at thirty minutes into the afternoon with chubby hands pressed to his ears, his eyes screwed shut and a whine building in his throat.
“Kids day at the museum?” you offer. Toji grunts like he’s thinking about it.
A small, distressed gasp steals your attention from the furrow in his brow. Looking over your shoulder leads you to nothing short of a horrific revelation.
Freezing, it’s like you're watching everything happen in slow motion, heart seizing in your chest.
Megumi, all of one foot and some change standing, in his high chair midway through a bite and looking aggrieved. Cherubic features twist up with pain a second too late, and then, like he’s on a delay, the boy wails.
The hot bite of food tumbles from his open mouth as he recoils. Where he’s holding the slightly steaming fish ball, skin in direct contact with the bite he’d made in it, his hand remains clamped tight.
In retrospect you should’ve seen this coming.
The soup was cooled to a warm, cozy temperature by the time you felt okay to give it to him. But that didn’t mean the insides of the fish balls had cooled too.
Oh god you were a horrible not-mother! You should’ve cut them in half!
Fumbling, and a little awkward on your feet, you grab the nearest bit of fruit to your fingers and rush after Toji.
Toji who dropped the knife and sprung into action so fast there might as well be miles between you.
Almost on autopilot, he cuts to the dining table in four big strides. Form blurring at the edges between one blink and the next. Speedily enough you’re not actually sure if the hint at his afterimage left in his wake is real or imagined.
“Christ,” Toji cusses, dragging his hair from his face with one hand before snatching up Megumi’s wrist. Still his hold isn’t any firmer than it needs to be, and when he uses his other hand to pry stubby fingers apart it’s with one corner of his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. Fingers that dwarf Megumi’s gentle even in their urgency as he forces them open and the object in his palm out.
There are big fat tears rolling down Megumi’s face and your heart squeezes vice tight in your chest.
Food finally deposited in one of the sections of his frog plate, thick, scarred fingers wrap around one of the handles of a matching green sippy cup.
“Here,” Toji grunts. Feeding the malleable nub of a straw into Megumi’s mouth, past quivering lips.
Sniveling, the boy sips. Not fussing about Toji’s thumb rubbing over the faint pink tint of his palm.
You plant yourself at Megumi’s other side, trying not to flail and overwhelm him any further.
“I’m so sorry, ‘Gumi!” you cry out softly. Bringing an arm around to hug his front, the heel of your palm rubbing against a bib so unblemished it’d’ve given you pause in another situation.
Megumi’s breath stutters as he gasps in air, unlatching from his straw. He leans into your touch, hair tickling what skin you have exposed as he tucks his head against you.
You could die.
Even the cold slice of mandarin orange you slide into his hand to help cool it down doesn’t assuage your guilt.
In the following handful of minutes the fish balls are cut in half and blown on in equal measure.
Crisis narrowly averted, you retreat back behind the counter. Doing your best not to hit Megumi with a thousand yard stare lest you want to alarm the boy by studying him for too long.
“Everything’s fine,” Toji’s rough tone cuts into your inner spiral. A line of heat from his body curling up your side, him nudging you.
“I could’ve killed him,” you say. The space at the back of your eyes is starting to grow hot. Closer to tears than you’d like.
A low snort rattles your brain. Mouth dropping open, you look at him a little crazy.
“No you couldn’t’ve.” He shakes his head. “The shit I used to fumble my way through with him after…” He sighs, “Just relax, yeah?”
You sniff, fighting back a frown. “I’m relaxed.”
Toji doesn’t bother acting convinced, but he does move on.
“Got a bigger problem anyway,” he grunts. When you turn to him he’s running a hand down his face, glancing at Megumi afterwards with a contemplative sweep of blue eyes, before: “My kid’s an idiot,” he gripes. “Why wouldn’t he just open his damn hand?”
Clearing your throat, you take a second to rub the heat from your eyes.
“Aw, cut him some slack. He’s learning.” You raise your brow, giving him a wry look. “Besides, that’s what Papa’s for.”
Toji crosses his arms, the familiar dour turn in his expression not shaking you in the slightest. Not when you’ve seen him throw up after getting kicked in his healing spleen by a fussy Megumi. “Not mine.”
“So…?” you murmur, and it’s not an indictment. Your face opening up, and eyes widening a bit with imploring intent, before you throw one of the cubes of melon he cut into your mouth.
Toji only frowns, the muscles in his arms visibly shifting as he tightens his hold. With last night’s booze thoroughly taking its revenge though, you only shrug and finally scoop the fruit you want into a bowl of your own to fuck off with. Fully inviting yourself to collapse on his couch. Your headphones going in next to block out the music blasting from his television.
For his part, Toji simply watches you go.
Perfectly content to trace your form, brown skin and loose pajamas and a headscarf threatening to slip off your head, before you’re seated and his brain skips right back to shit he doesn’t want to remember and comparisons he doesn’t want to make.
Even idling on your back, head propped up on the armrest and the band of the arm thrown over your forehead partially obscuring your vision, you don’t miss the way he startles out of whatever mental conundrum he’s having when Megumi’s mouth opens mid chew.
Are familiar enough with the boy to recognize his lisp strewn call of ‘Papa’ by lip reading alone. Even a year plus into Megumi’s existence, Toji’s nose still wrinkles some at the term. Some unnamed revulsion you could take a guess at, but won’t.
Still, you’re familiar enough, too, with the man to clock him moving to heed whatever request was just made that much faster than usual.
NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!
Why the backyardigans? Because it's one of the first things that popped into my mind when I thought ‘kids show’, and then the theme song haunted me for a bit.
Alright, this is officially my first ever released JJK fic, so don’t be a dick pls :D.
Also, Tsumiki, mama, I’m so sorry I forgot about you! Also, also, fun fact: in my head a salmon ball was in Megumi’s hand— which the fried version I was thinking of is Afro-Caribbean, but the version in the soup was more Japanese. And Megumi holding onto the hot food despite himself is based on a true story lol.
btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!
Just wanted to let you guys know that there are two pages on this app that like to troll and make very degrading stories about black readers! @/suckmuballs and @/whotookmynameareuserious these are two little white girls pretending to be black, who are MINORS.
For starters, im a black girl myself in case you guys didn’t know that. I find this very disrespectful and this is not my first time encountering something like this on an app built around community. So if you support me and follow me and you happen to find their accounts “funny”???? Please feel free to block me or message me to have yourself removed.
I don’t play that weirdo and disrespectful shit, it’s not cool and I don’t fuck with it. It’s 2026 and we’re still making trolling pages and lying out our age AND race to tear down another just because black girls and boys come on here and have to request for things to be inclusive. These are minors. Report them, do whatever. PLEASE SPREAD AWARENESS & REPOST‼️‼️
I haven’t seen any big accounts spreading awareness on this topic so please. Thank you guys, that’s all.
Some of the members of 1-A (or any of the other classes) asking Shinsou to use his quirk on them for more mundane things in order to help him see that his quirk isn't villainous. (I mostly want this for Shinsou development, but also, I really enjoy seeing the kids use their quirks for mundane stuff.)
Class 1-A finds out Hagakure's costume is just gloves and boots and does something about it. (I've read a few fics with this premise, and I really want more. I love it when 1-A bands together to help eachother.)
Yaoyorozu and Todoroki as eachothers beards. (Or really any two characters acting as a fake partner for their friend to help them hide their actual partner.)
One for All with similar properties as the Avatar state. (Ok, this one is kinda vague, and also not the best description of what I'm going for, so let me be a little more specific. First, past OFA users appear as ghosts that only Midoriya can see. They just kinda hang around and comment on things while talking to him. And second, when Midoriya is under duress, the past users can possess him and act through him as one entity. Creepy OFA is so interesting to me. Also, I think it would be really cool if Nana Shimura could talk to All Might through Midoriya.)
Bakugo can be soft when he needs to be. (I have this headcanon that post series Bakugo uses his aggressive personality more like a mask that he can drop if he needs to. If something actually serious [ex. Someone having a panic attack or mental breakdown] is going on, he'll drop the rude persona to help the situation.)
(This one is definitely more crackfic, but also, it's funny to me, so) Every student at UA is attracted to Midoriya, Ururaka, or both. Even the couples have a hall pass (I think that's the word) for one or both of them. Nothing ever comes of this its just something all the students talk about with each other. Eventually, they all forget about it after they all graduate until years later, at a high school reunion party, someone gets a little drunk and reminds everyone about it. Which also causes Midoriya and Ururaka to spend the entire night going "wait you too" at literally everyone in the room. (Like I said, this is pure crackfic, but I also think it would be really funny.)
Bakugo babysitting Eri and just being the absolute worst influence. Like that girl is gonna kill someone. (Girldad Bakugo)
he freezes mid-joke, those blue eyes widening before narrowing into the softest smile you’ve ever seen. he leans in, so close his breath fans your ear, and whispers, “say it again, just for me.” when you do, he laughs quieter, almost shaky. he hugs you so tight it feels like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
✦ geto suguru
he doesn’t speak right away as he just looks at you, long and searching, like he wants to etch the moment into his memory. then he exhales, slow, and cups your face with both hands. “aishiteru,” he repeats, voice low and reverent. it feels like a prayer more than a reply, his forehead pressing to yours.
✦ fushiguro toji
he stares at you like you just blindsided him. his mouth opens, shuts, and he lets out a rough chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “you’re trouble, y’know that?” he mutters, but the way he drags you into his lap and holds you close says everything. later, when it’s dark and quiet, he’ll murmur the word back against your skin, almost like he’s not used to letting it slip out.
✦ itadori yuji
his whole face lights up instantly, eyes sparkling, cheeks pink. “seriously?! you mean it?!” he blurts, bouncing a little on his feet. he hugs you so tightly you can barely breathe, peppering your face with kisses. “i love you too! aishiteru! aishiteru!” he repeats it over and over, grinning like a kid in love for the first time.
✦ fushiguro megumi
his head snaps up, eyes wide. he tries to play it cool, but his ears turn bright red, betraying him. “you really had to just drop that on me?” he mutters, looking away. still, his hand finds yours, gripping it tightly. and when you least expect it, he’ll lean close and whisper, “aishiteru,” so quietly it barely reaches your ears.
✦ nanami kento
his brows rise ever so slightly, but the emotion in his eyes gives him away. “that’s… quite a word,” he says softly, but his lips curve in the faintest, warmest smile. he takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, before replying with quiet certainty, “aishiteru. don’t doubt that.”
✦ choso kamo
his eyes widen in shock, almost like he can’t believe he heard you right. “…you do?” he asks, voice low and vulnerable. when you nod, he pulls you into a careful but fierce embrace, resting his chin on your head. “then i’ll say it too,” he murmurs, the word aishiteru rumbling from his chest like it’s been waiting years to be spoken.
✦ okkotsu yuta
he goes completely still, eyes wide and a little glassy. “you… you said aishiteru?” he stammers, cheeks turning bright pink. he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, before suddenly hugging you so tight you squeak. “i love you too, more than anything,” he blurts, heart racing.
