#and the two expensive fellas that are yet to come

[millalya]

Have another page of Furby-related planner (and some ugly Chinese handwriting) because I'm not original when it comes to content creation and love to recycle old ideas.

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Harry Styles has his fans abuzz with excitement at the possibility that he's dating Taylor Russell -- and based on where she was this weekend ... they may be on to something. TMZ has obtained photos and video that show the actress watching Harry's Vienna concert Saturday night in what appears to be a VIP tent of some sort. More than just that, though, it also seems to be an area where HS's team might've been handling BTS concert duties. As you can see, Taylor -- who's pictured with the bob cut and white dress -- is sitting next to a guy, who's got an electronic device and monitors in front of him. Looks like he might be Harry's stage manager or something ... and that he was pulling the levers of the show. Taylor's sidled up alongside this fella ... and she's also dancing the night away as Harry performs. In between songs, TR was chatting with the crew member -- taking it all in. Looks like she was there for the entirety of the show ... and her appearance here dovetails with photos of her in Vienna, with a guy that stans are certain is actually Harry. On Saturday one such photo appeared to show her wearing this exact outfit and rocking the same 'do. And yet on Sunday, even more purported footage of the two of them walking around the city began circulating as well ... sending the Harry brigade into a full frenzy over the chance that he may have a new love interest in his life. Indeed, they're quite happy about it. The dating rumors actually began last month, when Harry was spotted walking with Taylor in London ... and seemingly holding her hand too. Now, it appears she's accompanying him on tour, at least partially anyway. Unclear if she'll be going to his other European dates. Like we said, the Harries (as they're known) are flipping their lid over this would-be couple ... and, unfortunately, it comes at the expense of Olivia Wilde, who Harry dated last year. Needless to say, his fan base wasn't totally thrilled with that pairing ... as the collective feeling, it seems, was that being with her brought a lot of drama he might not normally have around him ... if not for her. Yes, we're referring to Florence Pugh, Jason Sudeikis, etc. Anyhoo, they're all broken up now ... and on its face, it looks to us like he might already be moving on to someone else -- who also happens to be closer to him in age ... FWIW.

While Harry did take a phone to the face last night -- and it sure seemed like it hurt ... here's hoping Taylor was able to kiss it better before the night's end. Happy trails, you two!

Full article. Posted July 9 2023. Link

[ginger-snap-talkin-nonsense]

what are the core ingredients of a Tumblr Sexyman

Now you see THIS is an interesting question because in it lies a cultural shift in hotness that we can observe in real time.

You see, in an earlier era one could easily describe a tumblr sexyman as a character with the following traits:

-White/White Presenting in the fandoms eyes should the character be humanized in fanon only as was the case for characters like Bill Cipher

-Tall and Thin: tumblr girlies love looking different while not being different and therefore the average tumblrite would reject the “hunk” archetype for the slimmer figure, though having no regard for chubby or fat body types.

-Morally Dubious Characterization. Now this could range anywhere from a “fall from grace” in which a true good character finds themselves becoming the villain, to just straight up being a genocidal maniac but they were nice that one time to another conventionally attractive character (likely a protagonist). The point is to have a villain without the baggage of them being true evil.

-Tragic Backstories. From lost friends to corrupting outside forces to abusive daddies to abusive daddies to abusive daddies (there’s a lot of abusive daddies), you want your characters morally questionable choices to be blamable on anybody but themselves.

-Expensive Aesthetic. Suits, waistcoats, vests, even white button-up undershirts all portray someone as having money (regardless of their wealth status), while showing off that slim figure.

-“Charming”. Now what a tumblr girlie would call charming was often as dubious as the characters moral standings and it tended to come in two flavors: Coy and smarmy, which has a man who feels on top of the world, always has a quick retort, and can often be seen making half-lidded eyes at the protagonist with a sly grin on their face. They have not a care because they’ve already won. Conversely, they could be “Awkward”. Dorky and soft, tripping over sentences and their own feet, but they’re just sooooo cute about it. These tend to be the types to have meltdowns where they could be seen breaking things in a room and shouting while tears roll down their face because they’re “so emotionally available”.

AND THEN SUDDENLY SANS

Sans became something of a base-breaker as Sans broke many of these conventions. He dresses down, his body type-while being literal bones-is still fat presenting, his only “moral pitfall” doesn’t actually exist as he only attacks if you prove yourself to be actively genocidal, and he’s a short king. By all means, Papyrus SHOULD’VE been the TSM, if not Mettaton (who was near made for the role). And yet, Sans. Why?

Well, a shift was coming. Body positivity was on the rise and genuinely likeable characters were in shorter supply than ever before because too many pieces of fandom media were pandering to the TSM tastes, and if there’s one thing a counter culture fella loves it’s jumping to the next counter cultural movement when counter culture becomes the culture.

This means that Sans actually heralds in a new era, as different sizes, demeanors, and aesthetics started to break the base (see also: Alex Brightman’s Beetlejuice). However, there are some principles that still remain

-Coy charms and awkward charms alike are still pervasive in the TSM arsenal and a tragic backstory still has hooks in the audience, even if nowadays it may not necessarily apply to a morally dubious sort. Also they’re still like, all white. Because fandoms at large have a racism problem.

As one might note the TSM isn’t often an applied term these days, and that’s because as the TSM scope broadened new terms were being used to describe subsets before the umbrella term was dropped all together. Girlypop, babygirl, himbo, blorbo, glup shitto, etc. are all in their own way just a branch off the gnarled root of the TSM.

[lindsay00000008]

Whump Theme: Misguided Vengance

I love when innocent people get hurt by someone who just wants justice (revenge) and would do anything to have it. It’s a great opportunity for a reluctant whumper or even carewhumper, and reveals ways the whumpee may have been manipulated and lied to by the Whumper’s enemy — the true Whumper of the story. Yay!

This was going to be a short post about who those innocent people might be, but I just kept writing so here’s a snippet of a longer plot line :)

The Wife

She doesn’t know exactly what her husband does for work. She thinks it’s finance. At least, it used to be. Something about stocks and excel sheets and other things she’s never had a reason to understand.

The house they live in is large but not too McMansion. Comfortable. Their items are mostly thrifted or vintage. Not bargains by any means, but nothing like you see in a gaudy celebrity home. It’s warm and inviting, a place for friends and family — and extended family — and drinking tea by the fireplace.

At first The Wife thinks there’s another woman.

The changing of subjects, the missed dates, the phone calls he leaves the room for, even at night. He doesn’t like to talk about his job. Says it’s both boring and stressful. She asks why he does it. The Husband reminds her it pays the bills. He’d rather she tell him about her freelance writing, her archery class. New recipes she found on the internet. He always has time for her. He always listens. So why does she feel so alone?

A call comes one lazy Sunday, as she dozes with him on the couch after lunch. A sitcom plays low on the TV, background noise to their rare post-date coitus. The phone vibrates in his pocket — The Wife can feel it where her hip presses against his. He’s already moving, gently pulling away, taking in a deep breath to shake off the wooly clouds of sleep. He answers the call with that same quiet, professional tone he always uses. He stands from the couch. She keeps her eyes closed, content to continue snoozing with or without him. She’s about to mumble to him to toss her a blanket. But then she hears him, right as he shuts the sliding door between the couch and the dining room.

“No, dumbass. Don’t hurt him.” The Husband says, low and tense. As the door snicks shut her perked ears pick up two more syllables — “not yet”

The Wife forces herself not to care. Tries to. It can’t be that bad, right? He was just exaggerating. Money hurt. Hurt, like a wallet. White collar. Just squeezing a little extra out of extra rich clients. Just buying stocks with a little help from friends of Apollo.

But she can’t pretend for long. Once she opens her eyes to it, she sees it everywhere. The poker nights she’s always away for — “I bought you and your friend tickets to that thriller you wanted to watch”. The laundry that doesn’t come home — “I like to shower at the office and get the day off me. The cleaning service right next door is a big plus”. The money that comes out of nowhere.

That one she can’t explain away with heartbreaking images of a pretty coworker. He does “good business”. But does he? He’s “blessed”, he must be loved by the big fella upstairs. But is he?

The Wife stops asking him for more time together. Stops complaining when he misses dates. He notices, but he doesn’t ask. Doesn’t want to open that can of worms, most likely. There’s a new perfume on her dresser, an expensive one, with a little bow attached. “For my lovely wife.” He buys her a mechanical keyboard, its keys thocky and expressive, jelly opaque like green tea. “For your beautiful work.” A necklace, the emerald a match to her engagement ring. The color he wore at their wedding. She hasn’t put it on yet.

She lives with the fear that some day, he’ll bring his work home. Sometimes she thinks she’s crazy. That she can’t be so certain, just because of something she heard when she was half asleep. She’s ruining her marriage, distancing herself from him, and he’s trying so hard to make her happy. She wants to just ask him. But then it’s another poker night, and his friends are arriving, nodding politely as she passes them in the entry.

She was just on her way out, a little late — she misplaced her phone. At least, that’s what she told him. Her Husband walks her to her friend’s car. She smiles to each of the men as she’s escorted out, wishing them an enjoyable evening. They look kind enough, just big. The Husband has a lot of gym friends, that’s all. The last man slips by without a glance at her, his face tilted to hide it. But she sees the bandages under the brim of his hat, covering his cheek and the side of his neck. The dark purple bruising around his right eye.

She gets to the car. Her husband kisses her goodnight. She pecks him, smiles briefly, says “have fun”.

Her friend is curious why she changed her mind about the comedy show, but doesn’t pry when asked to drive to The Husband’s workplace. She must see the unease in The Wife’s face. The Wife let’s her friend assume her husband’s infidelity, or some other, more trivial malady.

“Can you stay in the car? I’m just gonna run up real quick.”

The friend asks if she’s sure, but The Wife waves her off. “It’ll just be a minute”. The friend gives her a pitying look.

It’s been dark outside for about two hours. The lobby is free of clients and business people, but the elevator buttons are guarded by matte black rectangles, a red strip shining across the top. She pushes the up arrow. It doesn’t respond.

She rounds the corner, trying to find the stairwell, when a jingling of keys reaches her ears. She turns on her heel, putting a hand to her hair casually as she walks past the elevators. She makes her heels click on the tile floor. A face appears, not shocked to see her. She smiles and blushes a little with the untold lie, saying “Have a good night,” with as much quiet, corporate casualness as she can muster. He nods and smiles.

She rushes back to the car lot, where her friend is idling. Should be idling. She looks around worriedly, feeling stupid and invalidated, and now lost.

She sees the tail lights of a car closer to the back of the lot. It’s sort of familiar, so she dials her friend and heads towards it. There’s a tall man standing at the driver’s side window, a broad grin glinting at his face. The light of his phone shines up to cast the hollows of his eyes in ominous shadow. The friend leans out the car window, smiling flirtatiously up at him.

“You must be Mrs. Husband. Sorry for interrupting your night, I just had to talk to Miss Friend here.”

The Wife gives him a tight smile, hiding her confusion. He doesn’t seem creepy, and the parking lot is lit well enough. Her eyes flash over to her friend. Ok, so they’re flirting. But why would she tell him her name?

“I’m just getting off work. Your friend tells me your husband works here too.” He speaks to The Wife, but keeps his attention on his conquest, who’s holding the steering wheel with one hand and her phone with the other. Her contact page is open, and she saves the new entry.

“Yeah, I was uh— he just left something in his office.”

“You have a key?” He looks interested.

“The guard let me up. He knows me.”

“Ah,” He says, and doesn’t ask more.

“We’re on our way to a comedy show, you wanna come?” her friend supplies.

“Ah, I’ve got a stew in the crock pot. Hey, I’ll call you, alright?” He smiles at her friend.

“Lovely to meet you two,” he says, his eyes flashing to The Wife. Then he’s jogging to his car, leather shoes and all.

“Isn’t he so cute?”

“Why would you do that?”

“Flirt with a guy? Uh, because he’s cute and I’m single and I still believe in love…” something goes unsaid there. The Friend apologizes anyway.

“Never mind, I’m just… I’m just anxious. Do you still smoke?”

The Friend quirks a smile at her, managing to conceal some of her pity as they drive back towards the suburbs.

Part 2…?

[imagines-to-quench-thirst]

Hi I was wondering if you could do a Victor creed x female reader where reader is a mutant just like Victor but she has the same type of abilities as he does and this is like a love story filled with fluff and smut and Victor and reader both get married after dating and have six kids three boys and three girls and they end up having mutant abilities just like their parents if this isn't too troubling for you I understand 🥰 thank you and have a wonderful day

5 Times In Time

→pairing: Victor Creed x fem!reader

→warnings: 18+ SMUT at the end, some swear words

→notes: I took a different turn with the stories but stillllll, i didn't think it would be this long, enjoy

1 Meeting him

The battlefield was scattered throughout the country. No man, woman, child, or mutant was saved from the extreme pain the villains brought upon the doomed world, even without their help. The fire rained upon Y/N skin, burning like a slight ticket to the mutant skin capable of healing every would that touched her skin. Her nails extend far beyond imagined for the average human as she runs, jumps, and kicks her enemies while leaving no head attached to the shoulders. Her eyes landed on the famous cyclops and his partner as they huddled to talk about a newly formed plan which Y/N did not know yet. 'Y/N, there's new help coming in.' Cycopls said while his red-glasses covered eyes scanned the enemies' how many?!' she waited impatiently for the answer, his pointer and middle finger shooting up '2.' he replied, 'what?! There's no way only two people will help with hoards and hoards of monsters?!' 'believe me, those two will.' behind them, the now well-known Wolverine ran towards them, followed by a black-coated figure, his claws bouncing off the red glow of the fiery skin. 'who the fuck is that?!' Y/N shouts, her anger raging. The two muscled men stop their huffs loud and heavy. 'the names Victor darlin. don't use it too much now.' with an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes, Y/N felt the same glimmer glaze in her eyes.

2 Kiss kiss

'Victor…Victor…Victor…Victor…Victor…Victor!!!' Y/N shouted in the mansion, looking for the clawed fella. Her steps throttled on the expensive white marble, her eyes locking onto the most miniature scene of a black coat disappearing into the nearest hallway. Her feet took a strong left into the hallway seeing the cool-as-ice mutant leaning on the wall, one foot up on the wall, arms crossed, and his gaze on her. 'why didn't you respond to my calling?' she huffed, inching closer within arm's reach. 'I wanted to hear you use my name, little cat.' his tongue stayed longer on the cat, making it a strong 'tt' sound, irritating her ears. 'I told you don't call me that.' 'But you have no hero name, little cat. What should I call you then.' 'My name…Y/N.' she paused, feeling his hand grab hers, gently pulling her closer to him. 'You are cute when you huff and puff, similar to the wolf from little red riding hood.' Victor whispered, his lips staying on her right ear 'the wolf ate the grandma and little red. I did not eat anyone.' she responded, her hands staying on his muscular chest, feeling his heart beating steadily. 'Can I eat you?' he pulls back his lips in a wickedly naughty smile uncovering his white beastly teeth. 'We can make a deal. We are both reasonable, right?' y/n answered with a question, feeling a strong urge to kiss his lips. inching closer and closer their lips…'No kissing!' a voice erupted. The pair turned to see a small, mean student looking at them both. Victor turns to his girl and says loud enough. 'Y/N, what's the time?' ' 1 pm. Why?' looking back at the kid, he answers, 'Lunchtime.' The child's eyes open in shock, running to get cover and leaving the couple alone again as they continue their interrupted moment.

3 I wanna make it pop, pop

'Vic, come on, we are late. We will miss it.' y/n shouted at the mutant as she stood at the top of the hill, waiting for her protector to catch up with her. 'Darlin, you may be younger, but I am over 134 years old. I am an old man. Give me a break!' he retorted as he finally reached her. huffing out, Y/N sits on the blanket, pulls the man down, and sits next to each other 'If we missed it, you are sleeping on the couch for the next five weeks, no negotiation.' 'it's just fireworks!' 'Yeah, but it's only once a year, and I haven't seen it live yet. I want to see it with you.' Victor leans on her, his hands caressing her tight 'Is that so?' 'Not going to work, Creed. Now stop. It's starting.' The frameworks sound first and pop off the explosion of colors, sizes, and shapes. The midnight sky colors itself with the iridescent light sparks letting the people and mutants below enjoy the view that was present once a year. Victor stops to gaze at the sky and looks at his love, her eyes mirroring the scene unfolding between them, his heart rumbling and talking to him in the form of a robust crescendo-like heartbeat rhythm. His hands find the back pocket, and he presents it to her. She looks down for a wink and witnesses a ring. she looks at him, her gaze holding thousands of questions. 'I wanted to pop this question from the moment I kissed you. What do you say, little cat? Can I call you my wife?' 'Only if I can call you daddy in 9 months.' she pulls his hand, letting it rest on her stomach. 'You just made me the happiest in all my lifetime.'

4 2+1=4?

'I am not popping any more kids for you, Creed. The twins are more than enough!' Victor laughed at his wife's statement walking closer to her and pecking her expecting lips. 'However, will I change your mind, my little cat?' Punching his chest, she answers, 'By stopping calling me little cat, I am your wife, call me appropriately.' 'You have a punch…wife. But still, the twins are now 3, and we might as well have at least one more kid so they can have each other to lean on.' 'Are you talking about your kids? the same ones that ate sand yesterday! Those are your stupid gens. I will die happily enough knowing that they will learn how to use scissors not and adequately stab each other. Plus, I was delivering them for …' '12 hours. I know I was there with you every second of it. I messaged your stomach, was there when you had contractions, and fed you.' He cut her off, holding his stance towards his love. 'Congrats, you did the bare minimum while I was doing the most brutal stuff ever.' 'You really are something, wife. So feisty and stubborn.' he leans down to kiss her forehead, his hands caressing her back. 'I do love that. Especially in the bedroom.' his voice purred, and Y/N felt her knees go weak at the sounds. 'Well, I guess… maybe one more could be good…' she whispered, her cheek heating up.

5 Home Run

The bed creaked, and the sound of harsh skin slapping was heard. Y/n's head was on the pillow, her teeth biting the plush material, her hands holding onto the sheets as her mate rutted in her. His hips snapped back and forward, his pace slowly getting sloppier and slower, finishing in her. Victor looks at his woman, her skin, her eyes watering, and her lisp so damn kissable. Leaning down, he steals kisses from her, his tongue playing with hers as he massages her stomach, pulling slowly out. 'You think this is it?' he hushed; Y/N chuckled. 'Well, even if it didn't, I would mind repeating this. You always get so possessive when you want to breed me.' 'Have you seen yourself, pretty girl? That's the effect you have on me, and there is no medicine for it but just to fuck you and breed you.' Y/N looked at her big bad wolf, kissing his lips, her hands trailing all over his chest and arms, stopping at his left hand on the wedding band. 'You promised, remember?' 'You think I would break my promise to you? Never, I will kiss, lick, protect and fuck you until the end, sweetheart.' 'Damn right.'

If you like it, let me know.

[dreamingofaizawa]

Obedient (Rewritten)

Soft! Yandere! Erasermic x Chubby! Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

You must be 18 years old or older to participate in this reading. If you are not, please remove yourself from the line and find another piece. Thank you.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, implied drugging, kidnapping, reader is way too fucking calm with the situation, Stockholm Syndrome, BDSM themes, a collar, body worship, the word Daddy once, smut, double penetration (diff. holes), anal, unprotected sex, overstimulation, aftercare.

Word Count: 6.6 k

Author's Note: Alright. I've been wanting to rewrite this for a while now. Obedient was the very first fic I'd ever written and posted back in September, and my writing has changed A LOT since then. Reading the original, I realized there's a lot that I can change and tweak, and a lot that wasn't very clearly or well written (in my opinion). So, here it is!

You can find the original here.

Enjoy~

*

*

*

“Happy birthday to me.” The words tumble loosely from your lips on a heaved breath, your fingers curled lazily around a cold glass of whiskey.

It isn’t a rare occurrence to see you perched atop a stool at the edge of the bar, nursing your third glass at 2am on a Friday night. Or rather Saturday morning. It’s one of the only places you can find solace, away from nosy coworkers and nosier acquaintances. The loneliness is soberingly blissful. You never cared much for social interaction.

At this point the bar is emptying, only a handful of bodies sticking around in the early hours. In the reflections of the rows of glass liquor bottles you see them again. Two lanky figures sitting in the corner booth at the back of the establishment. Any normal person would see them and think nothing. But you know better. When you first walked into the bar six months ago they were in that exact spot, and every time afterward they’d be there when you walked in and stayed after you left.

You, being observant as you are, always watched everything from your spot at the bar, the slightly warped images in the glass serving as your eyes for the night. It didn’t take long for you to figure the two were watching you every time you stepped inside. The blonde one always sat with his back to you, and his head would occasionally turn in the reflection. You’d alternate seats to make sure you weren’t imagining things, but it only confirmed what you’d suspected.

Not that you cared enough to do anything about it.

As long as they keep their distance you’re perfectly content letting them look. And they did keep their distance. They’d never even come within 5 feet of you, seemingly happy with just lingering glances. Of course, tonight would be a different story.

You watch as their glassy reflections stand up, the distance between you and them shrinking with each of their long strides. You let your eyes fall to the amber liquid in your hands, praying they’d only pass you by on their way out. Two sets of footsteps approached, two bodies popped up on either side of you, and a deep, silky smooth voice sounded on your right.

“Mind if we take a seat?” A glance to your right revealed a rugged, yet handsome man peering down at you with his deep, tired onyx eyes. Long raven hair spilled over his shoulders, framing his chiseled jaw peppered with barely tamed scruff and a scar curved along his cheekbone. You turn to look at his friend, long blonde hair pulled up into a high bun and hypnotic green eyes focused on you behind orange tinted sunglasses despite being indoors past midnight. He is handsome as well, a small mustache on his smiling lips, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline drawing you in.

You couldn’t help but feel they look familiar, somehow. You’d seen their faces before, somewhere, but you pushed that to the back of your mind for now.

It wouldn’t hurt to let them sit with you, right? They seem friendly enough, and it’s better to entertain them in case things go south should you reject their request. With a small, tired smile, you nod.

“Sure thing, fellas.” They both plop down on either side of you and the blonde immediately gets talking.

“So what’s the occasion, little listener?” Two thoughts came to mind. One, how did he know there was any occasion, two, what kind of pet name is ‘little listener’? Your confusion must have shown on your face, because the raven haired man spoke up.

“You’re pretty dolled up for a night at the bar, kitten.” Ah. So they had been watching you. You aren’t wearing anything that would normally be considered ‘dolled up’. Your tan sweater and black skirt are relatively plain, and the platform boots you’re wearing accompanied by your thigh-high socks are something you’re experimenting with.

But usually you entered the bar with a white button-up and black slacks from your job as a waitress. Today you had time to go home and pamper yourself a bit before heading to your usual drinking spot. Evidently, they noticed. You bring your glass up to your lips and gulp down the remaining liquid before entertaining the question.

“Nothing special. Call it a birthday party.” And hey, you mean it when you say it isn’t special. Your birthday only marks yet another routine year on this earth. The blonde nudges your shoulder with his own.

“I’d say that’s pretty special, sunshine!” The alcohol must be affecting you, because you chuckle a bit at his enthusiasm.

“Just another year gone by, you know?” You’re never this talkative sober. The man on your right rapped his knuckles on the bartop, the barkeep making his way over with a tired smile.

“One more glass for this pretty kitty here.” The name had your eyebrows raising.

“This one’s on me.” As the fresh glass was sat on the bartop you scoffed quietly.

“Kitty?” A deep hum came from the man.

“Well how would you describe yourself, kitten?” Somewhere in your muddled brain you warned yourself not to be self-deprecating on your 25th birthday. You didn’t listen.

“Definitely not feline. I’m short and chunky and the only thing cat-like about me is my posture and eyeliner,” you stated, matter-of-factly. As a waitress at an esteemed high-end restaurant, you had to learn to be quick on your feet, agile, and most importantly, poised. A hum comes from the blonde, a muttered ‘pretty and humble’ floating on his breath. You force a chuckle at the statement.

“Pretty is also a word I wouldn’t use to describe myself.” A short silence falls between the three of you, and you take the time to study their faces. Where had you seen them before? You’re certain if you’d met them before you’d remember them, you don’t tend to forget attractive people.

They’re oddly patient as they watch the cogs in your brain turn, your eyes taking in every detail of every feature. Your breath caught and your eyes went wide when you’d finally placed their faces.

“Present Mic and Eraserhead. You’re pro heroes.” The words are quiet, nearly imperceptible as you breathe them, but they’re close enough to hear. Present Mic beams at the recognition.

“In the flesh, sunshine. But we’d prefer you use our names.” Eraserhead leans away and sticks a hand out for a handshake.

“Shouta Aizawa.” You shake his hand and turn to the blonde, who similarly has his hand held out.

“Hizashi Yamada.” You introduce yourself, a bit shaky and only slightly starstruck. What in the world are two pro heroes doing talking to you? As you regain your composure you excuse yourself to the restroom. You weren’t prepared to talk to heroes tonight. A glance in the mirror has you sobering yourself, rationalizing their strange behavior. These two are pro heroes. They were clearly only worried about your safety, a woman all alone in a bar till the earliest hours of the morning. ‘That’s why they were watching me’, you muse. You quickly fix yourself, then step back out to the two heroes.

The three of you pass another hour of time before you decide it’s time for you to head home. They offer to give you a lift, but you politely decline. You can't intrude on them any more than you already had. Hizashi insists otherwise.

“Please Sunshine? If something were to happen to you we’d never forgive ourselves!” It made sense to you. They’re pro heroes after all, it’s in their nature to worry. So you oblige to ease their anxieties.

Since Shouta hadn’t touched any alcohol, he’s driving, and you punch your address into the GPS system of their very expensive looking car. As you sit back, Hizashi holds a bottle over his head.

“Water?” You thank him and drain the bottle, realizing you’re a bit more dehydrated than you initially thought. In your semi-drunk haze you fail to notice that the bottle had already been opened, and you miss Shouta’s eyes watching you down the beverage through the rearview mirror.

It’s only five minutes later you feel drowsy, your head lolling to the side and eyelids drooping. You don’t quite register the question Hizashi asks you, and when you don’t answer he turns around to look at you.

“You seem tired, Sunshine. Take a nap, we’ll wake you up when we get there.” Your exhaustion takes hold over any rational thoughts, and with a sleepy nod, you stretch out over the backseat and let your mind slip into unconsciousness, blissfully unaware you’ll never see your apartment again.

The first thing you notice as you wake up is how stiff and sore your muscles are. It takes you a moment to realize you aren’t in your clothes from last night, nor are you in your own bed. Your eyes snap open and you sit up, taking in the unfamiliar room. With a curse under your breath you scour your memory for anything, checking if you’d gone home with anyone or gotten yourself in a tight situation. The last thing you remember is being driven home by the two pros, then passing out in their backseat.

Questions began forming in your mind. ‘Where am I? How did I get here? Where had the two heroes gone?’ In an attempt to think clearer, you try crossing your legs, but your ankle is stopped short by something heavy. Throwing off the blanket, a thick metal cuff glinted in the light of the room, an equally thick chain leading somewhere over the side of the bed.

When your breathing begins to quicken, you settle your mind, refusing to panic. Willing yourself to relax, you begin to think about how you can get out of this situation. ‘Today should be Saturday. Assuming this room is part of a house, someone would most likely still be here’. With a small breath, you speak, hopefully loud enough for someone to hear you.

“H-hello? Is someone there?” It only takes a few seconds for footsteps to reach your ears, and the door opens to the last person you’re expecting to see. A ruggedly handsome Shouta Aizawa stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a small smirk on his lips.

“Good morning, Kitty.” As endearing as the pet name is, the only emotion you feel right now is confusion. Your mind is drifting to all the fanfiction you’d read online, piecing together the events of last night like a puzzle. ‘The bottle of water was already open’. In your defense, they’re pro heroes, it’s only natural for you-- or anyone, really-- to let your guard down. A large hand on your shoulder jolts you back to reality, your eyes wide as you stare up at Shouta like a deer in headlights.

“You okay Kitten?” All you can manage as you settle your thoughts is to blink up at the man, swallowing down the lump in your throat before letting out a shaky breath.

“Let me guess. I’m home now, aren’t I?” The man stares back down at you with subtly raised eyebrows before chuckling softly.

“That’s not the reaction I was expecting, but I can’t say I’m mad about it. You’re a smart little kitty, aren’t you.” He leaves you to your thoughts and your mind begins reeling once again. You understand this is wrong, that you shouldn’t be so willing, so obedient. You also know how boring your life has been up until now. How mundane and lonely you’d been for as long as you can remember.

You’d cut ties with your family long ago, and ‘friend’ is a very loose term. Most of the people you called friends are acquaintances at best, your antisociality and trust issues meant ‘making friends’ is not on your life agenda. Somehow you knew, deep down, you wanted something like this to happen. You longed to give up control, to let someone else string you along and take the reins and let you relax, not have to worry about anything anymore. That side of you tended to make itself known through your explorative late teen years.

You’d had romantic partners before, though once anything intimate came up they all refused to associate with you anymore. They couldn’t understand your want to give up control, your need to submit. They refused to collar you ‘like an animal’. None of your partners ever understood the weight behind such a garment. This may be your chance at the relationship you’d always craved, regardless of its twisted nature.

Then there’s the logical side, the chances of you actually escaping. As a quirkless human in the presence of two trained pro heroes (assuming Hizashi is also in on this), the likelihood of you making it out is slim to nonexistent. If you somehow manage to get out, the two could easily track you down and just as easily drag you back. So, as wrong as it seems, you don’t fight it.

Shouta returns with a tray of breakfast, setting it down on your lap after you’d adjusted yourself to lean against the headboard. As he pulls back you mumble a ‘thank you’ and begin to eat, acknowledging the pang of hunger in your belly. As weird as it seems to say ‘thank you’ to your captor, you find it could be helpful even if only a little. Being polite is automatic, but it’s also a great way to make sure you don’t end up injured, or worse, dead somewhere, so for once in a long time your manners are intended. You’d gotten halfway through your meal when Shouta speaks up.

“You’re taking this really well.” He almost seems skeptical. You peer up at him as you finish the food in your mouth.

“There isn’t much use panicking. I’d only end up hurting myself. Besides, it’s not like I can get out.” You motion to the cuff around your ankle and he gives a small chuckle.

“You’re not wrong, kitten.” He leaves to let you finish breakfast, returning ten minutes later and taking your empty tray. He comes back right after, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold in hand.

“I’m sure you need to use the bathroom.” You give a small nod, acknowledging the pressure in your bladder for the first time since you woke up. Gently, he takes your wrists and locks the cuffs around them, then holds up the blindfold before going to tie it around your head.

“These are just a precaution.” Soon you feel the cuff on your ankle fall away, and Shouta’s strong arms loop under your knees and back as he lifts you off the bed.You’re both surprised and not that he can lift you with relative ease. He is a pro hero after all. It takes less than 30 seconds for him to stop and gently place you down, taking the blindfold and cuffs off.

“I’ll be waiting just outside the door. Once you’re done, knock and I’ll take you back to bed.” You nod and he leaves, locking the door once he’s outside. Of course it locks from the outside. You take a moment to just think about your current predicament. Currently you’re locked in the house of a pro hero, being kept against your will (sort of). Your life had just taken an unexpected turn.

You knock on the door like Shouta said, and it isn’t long before you’re back on the bed with the cuff around your ankle. As he turns to leave you stop him, and he turns back to you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Can I...draw?” You didn’t know if he’d actually let you have anything, but it was worth a shot. If you were to be cooped up here you need to keep yourself occupied. With a low hum, he leaves the room and comes back with a sketch pad, pencil, and eraser.

Days come and go with either of the pros serving you three meals a day. They begin questioning your obedience, especially Hizashi. He questioned your lack of panic and how you never seemed to try to escape. Even he knows this isn’t normal. Shouta seems less skeptical, like he’d expected less of a fight than any normal, sane person would give. When Hizashi asked questions you answered truthfully. Lying is of no use to you.

“Really, I don’t mind it here. So far my life has been pretty shitty and boring, so this turn of events is mildly appreciated. Besides, you treat me relatively well, considering I’m being held captive, so I can’t say I’m upset.” You’d guessed from both your reading and their actions that they truly believed they cared about you. The chances of them hurting you are slim, so you’re able to live with them without fear.

The cuff around your ankle came off about a week in, and Shouta gave you the freedom to roam the house, though it wasn’t without warning. He held his hand out to you, an offer to help you stand, and you took it. Slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shift your weight to your feet. Your legs shake like a newborn fawn, but Shouta held you to let you stretch your legs and get comfortable walking again.

He led you out to what you assume is the dining table and sat you down, Shouta taking the seat on your right. You assume Hizashi is in the kitchen, what with the clatter and smell of food. Shouta asked what you’d been drawing, which caught you a bit off guard, but you answered anyway.

“Koi fish.” He hummed, focused on you.

“Any particular reason why?” You take a moment to think about your answer, it’s not a question you’re used to responding to.

“Well they’re gorgeous creatures. Elegant, sleek and graceful. The way they move is so mesmerizing, smooth and flawless like a flowing creek. I’ve always loved drawing koi.”

The conversation lapses into your fascination with the fish, how they somehow remind you of dragons and how the fantastical creature’s existence isn’t as far-fetched as it’s made out to be. Hizashi joins soon enough, serving dinner and listening in on the conversation.

Once you all finish eating you get comfortable on the couch, nestled between the two men. It isn’t long before you drift off to sleep, their body heat lulling you into dreamland. Shouta carries you to bed, carefully laying you down and pressing a light kiss to your temple. He stands above you, admiring your features as you sleep.

You’re gorgeous to him, a goddess in your own right. He and his blonde counterpart had started watching you mainly because you were a woman, completely alone and seemingly unarmed in a bar until the earliest hours of the morning. Neither of them could tell if you were quirkless or not, and as heroes they made sure to keep an eye on you during their weekly trip to the bar should you get into any trouble.

But eventually it became a habit to look for you, and the more they looked the farther they fell. You looked as exhausted as Shouta every time you stepped through the doors, hair just beginning to lose its style and shoulders sagged. But you were so beautiful, even in your exhausted state. Hizashi was the first to mention his infatuation to Shouta, but the raven-haired man had already figured the blonde was into you.

Soon enough they began to get antsy, constantly watching you walk out the door into the dead of night all alone. You’re just too trusting of the world outside, not taking enough precautions for a woman of your caliber. They made it their mission to make sure you were safe, and one day, take you back home where they could protect you.

Now that you’re here, it’s like a dream. Even as you sleep you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. How your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the way your lips softly part with every breath, how your chest gently rises and falls, it all makes him stare down at you in complete awe. It takes a great deal of willpower for him to tear his eyes away from you and join Hizashi in their room.

*

***3 months later***

*

A couple months have passed since you’d...moved in with the two men, and you can’t say you hate it. They’ve respected your privacy, allowing you to stay in your own room and letting you bathe yourself after refusing their attempts at persuading you to join them. Honestly it’s been nice living with them.

Though, the longer you’re with them the more thoughts begin gathering and swirling in your head. Caring thoughts, how their days progress, how they’re feeling at any point in time. And needy, dirty thoughts. Any time those pop up you make it a point to push them deep down into the farthest recesses of your brain, refusing to fuel those pesky embers.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you know what’s happening, what’s been happening. You’re no stranger to Stockholm Syndrome, having done your own minimal research on the subject a few years back. You constantly tell yourself this isn’t normal, nor is it healthy, to enjoy the company of your captors. You have to remind yourself that they had taken you from everything you knew, and even though there wasn’t much for you to love, they’d taken you from that as well.

But soon enough the illogical prevailed, because despite all of that, the two have been nothing but good to you.

In no time at all the days you spend alone in the large house are the days you find yourself missing their company, hoping they’d return sooner. You managed to dig through their clothes and pick out some of their older t-shirts, and began wearing them around the house. Their lingering scents have been a comfort as you patiently wait for them to come back. They don’t seem to mind at all, so you’re content.

As time passes you get closer with them, gravitating toward them and snuggling into either of their sides, letting them wrap an arm around you and tug you into them. You began giving kisses when they left and returned, a small peck on the cheek at the door. The first time you had engaged a kiss was a shock to both of them.

You had tugged Shouta’s sleeve and when he turned you silently grabbed his collar and yanked him down, leaving a small peck on his cheek, doing the same with Hizashi. They barely had the time to react before you dashed to your room and curled under the blankets, face heated and heart pounding like some schoolgirl who had confessed to her crush and got a positive response. That night you’d received more cuddles and kisses than normal.

The kisses became routine, and before long you all slept in the same bed. Strangely enough, life began to feel somewhat normal. The house began to feel like home.

And soon enough that schoolgirl crush manifested into something dirty, something lustful and carnal. Just as much as you long to be around them, you want desperately to feel their hands on your bare skin, mapping out the curves of your body as you writhe beneath them. You crave them and their touch. But of course you still have your pride. Dropping hints would have to suffice.

Slowly, subtly, you dress lighter, more scantily. No shorts under their t-shirts that barely cover your ass, allowing the stretched collars to drop and expose the slightest peek of skin. After a shower you walk back to the room in nothing but a towel, allowing the edge to ride up your thighs. Your tactics seemed to work, their eyes glued to the newly exposed skin, soaking in your plush thighs and soft skin. Their stares make you ache, but after weeks of nothing but lingering glances you decide to toss your pride out the window.

You have dinner ready when they walk in the door, and after everyone had eaten and showered you usher them both to the couch while you sit facing them from the coffee table. Their confusion is evident on their faces, your nervous fidgeting and reluctance to look them in the eyes didn’t help. What you’re about to bring up is embarrassing to say the least, but staying silent would be a detriment to your sanity. With a steadying breath, you meet their gaze and quietly force out your seemingly ridiculous request.

“So… I enjoy being here with you,” your fingers twist into the hem of your shirt and you swallow down the lump in your throat, “and I really appreciate that you’ve given me anything I asked for-”

“No.” Shouta’s voice suddenly cuts off your sentence.

“You can’t go outside, Kitten. I’m sorry, but that’s non-negotiable right now.” You blink dumbly at him, completely thrown off balance by his statement before you catch yourself, waving your hands frantically in front of you.

“No! Oh god, that’s not…um…. I wasn’t asking to go outside. I love being here, with you, and doing whatever but...it’s what we don’t do...that’s bothering me...just a little bit…” By now your voice is so quiet and high-pitched you wonder if they can even hear you. Hizashi, bless his heart, is just as confused as before the conversation started.

“Sunshine, you aren’t making much sense. If you think about it, there’s actually a lot we don’t do.” Shouta holds a hand up, silencing the blonde. His dark eyes drag over your body, watching the way your thighs almost imperceptibly rub together and you can’t meet his gaze. You squirm, the intensity in his eyes something you aren’t used to but it makes you hot all over. His hand comes down on his thigh twice.

“Come here, Kitty.” Slowly, you stand and walk to him, letting his hands grab your hips and pull you down to straddle his lap. A finger curls under your chin, angling your head to look Shouta in the eyes. A small smirk pulls the corner of his mouth, a moment of realization flashing across his face.

“Our little Kitty is getting needy ‘Zashi. Isn’t that right, Kitten?” Heat flooded your face, your embarrassment and arousal sending hot blood to your face and chest. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, hoping they’d do something about the very horny state you’re in. Shouta’s hand moves to your hip again, lifting you and placing you in Hizashi’s lap before standing and walking away.

The blonde cooed at the surprised squeak you let out at the sudden movement, and you open your eyes to his wide grin. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. It feels nice, and you let your body melt into him and his warmth, his long fingers digging into the flesh of your lower back as he tugs you closer and a pleasant haze settles over your mind.

It’s a blissful moment shared between you, and Shouta returns just as Hizashi pulls away from the kiss. They share a look you can’t place before the former raises a hand to gently stroke your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He seems conflicted, trying to mull over some sort of decision in his brain, his brows just barely drawn and jaw set. When his eyes dropped to his other hand, yours followed, to find he held a long thin black velvet box. Clearly it holds some sort of jewelry.

After a few moments he turns it to you and lifts the lid, and your heart damn near stops beating. Whether it’s from excitement or a brief flash of fear, you don’t know. These two have been watching you for much longer than just at the bar. Those few months are only the tip of the iceberg, but how they’d come to notice you would probably forever remain a mystery to you.

Right now, all that matters is that they know everything. From your failed relationships to the reason they’d all ended. They had to know, that’s the only explanation. There’s no possible way it’s pure coincidence that you now gaze down at a beautifully crafted leather collar. It’s simple, thin, black dotted sparsely with sparkling gems and a dainty metal ring centered at the front. Tentatively, you reach out and trace the leather with your fingers.

“Is this...for me?” A deep hum sounds in Shouta’s chest, and that’s answer enough for you. Shouta plucks the garment from its seat and moves behind you. The cool leather feels heavenly as he loops it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. Everything seemed to go quiet as you waited for something, anything, to solidify this moment.

Click.

You shudder out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Shouta tilts your head and presses his lips to yours, looping a finger through the collar and giving a gentle tug. It makes you mewl, allowing him space to slip his tongue behind your teeth. He can see your pupils dilate when he pulls away, plush lips slick with saliva, lust invading your mind. You look so needy and desperate for them, so fucking gorgeous.

Hizashi leaves a kiss on your cheek then picks you up and places you on your feet. Both men grab either of your hands, lacing their fingers with yours, and gently pull you with them to the bedroom. Hizashi begins undressing first, and you can only let your eyes drag over his bare upper body for a moment before Shouta grabs your chin and distracts you with another kiss. This one is more passionate, heated, rough as his tongue effortlessly invades and dominates your mouth. Hizashi’s voice permeates your lust-filled haze.

“Come here, baby.” Shouta pulls away and allows you to walk over to where the blonde sits naked on the edge of the bed. He motions for you to turn around and you oblige, then he grabs your hips and pulls you back to sit in his lap, your back pressed to his chest. You watch as Shouta undresses, baring his skin to you as Hizashi tasks himself with undressing you.

Your shirt is the first to be removed, a groan spilling from the blonde when he discovers you aren’t wearing a bra. He pulls you flush against his chest, peppering wet kisses down your neck and shoulders as your eyes roam over Shouta’s sculpted frame. The raven haired man makes his way over, kneeling down between your legs and reaching up to toy with your breasts, rough fingers working your nipples until they peak. Hizashi’s hands find their way down to the pouch of your stomach, grabbing at the soft pliant flesh and squishing the fat there.

You let out a low whine, feeling extremely self-conscious with his hands working at the parts of your body you hate the most. You grab at his wrists in an attempt to pull him away, but he hushes you and whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your neck.

“It’s okay, pretty baby. Let me feel you.” You will yourself to let him go, let his hands explore your body the way he wants. He keeps his hands on your belly, long fingers massaging into your skin.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He’s nipping and kissing at your neck, whispering praises into your ear as he fondles all the fatty parts of you.

Shouta’s hands reach up and tug your panties down, then grip your thighs and pull them apart, exposing you to his hungry eyes. You can’t help but feel exposed, uncomfortable, as they touch and gaze at every part of yourself you had always despised. A whimper builds in your chest, tears beginning to sting your eyes and your breath shaking. Hizashi leans over and kisses your tears away as Shouta leans forward and kisses at your belly and thighs, hands working at whatever flesh he couldn’t get his lips on.

“Let us love you. All of you. You’re such a pretty kitty.” You let yourself relax, let yourself relish in the fact that these two gorgeous men are doting over your body like you’re a goddess, like they couldn’t live if they didn’t worship every one of your perfect imperfections. Though you’re far from comfortable, the initial fear subsides, allowing them full access to you.

“Good girl kitty, good girl.” Shouta whispers as he nips at your thighs, sucking little red marks into your skin. He hooks your legs over Hizashi’s, and the blonde’s fingers dip down to tease your folds, barely breaching your little hole and making you buck for more friction. A soft moan slips from your lips as he pushes two long fingers into your soaked pussy.

You rock your hips into his hand, his palm barely brushing against your clit making you mewl. Shouta focuses his attention on your breasts and belly where Hizashi left bare, kneading and kissing and licking, leaving blooming marks all over your skin. Soon you feel a knot form in your stomach, tightening and burning impossibly hot. Hizashi feels your pussy clenching around his fingers and quickens his pace, grinding his palm down against your clit hard and curling his fingers to hit that spot that has you seeing stars.

When the knot snaps you’re falling apart on Hizashi’s lap, back arched and legs shaking. You throw your head back against his shoulder and cry out, pleasure racking your body in intense waves. Hizashi keeps moving his fingers inside you, letting you ride out your high, legs trembling and toes curling with the continued stimulation.

After your release you relax back down, chest heaving with every breath. Hizashi lifts you up and lays you down on the bed, Shouta crawling up over you and kissing you sweetly. He grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist, lining up his painfully hard erection with your throbbing pussy.

“Are you ready for me kitty?” You look up at him through your lashes and nod fervently, needing him desperately despite the sensitivity. He tugs at your collar gently.

“Use your words kitty cat. Are you ready for me?” Your eyes widen slightly and you answer without any real thought.

“Yes Daddy.” Shouta growls at the name and swears under his breath, thrusting his hips forward and bottoming out all at once. The air is punched from your lungs, the stretch around his thick length almost enough to make you cum a second time. Shouta leans down and kisses at the bruises Hizashi had left on your neck, giving you some time to adjust. It only takes a few moments for your walls to stop clamping down on him.

“I’m going to move now kitty. Relax for me.” He starts slow, groaning as he watches his length slide in and out of you.

Your warmth feels so good around his cock, and he moves faster, driving his cock so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Hizashi lays down next to you and puts two fingers into your mouth, your tongue sliding over them, coating them in your saliva.

He pulls them out and goes to rub your clit, leaning over and placing open mouth kisses along your collarbone, sucking new bruises onto your skin. Your legs quake with the quick building pleasure, your second orgasm creeping up fast. Suddenly both men stop their movements, Shouta pulling your body flush against him and sitting up.

Lithe, cold fingers suddenly dance around your back entrance, toying with your puckered hole. A single finger pushes in and you mewl and squirm at the new sensation. A second finger works its way in, the two digits working to stretch you gently. Soon there’s a third, and when you’re relaxed the fingers are gone and replaced by the thick head of Hizashi’s cock.

“You ready, sweet thing?” You nod and whine, a little weary but ready to be full of the two men. He slowly inches his way inside, shallow thrusts sinking him deeper until his hips are flush with your ass. Both men pepper wet kisses along your shoulders, giving you time to relax, but you don’t need it. You whine, wiggle your hips in an attempt to get them to move, and they oblige.

Their initial pace is slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as they slip in and out of you. They build up a rhythm, when one is bottomed out the other has only the tip in, and soon you’re drooling from the amount of stimulation you’re getting. Hizashi’s fingers move down to work at your clit, and just the slightest touch has you trembling. The stimulation shoves you over the edge and has you cumming hard around them, your slick dripping down your thighs. They slow their pace slightly, your holes clamping down on them and attempting to milk them dry. Hizashi’s fingers rub your clit harder, overstimulating you.

“Do you have one more for us baby? I know you can cum one more time for us.” You whine, thrashing in their arms trying to simultaneously get away and tug them closer. Tears fall down your cheeks and a familiar tension fills the pit of your stomach and Shouta leans over and bites down on your shoulder. The pain pulls you over, crying out as you clamp down on their lengths hard. Their hips stutter as they chase their own release, and they shoot rope after rope of cum into you as you ride out your own high.

They still their movements, holding you and each other close. After a few moments they pull out together, the movement making you moan and tremble. Your body goes limp and Shouta pulls you to lean against him, stroking your hair and back. You’re sobbing softly into Shouta’s shoulder, your last release washing over your body almost painfully, your bones already beginning to ache. Shouta rubs your back softly and Hizashi peppers soft kisses along your shoulders, both cooing praises in your ears.

Shouta picks you up and the three of you go over to the bathroom, where Hizashi plugs the drain and turns on the tap to fill the large tub with hot water. Shouta climbs in and sits down, still cradling you, and the slowly rising water begins to soothe you. Hizashi pulls out a tube of ointment and rubs it onto Shouta’s back, relieving the scratch marks you left on him. After tending to Shouta he unlocks your collar and sinks into the tub, leaning against you. You let the two massage you and wash you, bringing you back from the intense scene.

“You okay kitten?” Shouta rumbles into your ear, petting your hair. You nod into his shoulder and grab Hizashi’s hand, wanting to be close to the both of them. The hot water and the care of the two bring you back down to earth, and you start to feel fatigue pulling at your consciousness. Hizashi notices you drifting off and takes you from Shouta. He dries you off with a towel and locks your collar back around your neck.

“Sho, I’m going to take her to bed. When you’re ready come join us.” Shouta hums and Hizashi carries you to bed.

You lay with Hizashi and cuddle into his chest, letting him hold you and rock you as you drift off. After a few minutes you feel the bed behind you dip and look up at Shouta with half lidded eyes. He gives you a peck on the lips before nuzzling against your back. With a long, soft sigh you melt into their arms, content with the new life you’d been brought into.

[sleepisforcowards]

Chapter 1

Boston, Massachusetts April 4th 1937

The tiny specks of dust basked in the glowing sunlight that peaked in through the open window, curtains drawn back.

A small thud was heard in the room as yet another shirt was added to the growing pile scattered around the uncarpeted oaken floor. The culprit responsible for the discarded mess was a young boy, rummaging through a thin closet in the corner of the room. His hair, a messy blonde colour, bopped in and out of view as he continued his thorough search.

A small sound of triumph sounded from the boy as he leant back onto his knees, an off-white button up shirt in his grasp.

He gave the shirt a quick sniff, checking it’s cleanliness. With a quick shrug of approval he shrugged it on over his undershirt and began buttoning it up.

The door to the room, a rainbow of browns, was pushed open with a slam into the already defaced wall to the side of it, an indent which broke away the white paint from the wall was visible to anyone who happened to look.

“Ma says to hurry it up Mikey,” a slightly older girl spoke matter-of-factly, she had blonde locks which were braided and fell over her shoulder. Her eyes, unlike the boys hazel, where a deep chocolatey colour and held a level of maturity his lacked.

Mikey mock-glared at the girl and stood up, “yeah yea-” he stopped mid-sentence and analysed the girls appearance. She wore a clearly quite expensive pale pink dress that went just below the knee with white frills and makeup dusted the girls face. A smirk played at his lips as he raised an eyebrow, “and who are you dolled up for, Huh?…that fella from down the road you’re always hangin’ bout with?”

The girls cheeks reddened, “his names Robert..and maybe I am, what’s it to you?” Her eyes where narrowed in a glare that Mikey could tell, from being on the receiving end of many snarls from his sister, was forced.

With a shrug of his shoulders he answered her, “nothin’ just curious..”

He watched as she seemed to be debating something in her head before she opened her mouth, “I need to make an impression okay, there’s loads of pretty gals that go our church.”

Mikey looked up from doing his tie, “so?”

“Jesus Mike..” she mumbled, “I’m thirteen now! Aunt Clara says she was scoping out boys at my age”

He rose a brow, “wha? Since when did u care what that old bat says- OW! What was that for?!” He rubbed his arm, attempting to soothe the stinging sensation.

“Don’t be rude Michael! She’s the one who bought be this dress anyways, I’ve found she’s quite interesting.”

“God Esme, you even sound like the woman! don’t let ma hear you saying stuff like that, you know she hates that Claras guts!”

“Ma knows aunty bought me this for your information! She says it was kind of her!”

Mikey found himself rolling his eyes at his sisters bragging tone.

Before he had a chance to reply a voice called from somewhere downstairs,

“OI WOULD YOU TWO HURRY IT UP, WERE LEAVIN SOON!”

“Just- get ready Michael.” She left before he could respond.

He finished up his tie, which was loose around his neck and tucked his shirt into the waistband of his pants.

Grabbing his shoes from the floor, he checked his reflection in the window. With a thrown he licked his finger and rubbed at the mark on his cheek.

“MIKEY!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming!” With a huff he made his way out the room. The stairs creaked as Mikey jogged down the stairs, missing steps as he went. As he reached the bottom, a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties was stood with her hands on her hips in front of him.

“Michael Francis what have I told you about jumping down those stairs?”

Mikey felt himself cringe at the use of his middle name, “sorry ma.”

Suddenly, a small girl with identical blonde hair to Mikeys appeared at his mothers side and was looking up at her with big pleading eyes.

“Ma! Can I sit next to Mikey in the car? Oh please mammy!!” The child tugged on her mothers coat.

“I thought you wanted to sit with your sister?”

“NOOOO!” The girl shook her head before sticking out her tongue, “Esmes just gonna end up talking about that Robbie fella! She always does!”

Mikey smirked at the girl, “come on then Flo, you can sit next to me eh? We’ll talk about whateva’ you want.”

The girl beamed up at him and grasped his hand, and he felt himself being tugged away by the small girl. He heard his mother call something about wearing a coat so he grabbed his from the coat hanger on the way out.

Esme was already in the car with their older brother Johnny, who got the privilege of sitting in the drivers seat as he had just learnt how to drive but in Mikeys opinion his brother wasn’t the best at it. He’d never say that to his face of course, unless he wanted a swift smack to the back of the head.

He watched as Flo stepped on her tippy-toes to open the car and he quickly got in, landing in the seat next to Esme while Flo sat next to him.

Mikey helped his little sister with her seatbelt just as his ma got in the car, “right John, try not to crash okay?”

Johnny only scoffed feigning offence, “I ain’t gonna crash alright?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Mikey turned to his sister as she continued her teasing, “Pa told me you nearly crashed into the sweet shop down near our Clara’s?”

John turned to look at the three in the back with a raised eyebrow, “hey shut yer trap Esme, what you butting in for?”

They’d made it to the church thankfully all in one piece, though there was a little incident with a dog in the road but Mikey had decided to let it slide..for now. The minute he got out the car, he’d whipped his head around after hearing a familiar voice call his name.

A boy the same age as Mikey, jogged towards him with a boyish grin on his face.

“Alright Tommy-boy?” Mikey greeted once the boy was close enough, he was slightly taller than Tommy but not enough for it to feel uncomfortable when they stood together.

“ m’ fine.” He blew a piece of brunet hair out of his eyes, “me sisters are driving me up the wall though, never been happier to get out of that car I swear.” Tommy was the oldest of 5, having 4 sisters and it was a known fact to Mikey that he despised it with every fiber of his being.

Mikey looked back over at Tom when he leaned in, “me n Harry Crilton are planning to go town if you wanna come?”

“Wha’ now? Me ma would kill me if she knew I was skipping Tommy.” Despite his tone, Mikey was already on board with missing out on church, it was boring anyway and the benches always made his back ache afterwards.

Tommy only shrugged with a grin, “then I guess you better not let her find out?”

He stared at the boy for a moment but Thomas only returned it with a raised eyebrow. He caved after a few seconds of the back and fourth looks.

“Fine.”

They’d done this enough times for Mikey to know the drill. He’d go to his ma, tell her he was gonna sit at the back with Tommy and that they where going to go to the pier afterwards and he’d just walk home, and like always his ma would tell him to be back by supper time. If you asked Mikey it was a full proof plan.

[worth-more-than-two-thousand]

Returning from the Dead is Easier Said than Done...

Request: Welcome, Shiny! May I request an x Reader (can be fem or gender neutral) where Echo (post-citadel) comes up to their s/o's doorstep to give them flowers and ask them on a date? A plus if the Bad Batch teases him for dressing up nicely and buying flowers. Thank you! (@handmaidenthesimp)

Author’s Note: Enjoy! If anybody wants me to repost with a gender-neutral reader, just let me know. 

Story Notes: Some swearing, not much else to warn you about. Take place in-between Season 7 of CW and The Bad Batch. No Omega this time, sorry! 

🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑

Being declared dead was uncomplicated. Your Republic file was branded with a "KIA" stamp, everyone stoically mourned, and someone just a bit shinier would step in to fill your shoes. 

Being declared undead, however, was decidedly more complicated. Oh, Echo was reassigned to Clone Force 99 easily enough. But it was the little things that seemed to get mired in red tape. Getting his few personal effects back. Re-opening his modest credit account.

Approving a rental application.

Admittedly, it wasn't that Echo really needed his own place; clones were conditioned to be accustomed to share minimalist, often-cramped quarters. And they were always on the move, so it hardly made any financial or practical sense, in the long run. 

But right now, oh, did Echo dearly wish that he was dressing up in the privacy of his own space...and not the shared cabin area of the Havoc Marauder. 

He kept his face stoic, as though readying for battle, refusing to acknowledge his teammates goggling in the background. They had returned early from their supply run. Echo had meant to be out of here an hour ago, but (somehow) hadn’t counted on just how difficult it would be to get dressed into multiple clothing pieces with a scomp link for a hand. 

So that’s how his comrades found him: trying to wrangle a neck accessory into submission by sheer will. 

Oh, if Fives could see him now. 

“You look funny,” Wrecker had declared decisively after an unbearably long silence. “What’s that thing you’ve got on?” 

“It’s a suit,” he grumbled, refusing to look any of them in the eye. “I’m going to see Y/N.”

Wrecker gasped like a fishwife. He leaned forward, and pitched his voice low. As though the others couldn’t still hear him in the tinny space.  “Your girlfriend? You mean you’re going to see her for the first time....since…” Wrecker made a muted cartoonish sound with his mouth, clenching then expanding his fingers in a gesture for ‘explosion’.

Echo stared at him for a moment disbelievingly, before nodding slowly, forcing the sarcastic response he really wanted to say back down. He couldn’t fault Wrecker for being...well, Wrecker. He had all the tact of a rampaging bantha. 

“An’ what’s that? Around your neck?” 

Echo opened his mouth, but someone cut across his response. “A bowtie,” Crosshair drolled, though his eyes glittered with amusement. Echo tensed, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. 

“Fifty credits says he chokes, and he ends up strangling himself with it in shame." 

“No way!” Wrecker exclaimed, always the optimist. He clapped Echo on the back, who was unprepared so his knees buckled. He felt his metal joints strain. “Don’t worry, Echo,” his brother rasped in the loudest whisper known to man. “I bet she’s gonna love it!” 

“You know,” Tech piped up unhelpfully, “Your strategy may backfire. The current deviation from your usual appearance may be so jarring for your beloved that she refuses your offer out of simple self-preservation instincts.” 

Echo gritted his teeth. “Right. You have stats to back that up, I suppose?” 

Tech blinked at him owlishly. “Of course I don’t. This is an obvious possible outcome.”

“I’m trying to look nice,” he snapped, scowling. 

There was a loaded pause. “...’trying’ being the objective word here,” Crosshair smirked.  

Before Echo could wipe the look off his comrade’s face with a well-placed ARC trooper punch that would’ve made Hardcase proud, Hunter wedged his way in between them, hands up in a conciliatory gesture. 

“All right, laugh it up, fellas. Personally, I think you’re all jealous because you don’t have a girl waiting for you like Echo does.” Hunter turned to face their newest member, took the bowtie that was clenched in Echo’s fist, and smoothed it out before proceeding to tie it around his neck with surprisingly deft hands. 

Crosshair ‘hmphed’ while Wrecker verbally agreed, looking slightly put out by the undeniable truth. Tech simply nodded in neutral confirmation. The group lapsed into a somewhat awkward (but not unwelcome) silence as Hunter finished tugging at the folded ends of the bow, then double-checking to ensure it was straight. He stepped back to assess his work.

“You look good,” he said sincerely.

Echo thought he was in the clear. 

Hunter frowned. “But...it looks like you’re missing something.” 

Or not. 

“Like dignity?” Crosshair drawled from a dark corner of the ship that Echo frustratingly couldn’t glare at. 

“A sense of self-confidence,” Tech suggested. He wasn’t joking. 

“FLOWERS!” Wrecker boomed confidently. “All girls like flowers. You gotta get her some before you see her!”   

“I...fine.” Echo relented, anything to get his teammates to shut up. He shoved his way through them towards the bridge. “I’ll get her some flowers. You all stay here until I get back. I mean it, Fives!” he warned.

An uneasy silence followed him, which he didn’t register until he reached the landing ramp. 

He shot an exasperated look back at them. “What?’ 

“...Your former comrade is not here, Echo.” Tech finally spoke. His words were clinical, as always, but there was a touch of understanding underlying his tone. 

Echo froze, just for a moment, then shook off the shock of his faux pas as best as he could. 

It wasn’t the first time that had happened, after all. 

Echo descended the landing ramp, squared his shoulders, and marched into town. 

Y/N lived in a run-down but culturally distinct district of Coruscant, characterized by food stalls from species and ethnicities all over the galaxy. Children often ran through the streets, sellers in colorful robes and attire shouting their wares and art for all to peruse. It was one of the nicer markets, he thought, having come here once. He had been accompanying Y/N on her usual run for specialized ingredients that made the diner she worked at the talk of the galaxy. 

Echo elbowed his way through the crowded street, content to simply blend in with the crowd, to forget about being a soldier for a moment. 

He paused at a flower stand and was mindful not to draw too much attention to his scomp-link hand as he ordered a dozen sunflowers, which he remembered were Y/N’s favorite. When his credit chip was declined, however, he sighed and reached into his pocket to see what spare change he could muster up. Being that he was wearing a never-worn suit, however, meant that there was no change to be found, and the unimpressed florist snatched the bouquet away. 

That’s okay, Echo. Y/N doesn't need flowers. She just wants to see you.

At least, he hoped that was the case. He hadn’t exactly written to her yet, unsure that he could sufficiently explain his sudden non-death in typed words...

Surprise! I’m not dead! Hey, you know that explosion on the citadel? Well, I survived! And out of it, I got an all-expenses paid trip to  the Techno Union research facility! Why didn’t I write? Well, I was in stasis most of the time and that part’s a bit fuzzy. I also was responsible for killing my brothers by using their own battle plans against them. Oh, and you might notice that I’m missing most of my fleshy bits these days… 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, which were more rapid these days thanks to his enhancements. He was good at compartmentalizing, though. He had to be. He was still a soldier, through and through, and no one wanted a soldier who was about two seconds away from a mental breakdown.

Yeah, a letter to Y/N wouldn’t have cut it. But he still felt like maybe he could have sent ahead some sort of...heads up? A warning? A ‘Please don’t scream when you see me because I don’t think my heart could take it?’ 

His feet finally guided him to the front entrance of the building where he knew she lived on the 14th floor. Glancing around, he spotted some blue flowers sprouting in a planter near the entrance. He yanked a fairly healthy-looking handful from the soil, shaking the roots to get most of the dirt off. He tucked the strangled roots into his fist so that they would be less obvious. 

It was time. He nodded to himself, squared his shoulders, and entered the building. 

A short elevator ride later, Echo could feed the sweat beading at his forehead and neck. At least his fight or flight response seemed to be healthy and alive, and Echo tuned out everything but the door in front of him, adorned with a purple wreath of lavender flowers. 

He stood in front of the door, and raised his hand to knock. 

He stood…

In front of the door…

...and raised his hand…

...to knock, you coward. Just fucking knock. 

His raised knuckles, however, refused to move. Echo caught a glimpse of himself in the curtained window panes on the sides of the door, and at the sight of his bloodless face, suddenly felt a whole lot less sure of himself. 

He looked ridiculous. 

He and Y/N had barely gotten to know each other before his untimely death. 

What if she was with someone new? 

This was a terrible idea. Echo should leave now, before he caused himself any more embarrassment. Crosshair might get his fifty credits, after all. 

Echo had just convinced himself to turn around and admit defeat, when the door suddenly swung open. 

Two Y/C/E eyes met his. 

There were points during Echo’s battle career where time slowed to a crawl. When an explosive grenade was thrown just a bit too close, or the comrade you had just exchanged banter with received blaster fire to the face. 

Echo was experiencing the same sensation now, but he would voluntarily stay in this moment forever, if he could. He fervently hoped his nightmares would be replaced with the sight that was etched before him. 

She was wearing her yellow work uniform, white apron pressed crisply with starch...and was as beautiful as ever. Her hair was up in a messy ‘late-for-work’ up-do, a smudge of blushed color not quite within the lines of her lips smearing her cupids’ bow where she had applied it in a rush.

He couldn’t determine whether her reaction to his sudden appearance was positive or not, and so didn’t dare speak first, breathlessly afraid that if he did, the moment would shatter. 

He saw her swallow hard, glancing at him from head to toe, gaze landing on his right hand. 

He guarded his heart. 

“Ech? Echo, is that you?” she whispered. Her eyes tore away from the scomp link hand, and began searching his face as though just as afraid he would disappear. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s me.”

The silence stretched out, and the fight or flight response was creeping back. 

“I know I look a bit different.” He tried for a light-hearted joke, but couldn’t quite get his tone to match. “Had some work done. What do you think?” He winced slightly.

She stepped forward and he froze as Y/N lifted her fingers, hesitating briefly before gently touching one of the metal bolts by his left temple. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“...do they hurt?” 

He gasped a little as he remembered to breathe again.

“No,” he reassured her, raising his undamaged hand to steady hers. “No, it doesn’t hurt.” 

“...good.” 

The wind was knocked out of him as Y/N flung her arms around him, burying her face in his neck, tardiness to her job completely forgotten. 

She began sobbing. It wasn’t neat little sobs, like in the scripted holovids, but heaving sobs that wracked her whole body, and he worried slightly that she was going to faint on him. He forgot about his scomp link for the first time as he rubbed it in circles against her back, murmuring nonsense words of comfort in her ear. 

After several minutes, she sniffled, stepping back. She rubbed her nose ungracefully where snot was leaking out, but Echo could have cared less about any of that. He only kept his arms out to steady her, in case she needed support again.

Y/N glanced down suddenly, and flushed.

“Oh. I’ve crushed them.”

Echo followed her gaze and saw that he was still holding the blue flowers from the planter in his good hand, the bouquet having been caught in between their bodies when she had thrown herself at him. They did look a little worse for wear. 

He shrugged unconcernedly. “They were free,” he said, not wanting her to feel guilty. 

She stared at him for a moment before a bubble of laughter burst from her lips. She still looked like she was about to sob at any moment, but she smiled tremulously at him through shining eyes. 

Desperate to make her feel better, he began rambling. 

“I can get you better ones! N-not right now, though,” he stuttered. “Actually, it turns out that I don’t have any credits on me at the moment. Everything’s still kind of backed up at the bank regarding my accounts. Also, this suit is new. Well. Not new. It used to belong to this woman’s father who we rescued during a mission on Bith. Long story.” His brain, which worked faster than usual these days anyways, still couldn’t seem to catch up to his mouth.

He forced himself to get back to the task at hand. “I was actually here to ask you for a date. I mean, assuming there’s no one else at the moment…oh, but you have your job to go do…bantha spit, I forgot about that...” He would have to ask Tech if it was possible for his brain to actually short-circuit.

Echo finally trailed off. Now he was the one blushing. 

The whole of Domino Squad was probably having a good laugh at his expense right about now, wherever they were. 

But Y/N was still smiling at him. And her chin had stopped wobbling. She gently took the flowers from Echo’s hand and placed them on one of the side tables in the hallway before intertwining her fingers with his and grasping his right hand without hesitation. 

“Forget about my job. Let’s go on that date. My treat. Though, if I know Dexter, he’ll give us a free meal, on the house. And the rest of the day off."

For the first time since he had joined Clone Force 99, since he had been rescued on Skako Minor, and even before the Citadel...Echo allowed a true grin of happiness to spread on his face. 

“A free meal,” he echoed. “Sounds like a plan.” 

[scoutdoesstuff]

today's teafic! this one did NOT go where i was expecting at all, but we are back at the mechanic's shop with dean and cas. today's prompt is watermelon cooler

(i'm doing a month long writing thing where every day i write a short fic based on the name of a flavor of tea i've received as part of a month long tea sampler package)

There is a man watching Dean work. Dean knows this because he has a mirror installed in a discrete corner on his workstation. He’s had … experiences that make him the sort of person who likes to know if someone’s behind him or not. It has the added bonus of letting him know when he’s got a nosy customer.

Normally, Dean finds lookie-loos annoying at best and deeply offensive at worst. He’s pretty, which seems to make people doubt that he knows his stuff, but Dean knows what the fuck he’s doing behind an engine. Or worse, they think he’s pretty and they want to get to know him better, maybe over a nice cold one after work.

Dean’s not proud to admit that he’s said yes to some of the handsomer fellas and prettier ladies who have hit on him on the job. It’s nice to be touched though, sometimes, and Dean’s always found that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Which brings Dean back to the guy watching him today. He’s surprisingly scruffy, considering the car that he brought in. The sedan’s a tasteful black, likely bought (or leased) within the last year, and fucking expensive. Dean wouldn’t be sorry to have a go around with her, though no one could ever replace Baby in his heart. Still. You get this gal on the flat road and Dean’s sure that he can get her to purr real nice.

Dean makes himself focus. He glances back again at the reflection of the guy standing behind him. He’s cute, despite his scruffiness. He’s tall, with a runner’s build and the amazing thighs that go along with it. His hair’s a mess and he’s lost his suit jacket and the Columbo trench coat that he came in with, but he holds himself well, at ease but still somehow alert and present at all times. His eyes are a bright, piercing blue. Dean wouldn’t mind getting lost in them for a little while.

He’s also staring at Dean like he’d kind of like to eat Dean up with a spoon.

Well. The guy doesn’t seem to have noticed Dean’s little mirror trick, yet, and Dean’s not above a little fun.

It’s stupid fucking hot today, so Dean didn’t even bother putting on his coveralls, so it’s just jeans and a t-shirt on him, sticking to him like a second skin. That was annoying about two seconds ago, but now it makes what Dean’s about to do next much, much easier to pull off. Dean tests his theory by bending over the sedan’s engine block. The guy drinks in the view, so Dean keeps going, first leaning a little further over the open hood of the car and then pulling his shirt up just enough so he can show a smidge of his naked back to the guy.

If the man was a little less in control of himself, Dean thinks there’s a good chance that he’d be drooling.

Dean goes in for the kill and leans fully over, showing off his (frankly great) ass. The other man’s eyes rake down Dean’s back, coming to rest on Dean’s ass after a torturously slow journey down Dean’s overall backside first. Those blue eyes go dark. Suddenly, Dean feels less like he’s messing with an annoying customer and more like he’s caught something he knows he can’t have, but desperately doesn’t want to let go.

He lets the moment linger, watches the way the other man watches him. For a few seconds, he lets the moment spin out in his mind, imagines this man taking him home. Thinks about what it would feel like to have old blue eyes press him against a wall, undress him, mark him up with those pretty, pretty lips, maybe even go three fingers deep in Dean, curling them until all Dean can do is beg and writhe and pray to be filled. Dean lets himself go one step too far and wish for other things, things he should know better than to think about, things that would involve the good kind of morning after bruises and that blue eyed stranger calling Dean “mine”.

That snaps him back to reality. Dean has one night stands and backseat hookups. Those other things aren’t for him.

The guy behind him still hasn’t clocked that Dean is watching him watch Dean. Dean needs to fix this guy’s car and then never fucking think about him again and he needs to it stat.

The other guy finally looks away. He takes a deep drink of the godawful coffee that Sam serves upfront and then stares at the cup in horror.

Dean takes his chance to move. When the guy next looks back over to Dean, Dean’s planted his ass on the front bumper of the guy’s car and plastered a shit eating, but still customer friendly, smile on his face.

“See something you like, hot stuff?” Dean says, means to pour all of his devil may care, fuck you Rich Boy attitude into it, but it comes out flirty as hell. Son of a bitch.

The guy looks mortified at being found out.

And then he surprises Dean.

“Yes,” he says, blue eyes never leaving Dean’s face and voice a low smoky rasp that sets Dean’s blood on fire.

The man seems surprised that he admitted that out loud. Dean waits for him to backtrack, either apologize or demand that Dean back off, maybe go full closet case and try to get Dean fired for being creepy or something.

Instead, he shocks Dean again, and commits. “Yes, you’re incredibly good looking. Forgive me for ogling, though. That was rude of me.” He clears his throat awkwardly, looks around the auto shop, not like he’s planning an escape but more like he’s looking for help. The silence is agonizingly long, but Dean’s brain has turned to static and all he can do is stare at the other man.

“I’m very bad at … socializing,” the other man says at last, sort of looking like he wants to hurl. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable —“

“Ask me out,” Dean’s mouth says before his brain can stop it.

The other man stops short and stares, squinting his eyes and tilting his head to the side. He’s almost bird-like, Dean thinks slightly hysterically, but if a bird were a puppy.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“No,” Dean’s mouth again says without his permission. “Ask me out.”

The man stares again at Dean. Nods once, twice, then squares his shoulders like he’s getting his bearings and getting ready for the firing squad, all at the same time.

“I know a good burger joint not far from here. Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?” The man asks, voice somehow impossibly raspier. It’d been a long time since someone was hot enough for Dean that just their voice could make him weak in the knees.

“Yes,” Dean’s traitor mouth whispers.

The guy’s responding smile is blinding.

(The burger joint, a hipster place that Dean had been too chicken shit to try, is good. Castiel is even better, even if he does insist on ordering a drink called a Watermelon Cooler).

[yusei-clownington]

...challenge accepted.

Yusei fudo.

Yuuuuseeeeiiii fuuuuuudooooooo.

Crab haired vroom vroom babyman fella

Everyone’s beloved.

Let us talk about him.

How do you explain Yusei?

Well, rua, my child. Listen closely.

Yusei fudo, whose name autocorrect keeps changing to ease food, is a gift sent down to us from heaven. He’s the embodiment of all that is good.

So let’s start with how Yusei was introduced/ Established.

We started off with very little info about him and his past, of course, but we knew this:

-Yusei was from somewhere called satellite, which seems to be a place people down at the main city aren’t very….fond of.

-He looks like the badboy type

-Really loves D-wheels (from that interaction with Jack)

-Had a card he adores, stardust dragon, stolen/taken from him by Jack atlas, some douche.

Now with that little info, presumptuous as I am, I assumed he’d be your average cool ass edgy boy, beats the rich guy, takes some sort of revenge and bam we get a setup for like… the ultimate chad. Like from his duel with Ushio i was getting badass main boy vibes.

BuT THEN Yusei tALKS to jack. Opens his adorable lil mouth. And the calmest, softest fricking tone comes out of that. And then… we realise…hE’S NOT EVEN FUCKING MAD AT JACK? He just wants his dragon back??? No grudge nothing??? What?? Is he not….edgy??

….And then it hits us all. Yusei is a cinnamon roll. But not just any cinnamon roll. A cinnamon roll that can kill you, your family, and the entire fucking neighborhood you live in if he wanted to………but just doesn’t.

So now what do we know about Yusei?

Yusei can throw hands.

Yusei can build D-wheels from like…anything at this point.

Yusei can make like ten friends by just…existing in the same area as them.

Yusei can, and will, protect everything and everyone. NOT EVEN JUST THOSE HE CARES ABOUT. NAH NAH NAH. EVERYTHING. HE PROTECTS ALL.

Yusei can defeat three fucking guys with under 2000 life points in one go.

Yusei can DETONATE THREE GODS.

Yusei can make everyone instantly feel like marrying him by just like…looking at them. just ask Kiryuu, jack, bruno, prison guy, Akiza, Random team unicorn dude, all of the members of team ragnarok, me, the fandom, humanity, god. You know I’m right.

Yusei will defeat you after you try and murder him, and then run to see if you’re okay.

Yusei loves children and children love yusei

Yusei is unstoppable, and it never gets obnoxious.

Yusei’s gay as shit

LOOK I CAN GO ON FOR LIKE AN HOUR TRUST ME.

Not even once have I gone “Ugh, there we go, won again…” nope. Langa should learn a few things from this guy.

I literally cannot even begin to tell you why Yusei’s the fricking best.

But I will anyway.

He’s practically the glue that holds everyone in this show together, the ROOT OF MOST CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. Like do I even need to mention the Aki situation? The jack situation? THE LITERALLY-ANYONE-HE-MEETS SITUATION?

So how can I explain Yusei? Well, I can’t. what? did you think I'd say yes?....loser. Yusei is not meant to be explained. He's meant to be admired.

Observe.

Yusei Fudo is the breaking of so many stereotypes all at once. His appearance contradicts with his gentle personality, but his eyes still manage to reflect it anyway. Because who needs badass eyes when you can have puppy eyes?

Unlike the past two protagonists, I can’t help but feel Yusei’s a little more insecure ? Not in a fatal way. But he seems to have more little moments of doubt than Atem and Judai did.That being said, he is confident in his abilities, and his friends abilities even more. When in doubt, a friend’s words, no matter how little, can send his morale up to the roof.

He’s got charisma like atem, and the general charm like Judai, without actually being directly like either of them.

He’s a very open, caring guy with too many emotions that his face just never manages to express— something i deeply adore about his design.

Still, because of how impactful he is, you can always get what he’s feeling, and so can his friends. He still keeps certain things to himself every now and then, but usually ends up saying them anyway, like that one time in the dark signers arc.

He’s seriously soft and adorable…yet very capable of defending himself and others.

If you wrong him, he’ll probably forgive you. If you wrong his friends he’s going to rip your rib cage out. Then ask if you’re okay and send you to a hospital, paying the full expenses because he’s like that isn’t he.

Literally no one has ever regretted being around Yusei or caring for him. And that’s for good reason.

Also look at him

…I may have a problem.

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Three

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1740

Warnings: Nosy (and well-meaning) friends acting like nosy siblings, angst, bad language words

A/N: After I originally posted this chapter on AO3, I got some comments that exacerbated the beginnings of a year long depression. Please be kind. I intended this chapter to come across as the gang being like siblings...always being in each other’s business. Is there a breach of privacy? Yes, but without the ill-intent. 

DO NOT copy or replicate without permission

Bucky clutched his phone in his flesh hand as he made his way down a long hallway to the communal kitchen and eating area. A soft, crooked smile rested at his lips as he entered the space. Natasha and Sam were sitting at opposite ends of the rectangular table separating the kitchen from the lounge, enjoying a late breakfast. Steve was at a kitchen counter fiddling with the Keurig machine. He pulled another mug from the cupboard when he saw Bucky approach. “Mornin’, Buck. Sleep well?”

Bucky’s grin broadened as he leaned his backside against the countertop. “I did, actually. Thanks for asking,” he answered, looking to his phone at the incoming text.

(Y/N) Would you rather have skin that changes color based on your emotions or tattoos appear all over your body, depicting what you did the day before?

He missed the way Sam and Nat looked at each other in suspicion at his answer to Steve. He was too busy pressing the keys on his touch-screen.

Bucky The tattoos would be awkward, speaking from a male’s perspective, so I think color changing would be better. Not by much, though.

Bucky Would you rather have edible spaghetti hair that regrows every night or sweat maple syrup?

Bucky saw Steve slide the new mug, now filled with coffee, across the granite-top toward him from the corner of his eye. He glanced up quickly from the screen and nodded. “Thanks, buddy.” Steve answered with a smile.

“What, no grunted thanks or mumbled acknowledgment?” Natasha quipped, standing from her seat to place her plate in the dishwasher.

“Yeah, man. You have been using way too many words lately. I miss the grumpy dude that would brood in the corner,” Sam added, crossing his arms at his chest. “Are we even sure this is the right Bucky?”

Bucky’s phone vibrated again.

(Y/N) I love me some spaghetti! Can you imagine sweating sticky, gooey maple syrup during a humid New York summer?? Your clothes would be toast.

(Y/N) Mmmm, french toast.

Bucky chuckled at the reply, drawing the attention of three sets of eyes.

Sam wasn’t wrong; he wasn’t the same Bucky.

It had been five days since (Y/N)’s first drunken texts. Five days. He couldn’t believe so little time had passed. Somehow, (Y/N) had wiggled her way under his skin.

He had noticed after only a day or two; he was smiling more, less volatile. He felt lighter, happier. He wasn’t skulking about the compound like usual, trying to avoid the rest of the team. Some might go as far as to say he was friendlier than usual.

It felt good to have someone, a friend, learning about the real James Buchanan Barnes, for once, without the threat of The Soldier clouding their perception of him.

“You’re freaking me out, man. Straight outta Invasion of the Body Snatchers or some shit,” Sam declared, rising from his chair.

“Hold on, Sam,” Steve placated, lifting a hand to the advancing man. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to Bucky’s good mood lately.”

Bucky set his jaw in frustration, the muscles ticking. He wasn’t a Pod Person. He was just happy, for the first time in seventy-five years.

His phone went off again.

(Y/N) Would you rather sneeze once every hour, on the hour, or burp every time you saw an attractive girl?

A wide smile split his mouth as he scanned the screen.

Bucky Am I sneezing in my sleep or just when I’m awake?

When Bucky brought his gaze back up to his teammates, he noticed Natasha’s own eyes flick down to his phone. The slightest smirk curved the corner of her lips.

“It’s curious,” she said, a perfect eyebrow inched higher to her hairline. “All the people you text are in this room, yet, you haven’t been able to pull yourself away from your phone.” Her eye contact never wavered from Bucky’s face. “Don’t ya think that’s odd, fellas?”

“Natalia,” Bucky warned, his voice gruff. He knew she was fishing.

Sam laughed boisterously. “Yeah, I noticed that the other day. It’s glued to your hip nowadays.”

“It could be anyone from the team, guys,” Steve reasoned. “I bet it’s Tony.”

Bucky became increasingly agitated as the redhead slinked closer, passing his phone back and forth between his hands.

Natasha shook her head in the negative. “Nuh-uh,” she said, leaning against the counter directly beside Bucky. A hair’s breadth of space separated their shoulders from one another. Tipping back, with her elbows propped against the hard surface, she kicked her legs out casually and crossed her feet at the ankle. “Those two have barely said two words to each other since the good Sergeant here was welcomed back into the fold. It’s not Tony.”

“That still doesn’t prove anything,” Steve replied, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I bet it’s a girl,” Sam said in a sing-song voice. “But, where would Ice Man here meet a girl?”

Natasha smiled while looking at Sam as he stepped closer to the trio. “Let’s find out, shall we?” She nodded to Sam and, without batting an eye, lunged at Bucky.

She tapped the underside of the hand holding the phone, causing the device to flip up into the air.

Though he hadn’t seen the attack coming, Bucky’s reflexes were cat-like, and he easily caught the phone in his opposite hand.

Unfortunately, Natasha was just as quick and knocked the phone from his hand again. She effortlessly swatted it out of the air and into her hand. As Bucky clamored to retrieve the cell phone, she swung her arm behind her back and tossed it into the waiting hands of Sam.

By looking at Sam’s broad smile, Bucky knew he was having a field day at his expense. He pounced on his teammate, grappling for possession of the device. He wasn’t sorry for elbowing the other man harder than he ever would if they were sparring each other. He needed his fucking phone back!

Sam managed to flick the phone over his other shoulder in the process of Bucky grabbing ahold of Sam’s wrist and twisting the same arm behind his body. It clattered to the ground at Steve’s feet.

As everyone stared at the cell phone lying prone on the tile floor, Sam backed Bucky into the cabinets, trapping him with his body. “Let me go, Bird Brain!” Bucky huffed.

Steve bent to pick the phone up, holding it in his hand. Bucky could see the war playing within Steve’s blue eyes as he struggled against Sam. Steve was just as curious as the other two but didn’t want to betray his friend.

Natasha quickly snatched the device from Steve and started thumbing at the screen.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Steve protested.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to put a passcode on your phone, Barnes?” Natasha tsked as she navigated to the messaging app.

Bucky knew the exact second she found what she was looking for because her eyes became comically wide. A feral, shit-eating grin crossed her mouth as she raised a brow again.

“Tell me about (Y/N).”

“What?” Steve questioned, crowding the red head. “Lemme see.”

Bucky felt his cheeks go aflame as Natasha angled the screen so Steve could see the message thread. They burned hotter as Steve looked up with his own shit-eating smirk.

“Well, well…” Sam piped up. “If your faces are anything to go by, Vanilla Ice’s still got game.” Bucky twisted his arm back further in retaliation causing Sam to grunt in discomfort.

Bucky watched as Natasha’s thumb skimmed along the screen to delve deeper into past messages. Her thumb stopped as she read a passage; her green eyes rapidly followed the lines of text.

“I always kinda figured you’d be into someone that would call you out on your BS. She sounds fun,” Natasha said as she continued to scroll.

“No one’s into anyone. We’re just friends,” Bucky murmured.

Steve’s head shot up to stare at his best friend, sorrow painting his features. He edged away from Natasha. “Does she know who you are?” he asked.

Bucky shook his head no. “And she never will.”

“Aww, but you guys sound so cute together,” Natasha pouted. Bucky frowned at the insinuation. It couldn’t ever happen.

“There aren’t any rules saying we can’t date,” Natasha mentioned. “Hell, you know how many times I tried to set up this big lug?” She motioned to Steve with her thumb.

“That’s different,” Bucky said after a few moments. He eased up slightly on Sam’s arm.

“How so?”

Bucky rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, the blush starting again. “He’s Captain America, and well, I’m not. Not exactly everyone’s favorite.” He downcast his eyes to the floor.

“Buck, you know that’s not true,” Steve said woefully. “It’ll just take some time.”

“I know, Stevie. Until then, though, I’m still a pariah.”

The super soldier serum couldn’t have been given to a better person, but Bucky always felt like he would be trapped in Steve’s shadow, no matter the amount of good he did. He would still feel weak for what Hydra did to him, or not good enough to be labeled Captain America’s best friend.

Feeling the room take a considerable turn toward somber, Natasha called out, “Holy shit, Barnes! You used Wilson’s toothbrush to clean your toilet?”

“What?!” all three male voices cried out.

Sam rushed forward, trying to see the proof for himself. “You’re a dead man!”

Freed from the weight of Sam’s body, Bucky leaped forward toward Natasha and Sam. Slamming into Sam’s back, he snaked an arm around the other man, reaching frantically for his phone. He was done with them spying on his non-existent personal life.

Bucky smacked against Sam’s hands and arms, trying to dislodge the device.

“Stop!” Sam bellowed. “You’re hitting me like an eleven-year-old girl!”

“Gimme back my phone!” Bucky shouted.

Suddenly, the sound of ringing filled the small space of the kitchen. The scuffling stopped in an instant as everyone tried to figure out where the noise was coming from. Sam glimpsed down at his hands and jumped apart from Bucky as if he’d been burned. He looked horrified!

“Oh, shit!” Sam exclaimed, shoving the phone back at Bucky.

“What did you do?!” Bucky screeched when he realized the ringing was coming from his phone on speaker.

The sound ended abruptly, only to be replaced with the gentle tinkle of a woman’s voice.

“James?”

Chapter Two | Chapter Four

Tag List:

@hommoturttle @courtneychicken @vidzbyemz @vicmc624​ @shawnie--jo​ @redbarn1995​ @learisa​ @austynparksandpizza @ddowii​ @comeasyoudar​ @notsoinnocentrebel @i-have-no-life-charlie @champagneacademiaproblems

Send an ask to be added to the tag list!

[sapnxps]

(WTL) Chapter One: Greg the Neighbor- Georgenotfound x Reader

If I knew that when I moved to London, I'd have two weird neighbors, I'd laugh in your face. Now I'm friends with an old cat lady. Now I'm enemies with my cute neighbor that's definitely not single, who also screams too much.

Even though he's a dick, why can't I stop thinking about him?

My parents told me I’d regret moving to London from the state before I left because I’d miss them and the US too much.

They were half right.

I’m sitting on a box messily labeled ‘kitchen’ in the hallway of my new apartment complex. I huff, wiping the sticky sweat from my forehead. The moving bill is almost 4 thousand dollars. If I knew moving would be this expensive, I wouldn’t have moved out from my parent’s house until I was 40. Sure, I moved a lot of my belongings across the Atlantic ocean, but 4 thousand dollars? Who do I look like, Jeff Bezos?

Today has been hectic, to say the least. Three of my boxes somehow drifted away to Spain. Don’t ask me how that happened, I don’t even know. I’ve been unpacking by myself all day. A box of my kitchenware got shattered upon arrival. I should’ve listened to my Mom on that one, she told me to just buy plates and glasses here instead of shipping them here. Big mistake I’m never making again. Finally, the biggest chunk of my problems: My apartment is full of boxes and I don’t feel like unpacking. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress for two days, maybe not, but I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. If one more thing goes wrong, I think I might lose it.

Begrudgingly, I lift myself up from the box I was sitting on. It’s a bit dented now, but the way it felt on my ass, it’s just pots and pans. I open the door, pulling this box into my apartment. I weakly push it into the kitchen. It collides with one of the boxes filled with shattered plates. The sound of the broken glass sliding across the box sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I need to make a note to properly dispose of that. Turning my head to look around my new home, I feel my brain's short circuit. All these boxes unpacked, I’ve barely made a dent. This is going to take for-fucking-ever. Moving is modern-day torture. Oh, that’s funny. Remember to tweet that later.

The next three hours of my life are taken up by filling up my kitchen cabinets and drawers with cutlery and various kitchen utensils. The counter was now less bare, housing my toaster and breadbox. My Tupperware containers sat in a special place in the far-right cabinet by the sink. It looked like this home was lived in, as long as you didn’t glance anywhere else besides the kitchen.

I soon after tackled the bathroom, which was the less intimidating room compared to the living room and bedroom. I got the shower curtain hung up, which made it look nice. The rug found its way to the floor, protecting my feet from the cold, cream tile. The shelves were now stocked with a few fluffy peach towels and soaps. Underneath the sink had cleaning supplies as well as spare toilet paper. Living alone meant having nobody to give you another roll if you finish the other one. Kinda sucks. I had a boyfriend during high school, and two years into college. I dreamed of living with him, we planned it all out. I’d finish college, we’d move to a city and rent out the tiniest apartment we could find. We’d live it out until eventually we made ends meet and the rest would be. Dreams cut short though, he cheated. It’s part of why I left in the first place. Needed a change of scenery, new people.

That’s where I am now. New people. Stuck on that part. Haven’t gotten a chance to meet any, which is oh so tragic. I can’t decide if I want to introduce myself to the neighbors or let them come to me? I’m stuck pondering on the thought until I hear a knock at the door. I wonder if my lost boxes have mysteriously arrived.

Opening the door, I’m greeted with an older woman, holding out a small cake into my space.

“Hi dear, I’m your neighbor to the right. Heard all the commotion, saw all the boxes. I had to see for myself the fresh meat in the complex,” She paused before lightly tapping my arm with her free hand. “Just teasing! It’s great to have another lady on this level. The young man to your left, handsome fella, never comes out much though. Hopefully, we can have a girl posse or something,” Her posh accent made her much different than me. Is it wrong to already feel isolated?

I grin at her, moving out of the way to invite her in. “Nice to meet you, feel free to come in. I apologize for all the boxes scattered around, moving has been proven to not be quite my talent,”

The woman smiles brightly at me, shock plastered on her face. “You’re American!”

“That I am,” I chuckle. She hands me the cake, which I gladly accept. My diet has consisted of soggy hash browns from the complex lobby. She makes her way to what is settled in the living room, politely setting herself on my suede blue couch across from the large wall in the room. I place the cake on my counter by the stove, making a mental note to grab a slice once the woman leaves.

The shock never leaves her aged face, “Oh goodness! How amazing. I have a foreigner as my neighbor. You’ll find London quite lovely. I know how it feels to be isolated and removed from what you’re used to, but I promise you’ll fit right in,” She says as I settle myself on the loveseat a bit away from the couch.

“Where are you from?” I ask. She obviously isn’t American.

She smiles, “Just a bit east of Surrey. South of London. Beautiful area, grew up on a small cottage,” The woman was glowing as she spoke of her hometown. She was obviously proud of where she grew up. Compared to my southern Arizona town, this place seemed like heaven. A cottage? Sign me up.

“Sounds lovely,” I speak truthfully.

“Welp,” The woman slaps her laps, a way of signaling it’s time to end the conversation. Despite only speaking for a small amount of time, she seems like someone I can come to if I ever have questions about London or the terminology that I hear around the city. I’ll need to remember that she’s the neighbor to the right. As she began to see herself out, I remembered the other neighbor she mentioned. The young man to the left. I believe she used the term ‘handsome fella’ to describe him. Once she was out in the hall, I felt the need to find out more information.

“Oh!” I shout, hanging myself out into the hallway. She pauses her steps, turning back to me. “By the way, who’s my other neighbor? The guy you were telling me about. Does he have a name?” I ask.

“Greg,” She nods, resuming her short walk back to her apartment.

Greg. Ugly name.

I completely forgot about the conversation by dinner time. As I was munching down on my cake, delicious by the way, I heard loud yelling from my right side. I wouldn’t even call it yelling, more like high-pitched screaming. Who was my neighbor over there again? Greg? Greg. He was causing a ruckus and a mere heart attack at that. He was screaming so loud I nearly jumped out of my skin the first time I heard it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s facing a very, very gruesome murder right now. Well, I guess I don’t know any better. I’m just wishing for the very best.

Another hour passes. The yelling never stops. It’s only 8, but my body is as awake as ever. I still have yet to get used to the new time zone. At times it was difficult, but I’m using it to my advantage now. I have some extra time to unpack and get my actual bed ready. My bed frame was put together professionally during lunch, so that was one thing checked off my list. The mattress I ordered was delivered yesterday. Now it was just the matter of putting the sheets on and preparing my duvet.

Fitted sheets fucking suck to put on a bed. I was currently struggling to put it on my nice mattress. It was edging close to 10 pm. The sky was dark, and I was stuck in some odd mixture of a starfish and the downward dog position. If this moment was a picture, it could be used for blackmail. The closer I got to finally getting the top right corner on my bed, the more stretched out I became. I was like one of those sticky hands you’d get in those toy dispensers at the grocery store. I was just about to get it, when another loud shriek could be heard. In shock, I slammed my head on the bed frame and lost grip of all four corners of the sheet.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled underneath my breath.

Whatever. He probably has a greater reason to be screaming like this, right? Justified shouting, whatever you want to call it. My bedroom is closer to his apartment than the kitchen was. Is it nosey to try to figure out what he’s saying? I don’t want to be that type of neighbor. I’ll continue minding my business because I don’t want to find out some weird shit about Greg that I don’t want to know.

The screaming never stopped.

In fact, if anything, it got louder. And louder. And louder. Is it okay to call the cops here?

It’s midnight now. The next fucking day. And Greg is still screaming at the top of his lungs as if everyone else isn’t asleep. If I saw some normal citizen just trying to get some rest, I’d be fed up. Well, I’m still fed up. I’m also running on a messed-up sleep schedule, so it’s not like I was trying to sleep anyways. My bed is made now, and comfy as hell. I built a shelf to house some of my small decorations, with the entertainment of my noisy neighbor’s yells to accompany me. For some odd reason, it made me feel less lonely.

At about 2, I began to reject the company. I felt irritation grow in my chest as I heard the same high-pitched shrieks that I heard at 8. The annoyance that bubbled in me overtook my politeness. Before I knew it, I was up and in the hallway banging on his door. I didn’t have the time to care about my Daffy Duck pajamas sticking to my legs due to the heatwave hitting England right now. Before I even realize it, my fist is slamming on his door. I never knew I had the power to knock that hard, but my anger and blossoming resentment overpowered me. I continued banging until the door pulled away from its frame. Now I’m face to face with Greg.

Boy was he handsome.

I was met with a man, about 5 foot 9. His dark brown hair was disheveled. Strands of hair laid across his forehead messily. If he wasn’t screaming, I would’ve thought he was sleeping. He was wearing a fluorescent green hoodie with an odd smile plastered on the front. It was a bit large for his skinny frame, that’s unimportant though. His grey sweatpants were twisted on his legs. What the fuck was he doing? His face was delicately shaped. This jawline looks sharp yet fragile like it was constructed of the most fragile rose crystal I’d ever seen. His brown eyes reminded me of caramel, thick and way too easy to get lost in.

“Hi, uh Greg-” I start. I’m just realizing now how close I am to him. The scent of his spearmint gum floods my nostrils. It’s a bit powerful, crinkling my nose at the smell. It wasn’t gross, just very shocking.

“George,” He spat. That’s fucking embarrassing. I’m meeting him for the first time and I got his name wrong. I’m not taken aback for long though, because his attitude oozing from his simple correction was enough to disgust me. I’ve done nothing wrong to him, except maybe get his name wrong. Was my moving too much of a nuisance to him? Poor little British thing, he can deal with it.

I cringe, “Oh, um, sorry.”

He leans into the door frame, sweatshirt adjusting to the movement. Forget a tiny bit large, he was swimming in this thing. “Yeah, no problem. Can I help you or are you selling girl scout cookies at,” George checks his watch. “2 in the morning. If you are, I’m not interested, sorry ‘bout that,” His outfit makes me feel a lot less aware of mine. Despite his face being rather attractive, the outfit makes him look like he just rolled out of bed.

“Oh, yeah. I was wondering if you could lower the volume a bit, please. Or just stop screaming entirely, if possible. I don’t know if you have some weird shouting fetish, but I certainly don’t,” I chuckle. George, however, doesn’t chuckle. Actually, he looks rather unamused. If a human was an art museum, it would be George. Curling into a ball and falling into an endless void doesn’t sound too awful right now. I think I’ll add that to my itinerary. I’ll do it in my bed so I’m at least comfortable while I’m drowning in my own self-pity.

He grimaces, “Yeah. Sure.”

He’s blunt. Got it.

The second I turn my back to the door, it slams. Wow. What a cunt. Shaking the interaction off, I begin to feel the wear and tear of the day beginning to hit me. Moving all those boxes made my muscles ache. The solution to all my problems today seems to be going to bed. Not that I’m not okay with that, just funny. The day before I left for London, you’d think I was shocked by lightning. The electricity that was running through my veins was no match for any ADHD medicine the FDA had ever approved. Now, my body is beginning to fall victim to the earlier time zone. Not that it was a big deal, it was going to happen eventually. These next few days would just entail a difficult sleeping schedule. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.

I quickly find my way back to my own bedroom. The yelling was quieter, but I could still hear George through the thin walls. He was murmuring to someone softly. This apartment complex was all 1 bedroom apartments. He didn’t live alone. How lovely! I made a fool of myself to him, and he was most definitely telling his partner right now. Talk about dignity, am I right?

I scrolled through my phone for an hour, before the screaming returned to its original volume. Would it be overdramatic to say I felt my face go red with anger? I don’t think so. I think I handled the situation as politely as I could. Hell, I even cracked a joke so he could know I wasn’t that upset over the situation! If I knew he was going to resume his disruptive noises, I wouldn’t have been so nice or absolutely hilarious. Nobody that douchey gets my amazing humor. He didn’t even laugh! I hear another shout followed by a slam to a desk. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Welp. Welcome to London!

[i-write-boop-spoops]

Steven Stone with an S/O who has depression and imposter syndrome

Thanks for the request anon and good luck on your exams too! I hope I did you justice. And I don’t know if this means anything, but I think you’re super awesome :)

tw for depression and imposter syndrome

Enjoy!

Steven is just amazing

Intelligent, kind, generous, handsome, rich

He’s essentially the perfect man

He even dresses well

Can’t say that about a lot of fellas now, can ya?

And you’re just…

You

Plain old you

Not near worthy of being the dirt on his shoe

It’s honestly a surprise to you that he hasn’t dumped you yet

Sometimes you have the thought that your relationship is just another philanthropic exploit of his

A way to make him look better, more charitable

In reality, none of this is true

Steven is head over heels in love with you

He thinks you’re incredible

Beautiful, kind, smart, funny

Worth triple your weight in every precious metal and gemstone

He feels blessed every day to be yours

You know this, you just often find it hard to believe

He does his best to reinforce how he feels about you

And how awesome you are

But he tries not to go overboard with it

He doesn’t want his words to lose meaning

Steven’s a busy guy

With his champion duties, Devon obligations and rock-hunting

He makes a concerted effort to be there for you when you need him, though

Whether you just need a hug, an ear, or just someone to sit with you

He’s there

If not physically, he’s on the phone with you

It’s kind of hypocritical, the way he insists on you getting enough food and rest

Despite the fact, he barely gets enough of either

Eventually you two come to this kind of agreement

And your eating and sleeping patterns shift to something more normal and healthy

Having you in his life makes it better, he hopes you understand that some day

As we know, Steven is quite generous and wealthy

So he gives you plenty of thoughtful, usually expensive, gifts

Anyone would feel spoiled, even a little guilty from receiving all these presents

They weigh heavily on you

You know it’s just a way he shows affection

But it doesn’t stop you from feeling super undeserving and uncomfortable

He does reel it back to accommodate you

Though he still likes to spoil you from time to time

It’s hard to break a habit

One gift he was adamant on giving you

Was a rare, beautiful, sparkling gem he found one day while mining

He carefully cleaned polished it before he presented it to you

“This is how I see you”

He put it in your hand and told you that whenever you doubted yourself

Or felt worthless

To take a look at it, and be reminded of who you are

To him and the world

You carry it with you always

And while it isn’t a cure, it does comfort you

You still think you don’t deserve him

But you’re glad he thinks opposite

[andthebubbles]

okay fellas long story short is: i wanted a 4wd that could tour australia one day and i wanted a manual because i’ve wanted to learn manual for 12 years (aka ever since i started driving). (also i wanted wind up windows if possible and solid axles and not a bulbous car lmao. (aaand i am a bit :3 about the idea of living out of my car and not coming home for a long time.)) sooo i ticked those boxes :3 

what i’ve learnt:

- they’re right, 2nd gear is very short and 5th gear could be taller, one day i might swap the gearbox for the 2016+ (or was it 2017+ lol) one which has both of these things. or, idk, a 6th gear might be nice. only would swap though if the current gearbox needs replacing. it’s really fine but gosh does it rev a bit high at 100kmh, and don’t even talk about going 110kmh because the noise in the car becomes Significant haha

- they’re right, the gearstick is a tiny bit short, but i’ll live with it a bit longer

- it’s my first manual and aaaaaaaaaaaaah FINALLY i’ve learnt!! upshifting from a standstill is getting faster :P (the faster you do it, the easier it is.) (ETA: it’s gonna be fun and very different the day i get a petrol manual, whenever the hell that will be. absolutely no plans for that yet haha)

- soooo iirc the gears are like this: well actually idk what speed 1st is for because literally you change up... immediately lol... then 2nd is like up to 30kmh, 3rd is happy at 50kmh but it’s pretty flexible, 4th is for anything above 50kmh i think, but happier at 60-80kmh. not sure if i would have to use 4th or 5th for 90kmh, i haven’t run into a 90kmh zone yet...

anyway yeah! i just wanted to get my thoughts down in one post/under one tag. so far until now i’ve been scattering them everywhere on whatsapp, but i thought it might be nice to start documenting things now. i think i took two days of 1-ish hour each of driving around a large carpark to start driving on the road, and after that/since then I think I’ve driven the car three times more, the second time involving some very very easy off-roading haha. and i need to drive it much more!!! it’s just rather large and long and fuel is expensive right now so i’m not driving it as much as i would like. but mmmmmmmm i’m very happy with it :3 

-

ETA:

- hill starts just using the clutch and brake/accelerator are a fuckload easier than using the handbrake. (i still do use the handbrake though for my old automatic camry because it doesn’t have hill assist, but that’s fine.)

- ngl it’s actually a really good first car to learn manual on, it’s SUPER forgiving. it would definitely help though to not be shorter than me... hahaha... like i literally have one position i can sit in so that i can easily push the clutch all the way to the floor, but that also means not being able to hover-ish my foot above the brakes like i do in automatic cars. but maybe that’s not the greatest of habits anyway? idk. basically, the car is kinda made for tall people... the distance you have to move the gearstick from 1st to 2nd is like 20 fucking cm which i notice is a bit longer than what i see in those ‘how to drive manual’ videos on youtube... ditto with the clutch too, clutches in normal cars look so short skjfngk

- OH, speaking of which, ... well i’m not 100% sure yet but i don’t think you can see a sedan/similar-height!car out the middle side window lol. so much for people saying you gotta keep it clear :P like, yeah, you do, but the side mirrors are gonna have to primarily be my blind spot checker... (and no, the prev owner didn’t lift the car at all)

[mcfiddlestan]

WinterFrost Single Dads AU

Good news! I think I've finally settled on a title for this fic. I'm going to post the third chapter here, but I will probably wait to post any more until I start posting on AO3. Which will hopefully be soon. For now, enjoy this short chapter!

xoxo, La

Pairing: Loki x Bucky Barnes (there are others past and future, but I’m not giving them away just yet)

Rating: M

Word count: 1,289

Summary: Loki is living a great life as a Manhattan lawyer and constantly partying with Tony Stark, his best friend. Loki’s life before he came to New York more than a decade ago is a mystery for those close to him. But it’s all about to come to light when he gets a call from someone in his past.

Bucky is just trying to catch a break. A few hookups with a fellow soldier led to a quickie marriage and baby – and two years later, a quick divorce. His daughter is now eight years old and the light of his life. But he can’t seem to get his shit together. Struggling to find a job and keep a hold on his sobriety, it’s a one-night stand that gives him the kick in the ass he needs to be the man his daughter believes he is.

Warnings: Mature language and situations, some drug use, and talk about addiction.

Read: Chapter 1, Chapter 2.

Tag list: @teadrinkingwolfgirl, @abbessolute, @marvelswinterfrost

Chapter 3

Loki watched, entertained, as Tony flirted with and charmed one of the girls they picked up at the last place they’d stopped. And he meant girl; she couldn’t have been older than twenty, as far as he could tell. As Tony’s friend, Loki could only roll his eyes and laugh at his antics. As his attorney, Loki had to consider whether he should step in and stop his friend from creating a legal nightmare. Ultimately, Loki had, together with Pepper, now Tony’s co-CEO — and his next closest confidante next to Loki — devised a plan whenever Tony took a liaison back to the Tower.

The small party was tucked into a booth in a dark corner of the bar, and Loki was starting to feel his buzz fading. No one seemed inclined to get another round of drinks, so Loki decided he would just get his own. Sliding out of the booth, he made his way toward an open spot at the bar. Just as he reached it, another patron rudely shoved him aside as he tried to pass.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man all but growled at Loki.

Pushed into another person sitting at the bar, Loki apologized to him as he straightened. “I believe it was you who bumped into me,” he tartly responded as he made a point to brush off the jacket of his dark suit.

“Then get out of my way, you prissy asshole.”

“Prissy?” Loki snickered.

“Something funny?”

“You. Was that not obvious?” Loki laughed again and earned a thump to the chest that didn’t do much to move him. “Careful. This suit was expensive.”

“Maybe you’d like to step outside and settle this, huh, Chuckles?”

Loki laughed again, but before he could respond, the person Loki had fallen on turned around. “Hey, fellas, come on. I’m trying to wallow here. Do you mind?”

The man glared at Loki, who simply arched a brow and smirked, before he walked around Loki to leave. Loki watched him until he was gone, then relaxed his shoulders and turned to face the bar again. “Thank you,” he murmured to the interrupter.

“Hmm?” He hummed in question, half-turning so he could keep his straw in his mouth.

“You saved me an expensive dry cleaning bill. That wasn’t exactly the kind of distraction I was seeking out tonight.”

The stranger cocked a brow, his eyes running over Loki’s black-on-black suit. “Could you have? Taken it outside,” he added when Loki raised a brow. “You look a little slim there, doll.”

Loki's lips curved, tilting his head in amusement. “I can hold my own, thank you very much. May I sit?” He motioned to the stationary stool before him. The man shrugged and gestured to it himself. “Why are you wallowing?” Loki asked once he was seated.

“Hmm? Oh.” The stranger sighed, breathing out through his nose because the straw never left his mouth. He seemed to be sipping at what could've been a whiskey. “It’s my birthday,” he mumbled, looked at his watch, and grunted. “It was, at least, until about an hour ago.”

Loki waved down the bartender as he waited for a response. He frowned at the stranger's answer. “Oh. Happy birthday?”

He snickered around the straw. “Thanks. I’m just not in a great place to celebrate at the moment. Life is just kicking me in the balls lately. And, on top of that, none of my friends could find the time to join me. So that just made it worse.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Vodka rocks, please. Make it a double. Top shelf,” Loki requested once the bartender stepped up. He didn’t see the stranger's brows shoot up high over his eyes.

“Jeez. That’s some hard stuff for the middle of the week.”

Loki chuckled. “I suppose I’m doing a little wallowing of my own.” His eyes were drawn to the man beside him when he shifted to lean his head on his hand, raising his brows again expectantly. Loki only grinned softly.

“I shared, doll,” the stranger said. “Now you.”

Loki’s smile faded, and he looked away. He hadn’t even told Tony why he wanted to get totally out of his mind tonight. What was the harm in telling a stranger? “I, erm, lost a friend recently.”

“Lost like misplaced or...?”

Loki glanced at the stranger as the bartender set his drink before him with a cocktail napkin and sighed. “Or.”

“Oof. Condolences, doll.”

Loki brought the glass to his lips to take a sip and chuckled as he brought it down again. “Why do you keep calling me ‘doll’?”

The stranger’s mouth ticked up. “Ah, well. I don’t know your name, for one thing — which is fine, of course. I meant no offense if you are offended. ‘Doll’ is just what I say. Kinda like you Brits saying ‘dahling.’”

They both snickered at the stranger's exaggerated drawl of the word. “I’m not British, but I understand what you mean.”

“You’re not? You sound British.”

“I know.” Loki took another drink. “It’s a long story…” Loki looked at the man again and added with a twinkle in his eye, “darling.”

The stranger smirked. “You got a nice smile.”

Loki felt himself blush and smiled wider before he could stop himself. “Thank you. I expect you have one, too. To match those devastating eyes.” The straw fell out of the stranger’s mouth for the first time as he smiled fully. Loki nodded smugly, turning back to his drink. “I was right.”

The man beside Loki went quiet for a moment, but Loki felt his eyes on him as he continued to drink his vodka. “You wanna get out of here, doll?”

Loki almost wanted to puff out his chest proudly. For most of the night, it was Tony who’d received all the flirty looks and free drinks. Of all nights, it was a comfort to know Loki could still attract a good-looking man once in a while. Loki took a moment to contemplate his next move, even glancing at himself in the mirror behind the bar. “I live alone. My place is —"

“Okay.” The stranger tossed aside the straw from his glass, swallowed back the rest of his drink, and reached for his wallet.

“Just let me get my coat,” Loki said as he rose from the stool and dropped a large bill on the bar before he crossed back to the booth to grab his long coat.

Tony looked up from the slim, tanned neck he was currently nuzzling — which, Loki realized with a start, was a different female from when he left the booth. “Where’re you going?”

“Home,” Loki answered, a tilt to his lips, as he slipped on his coat.

“Already?” Tony glanced at his watch. “Lokes, it's not even two am yet. We still have all night.” He snuck a sideways peek at the girl beside him then leaned toward Loki. “Is it because of them? We can ditch them and head back to the Tower if you want.”

Loki chuckled as he tugged his long black strands from the neck of the coat. “No. Don’t worry. Stay and enjoy yourself with your bevy of worshippers. There’s no need to accompany me.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asked the question just as the stranger popped up beside Loki.

“You ready?” he murmured just loud enough for Tony to hear, leaning just so into Loki’s side. Tony’s brow cocked high.

Loki sent the unknown man a sly smile and nod before grinning at Tony. “I am. Have a good night, Anthony.”

Tony stared tight-lipped as Loki left with his new friend.

[tomuraxashes]

Found you - part 1

- Tenko! - a young, white haired boy run towards him from the swings.

- Touya-chan! How could you come? - he asked with  confused tone in his voice.

He remembered his friend told him yesterday he wouldn't make it to come even today to the playground.

- Ah, it was easy. I convinced my mum to go and visit her parents together and after we came back I just asked her to take me out here. So I am here! - the young Todoroki smiled.

- Oh, I'm happy then. - the black haired boy said somehow delightfully, but his little cute face immediately turned back to the gloominess it was before - but wat if your dad finds out?

- Dont worry Tenko, after he learned that you are a Shimura, he doesn't really mind when I hang out with you. Sure, I still have to train but he allows me to have a friend, moreover a friend from a hero dynasty. Common bullshit of his, ya'know.

- Yes, I see, but I'm still worried about you! Your scars on your arms .. I .. let me see.. let me try to heal it!

- No need - Touya opposed - I don't have big scars today, I didn't receive any serious injuries. I don't want you to harm yourself just because of these small scratches.

- I don't care.. - the little boy said with a serious gaze in his ruby eyes - besides my mum or Hana-chan, you are the only one for I would use it.. You are the person I like the most, and why should I have this quirk, if not for helping my loved ones?

Now give me your hand...

.

.

They boys were at the Todoroki's house, playing inside of Touya's room. But they still could hear the shouting of Endeavour and Rei from the another room.

"Enji, he is just seven! How can you do this to him?

"He is already seven! He is my eldest son, and I want him to become the no 1, no matter what. He will surpass All Might! I won't let my dream down!"

From the room where the boys were in, a quiet sobbing was heard after the argument.

- Tenko chan.. I .. I don't even know if I want to be a hero anymore! - the white haired boy cried silently

- It's okay.. I will always be here for you and support you, no matter what.

.

.

- Mum, why Tenko's mum is not answering to your calls?

"Breaking news! The no 1 hero Nana Shimura is dead!"

- Mum! It's... Tenko's grandma on the TV! What happened?

"The heroine kept her private life in secret, but unfortunately the tragedy happened there as well. His son's entire family was eliminated, the circumstances are still under an investigation, the suspect is unknown."

- Mum? Dad? - the white haired boy almost cried - Whats the report about? Why we can't reach Tenko? Is he safe?

His mum couldn't answer. All he got is his father's uncertain hug, with a sad gaze and his trying to calm him down.

- I'm sorry, son...

.

.

He was so young back then, but then he was able to feel some happiness. He had one fucking friend in this cursed life, yet he had to die.

He didn't remember to much from his childhood - he didn't want to - but the small black haired boy with those ruby eyes was his sweetest memory ever.

He is not the one he used to be. The white haired hero-to-be is now gone, the world thinks he is dead now. And maybe they know right .. Touya Todoroki is truly dead.

Dabi is the one who lives. Dabi, the villain, the bad guy, who kills people just for fun, and kills heroes to calm his broken soul a little bit.

What would Tenko think if he could see me now?"

But there is no Tenko anymore.

There is no one who would heal his injuries, who would make him smile, who would care for him.. there is no one in this world for him. He is alone.

The only thing what makes him happy is to kill those fucking heroes.

Those scumbags who never helped anyone for real, they weren't there for him when his father almost killed him,  neither for Tenko when he... passed away. Somehow.

It has been so many years yet no one knows how this case happened. The investigators claimed it had something to do with All for One and Nana's war, and via that, they didnt really look into it.

Dabi wanted two things in his life.

Firstly , he wanted to kill the person who made him and his whole family suffer - his scumbag of a father.

Secondly, he wanted to find out the truth about Tenko's death.

And that's why he is exactly there where he is right now.

He joined the League of Villains.

He heard from some underground fellas that there is a guy named Giran who can find literally anything. Well, the information is the most expensive trading stuff of his, so Dabi knew he has to make some money first.

And what's a better option than making money from killing heroes? And besides that, if he ""sells" himself to Giran first, and the  League would be pleased with him as a villain, than the man would owe him.. perfect plan.

Well, it somehow worked. He was in, the LoV took him and even they gave him the opportunity to make them proud.

Even the boss seemed to acknowledge his powers and determination.

Well, the boss.. he was really something. Dabi - nor the others - couldn't see his face,he had always covered it with a human hand. It was kinda creepy but the whole guy was, as well.

He learned that his quirk, the decay is extremely dangerous and that he didn't think a lot about killing. If someone pisses him off, he is willing to turn them to dust within a sec. He has to be cautious, Dabi noted himself.

*

Shigaraki didn't  seem to care too much about his subordinates but in fact, he did. He couldn't even explain it for himself, he just didn't want them to die - maybe.

He didn't exactly know how to "care". He didn't interact with people too much before establishing the LoV. He had Sensei and Kurogiri, and sometimes he was in touch with Giran if he needed something from the black market.

But then Sensei wanted him to get some people, who are his "own". So that way, it was not necessary to ask Giran for some ragtag mobs if he wanted to make a bigger action.

Now, he had some really hardcore fellas, with real power and willingness. He was satisfied.

He was the leader. They listened to him, they obeyed him. That was the most important thing.

But ... since they lived together, he saw the connections between the members. How they get on with each other in their free time. How they talked, played, had fun, etc.

And for Tomura, it was all strange indeed. He has never done it - at least, not after Sensei found him.

Before -

"Hm, that's not relevant anymore, what happened before..."

*

Dabi was in a good mood recently. No one from the League knew the reason, but the scarred man teased them less than usual. He was even nice with them sometimes.

They were all in the bar, even Shigaraki sat there and drank some spirit when Toga just asked Dabi randomly about his sudden emotional changes.

- Well, if you really wanna know - the burnt man started to speak theatrically - I will finally receive the thing I always wanted to!

- And what's that thing? - Magne asked excitedly- you ordered some goth stuff from Wish?

- Lol nope, that's ..wait, why do you assume I have my stuff from Wish? I definitely don't! But that's not the matter! After the last mission I finally had the cash to buy something from Giran. And he promised me the stuff for todaay!

- What the hell did you buy from that crock? Do you need some guns or what? - finally Shigaraki spoke up too.

He wasn't fond of the fact that he has now some company but he was aware he needed to socialise.

He quite liked the League and that's why he didn't want them to think that he is some creepy loner - well, he is.

- What for? I have my own firepower, it's not the thing. I bought some information...

That was all he shared with the League. At least, for now. He have to see Girans files at first and maybe after he will reveal the truth about himself - and Tenko in front of the League.

When he almost died, and that way he became Dabi, he promised himself he won't share his past with anyone, but since he lived with the League, he wasn't that determined anymore. He felt like there is a bond between them, and if they could help him find Tenko.. it would be worthy.

Even if he - somewhere deep down - realised it is nearly impossible to find his soulmate being alive, the hope never left him.

Neither when Giran gave him the files - with a sorrowful storyline, about AFO's and Nana's fights, about how Nana tried to hide Kotaro's existence, and then after a time skip, there was Kotaro's own family. Birth dates, basics infos, some pictures and the date of their deaths.

So that was it. No trace of life, no chance of survival. The destruction may caused by Afo.

Who is currently in the jail, so Dabi can't even speak to him.

He knew he has to give up on his hopes. There is the fucking evidence his soulmate really died back then.

Dabi just put the files on his drawer, not really paying any attention to hide it. He will do it later - now, he just doesn't want to think about it.

That's why he volunteered for the Leagues next mission.

It was a dangerous one, he needed to a sneak in the Hero commission's building and steal their newest "top-secret" plans.

It was actually spying, and they needed to do it with the minimum amount of men.

Kurogiri would teleport him in and out when it's time, but it is still risky.

Mostly - for a spying- there was Toga or Twice because of their quirks were suitable enough, but now it was required a real fight as well. So the final version was him and Twice. Twice would copy the looks of a random official, and Dabi will hide and somehow steal the secret files.

.

Shigaraki was really good at making plans. He always calculated a lot of possibilities in, and nearly all the stuff what could happen.

He was aware the mission is not a child's play but a serious one.

He looked over it many times already before presenting it to the others, but the overthinking and insecurity were his habits and can't let him stay calm.

At the evening, he decided to talk with Dabi about it. He wanted to be sure that the flame villain is okay with the whole thing, he knows the details and stuff.

He headed to his subordinate's room. The door was halfway open so the young boss don't really mind to knock on it.

There was a semidarkness in the room, but Dabi was nowhere to seen. Shigaraki came from the bar, the burnt villain was not there either.

Tomura thought he may use the bathroom or whatever, so he decided to wait him in his room.

He was about to sit on his bed, when he accidentally noticed a file on his drawer.

On the top of the file, there was a picture. That particular picture, of his dad and Nana Shimura.

Tomura stood there for minutes like an ice statue. He couldn't imagine how the picture could remain - and mostly how it got into Dabi's room.

At the meantime Dabi finished his stuff in the bathroom or wherever he was, so he came back to his room, only to see his boss holding a picture from his file and staring on that somehow inscrutably.

If it wasn't for Tomura, Dabi would be pissed off, cuz he doesn't like at all when others just come in his room and start to rummage his stuff, but since the blue haired man was his boss, he tried to keep it cool.

- Hi boss, how can I help you?

Tomura turned up when he heard Dabi's voice. He still held the picture, and judging by the mess on the drawer he also took a look into the files.

He was so confused right now he had no clue what to say. His thoughts were so loud and they didn't subside. He wanted to ask Dabi why the hell he has this goddamn file with the picture, how did he get it, and mostly.. could is be possible that he knows his secret?

"No way" - Tomura thought - "he would hide this somewhere and he wouldn't act so normally with him" But he was certain he needs to figure it out.

However his thoughts were still so messy he couldn't ask the proper questions he wanted to - without being suspicious.

He somewhat calmed down when he read those files - and they all stated he.. not he, Tenko - is dead, all the family is dead. No sign of survival.

So Dabi - or the one who gave him this - cannot know about him.

- How did you get those? - he finally managed to ask. His eyes were more deadly than he wanted tho.

Dabi suddenly felt himself quite uncomfortable. What should he say? If his boss would be curious, how should he explain why he wanted these datas? And why is his boss'es suddenly so resentful?

- This is the stuff I bought from Giran - he started to explain - I needed it for.. personal stuff.

Tomuras eyes widened - what kind of personal stuff of his can he related to his family? He noticed how Dabi's mood changed before he met with Giran - he was almost happy and really excited. But after the meeting he got gloomier than usual. Even now - when he spoke up, his voice was somehow sad.

Tomura decided to not deal with this right now, they all need to focus for the next day's mission.

- Anyways - the bluenette said - I just wanted to say not to fuck it up tomorrow. That's all for now. And I will keep this picture. Good night!

And with that, Shigaraki quickly left his subordinates room.

Now Dabi was the more confused one. He just couldn't understand what exactly his boss wanted to do, and why he got so distracted by that fucking picture. And mostly, why did he keep it?

Not if Dabi would need it, there wasn't Tenko on the picture just his dad as a kid with Nana Shimura.

"Maybe Shigaraki recognised the heroine and that's why he was asking? Probably" - Dabi thought. He knew about All for One and the Shimuras were enemies, so maybe that's why Shigaraki acted so strange.

.

(Part two right here on my page, just couldn’t write here the whole stuff cuz it’s long)