#anyway love those two fuckers i need to sleep

[shadowoffandoms]

tfw you start writing a whole ass short fic bc the fandom that you're writing for doesn't convey enough of how toxic their relationship is and that's a damn shame >:C

[jolapeno]

voicemails

frankie morales x f!reader

do we drabble on sundays? is this what we do? well, anyway, here’s some soft sunday fluff. no warnings: except fluff and sweetness and lovely softness. dedicated to @msjarvis who didn't ask for this but I’m giving anyway.

JUST THINKING ABOUT HOW THE TWO OF YOU BEGIN LEAVING VOICE NOTES FOR ONE ANOTHER. It started one time when life took one of you away from the other—the bed you share and the walls you laugh inside of are lonely without the pair of you together. Because it all feels vaster, quieter.

Then it became a thing. A make-do measure, a thing both of you grew to need first thing in the morning and last thing at night. A habit. A tradition. The day not beginning or ending without it.

It quickly becomes a comfort, a thing that brings the both of you joy, happiness—in the same way the scent of your shampoo does for him and how when he’s alone he leans closer to your pillow because it lingers and he consumes as much of it as he can to trick himself he’s not lay in bed alone.

Your voice in the morning makes up for the fact your mug isn’t left on the side or in the sink, all used. Because he hates it when he wakes and finds it in the cupboard, where he put it last night, it rumbling through him and making his chest clench.

There’s a list of things he misses when you’re not home, and if he begins, he isn’t sure he’ll ever stop.

Frankie supposes you’ll have your own list. An itinerary of things you miss about him when he’s out of town. Sometimes you share them, let them slip out and mumble them down the phone when you’re pacing, unsure what to do when he’s not home. It makes his heart squeeze in his chest, all tight, especially when he hears you doing mundane things he usually gets to watch you do, like cook or make a drink.

It’s why he likes the voice notes. Likes being a part of your day even if he’s not there. Has the chance to listen to them on his drive or when he’s brushing his teeth—pretending, even in hotel rooms—that you’re closer than you are. Staring at your contact photo as you say those three words, I miss you.

The voice notes range in topic. Sometimes they’re about your day, about the fucker you work with that he’d love to break the nose off; sometimes they’re a ramble about your breakfast, interspersed with a minor rant about something. Odd times they’re about dinner, hearing you move things in the refrigerator before you confess you’ll order and leave him leftovers.

He has his favourites, a handful of ones he’ll listen to on days where he needs more sunshine. One is the day you tripped, again, over his toolbox. An odd choice, he knows. It beginning all high-pitched, voice tinged in venom and anger:

“Francisco Morales, if you leave your toolbox in the hallway one more time—“

Then it was doused in sweetness, absolute honey, and it wasa exhilarating to fucking listen to.

“—Oh, you washed up. Oh, baby. Well, shit—Frankie, I love you okay? Just put your damn tools away.”

But the one he has saved is one where you’ve tired, exhausted—brain having kept you awake and every noise in the house doing something to make the shadows seem more dangerous than they were. You’re babbling, eyes likely closed, voice just reeling off the things your brain is thinking—no filter, no barrier between thought and tongue.

“—and baby, even though I’ve been sleeping in your clothes, I miss you. ‘Cause you make me happy—so happy, you know that? You have to. Tell you a lot. The bed does feel super weird without you. It’s really cold, and big—like too big. I turned the thermostat up, I know, I know, I’ll turn it down. Oh, and baby, I saw sprinkles moonwalk again on the fence. I did try to record it—but, you know me, I’m clumsy, chipped my phone. Don’t be mad. Please. I know you won’t cause you’re good, kind, nice—god you makemehappy. So tired. Justwanttosleep, you know?—“

He remembers driving back through the night the following day—slipping in, quiet as a mouse. Old training came in handy as he slid out of his boots and cautiously placed his keys.

Frankie managed to miss the floorboard he needs to fix, the one that usually gives him away—and even remembered to not use the light in the bathroom. His last test had been the bed, somehow managing to get in with precision, even roll you closer without waking you.

It’s worth it, all the time away—the voice notes in between—for the life he’s able to build with you and the look he wakes to in the morning.

A thing he thinks each time.

Because you look at him like he solved every problem wrong in your world; you look at him like he makes the impossible, possible.

And, after all he’s been through, he’d been sure that ship had more than sailed. That his chance had gone, faded, slipped through his fingers like water or dust.

But here you are. Your voice filling his ear in real time, whispering a good morning, if he had a safe drive—and he’s full of gratitude all over again. As he is every time he gets to hear your voice—in person or through the phone.

an: sometimes, voice notes are just the best, right? I also love voice mails, and all voice related things.

[mitch-the-silly]

Hi I’m new to your blog so I apologize if I requested anything wrong in this ask

Could I request a vox x reader where reader comes crying to vox and as he is trying to comfort her someone walks in which makes him switch up to kind and soft to mean and unfair towards reader at one point even pointing out her insecuritys on accident which makes reader cry more and kinda distance herself from him. How would vox feel and comfort ready after this?

Thanks and have An amazing day!

No no, it's ok! You'll find that I LOVE writing angst. It's honestly my area of expertise. And I LOVED this idea so much that when I was looking through my asks just now, I was like "Eh, lemme go to sleep" but I saw your ask and knew I could afford to sleep a bit later!

Anyway, mean Vox is very much real to me (mayhaps even canon)-

For extra angst, The one to walk in will be Valentino and some other Overlords (but mainly Valentino because I hate his goofy, bald ass).

Vox x fem!reader

Angst!!!

Warnings: Valentino (EWWWW)

"Roses are Made of Thons"

You felt distressed, only one person in this world could console you and you knew it. So you ran to his office and buried yourself in his chest. Your lover, Vox, held you close to him. He was caressing your face with gentle care. He was always so gentle and loving with you, so when he asked you what was wrong and you told him about your sorrows, you confided he’d keep to himself and help you.

“I… I tried my best, and I think I still look terrible! I mean, look at me… I just…” You sniffled, hiccupping from how desperate you were.

“Hey… hey… what did we say? I love you just the way you are. I think you’re cute, you don’t need to try to look good when you already look good.” He spoke, kissing your cheek.

“Really? Are you sure…? I just… I see all the models in your shows… and… I just…” You mumbled, tears threatening to stream down again.

“It’s just a show. And it's meant to appease those dirty fuckers who look like ugly fucking losers with absolutely zero contact with women. It’s not based on my standards…” He reassured you, kissing you again.

However, this would soon be gone, because the door to his office opened without a previous announcement, and storming in came Valentino along with some other overlords. “Ugh, Vox, I need you to settle something- Oh. Are you getting taken care of by your little putita?~” Valentino cooed at him, making fun of your relationship.

You knew he had a thing for Vox, and were very much aware he was salty that Vox had decided to be loyal to you. So it was obvious Valentino hated your guts despite you not really interacting with him.

“It’s nothing important, what do you need?” He smiled, wiping your tears and placing you on his lap. He held your head to his chest, trying to hide your lack of composure.

“Well, look, I had a few drug deals with these two, and I thought you’d paid them but- Vox… why is she moving like that?” Valentino paused, lowering his sunglasses and squinting at you attempting to see better.

“I already told you it was nothing. Are you gonna speak or not?” Vox scoffed, nudging you to stop it.

“She’s distracting me, Vox. Control your bitches or I’ll teach her how I control mine.” Valentino huffed, lighting his cigarette and rolling his eyes.

“Y/n, stop crying, I’m busy right now, go and cry somewhere else please.” Vox spoke, turning towards you, and pushing you off his lap. You tried to wipe your tears, but they kept rolling down your cheek.

Was this really what he was acting like right now? “V-vox but…”

“What is she even bitching about anyway? I bet it’s that outfit she had on. It’s not doing her any favors. I’d cry too if I was in that rag.” Valentino joked cruelly, the other overlords laughed… Vox did too.

“She’s just crying over her not looking good, cut her some slack!” Vox chuckled, and then he turned towards you. “Come on, I’ll get back to you once I’m done with this. Meet me in my room, sweetie.” Vox spoke casually, dismissing you completely.

You couldn’t believe it… he was just shoving you to the side. Giving you the cold shoulder over Valentino and the other overlords… He was making fun of you and even told them the one thing you told him not to say.

You felt hot tears roll down your cheek, and you ran out of the room. Ignoring Vox’s request to wait for him in his room. Matter of fact, you stayed in your own room for a couple of days, sulking, desiring to never see him again after what he’d done to you. You could hear him knock at your door, and try to make amends, but you simply couldn’t bring yourself to open the door.

After a few days, you finally decided to come out of your room. Vox had been watching your hallway’s cameras for the past few days, and the second he spotted you out, he zapped to where you were.

“Y/n! Please! Can we talk?” He asked as you turned away form him, still mad at him.

“Please, I know I acted like an asshole, but… I just… If I showed them a soft side they weren’t gonna take me seriously! My whole business is a fake image of myself! If I don't uphold it, I'm fucked! My whole empire falls apart!” He cried out, almost groveling at your feet.

“You… you didn't have to tell them that about me… what I was insecure about…” You mumbled, tears threatening to creep in again.

“I know! And… I… I’m sorry, I was a fucking idiot and I was just feeding Valentino’s little games. I’m way too used to it, but I… I need to work on it, just please… Please don’t leave me! I fucked up, ok? I’m human, please don’t leave me over something I regret doing!” He pleaded, walking closer to you and taking your hand. Begging you for forgiveness.

“I… I need a bit more time… but… I accept your apology…” You mumbled, looking away. “Don’t do that again…”

“I won’t, I promise! I’ll give you your time, just… please don’t cut me off… The days you didn't talk to me were miserable… Please… I can’t live without you…” He begged.

“I heard you the first time… I’ll text you, don’t worry…” You mumbled back, reentering your room.

It was sort of a win for Vox, but he’d gotten too carried away. He’d already made sure to cuss out Valentino for his behavior. But he really had to get his life together. He just knew that if he pulled another one like this, he’d lose her.

[creedslove]

BEING JOEL MILLER'S WIFE 🍓 - HEADCANONS

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: I wanna quit my job and be his stay home housewife so bad 😭

You didn't actually have a honeymoon because the money isn't abundant but you definitely took a weekend away to stay in a nice lake house or go to a water park in summer because why not before Joel had to go back to work 

But just because you didn't have a fancy honeymoon trip it doesn't mean you didn't spend the whole day all over each other, exploring each other's bodies and barely putting any clothes, I mean, what's the point if you are gonna take them off anyway 

He took his guitar and he played to you as you watched the sunset together, he played and hummed beautifully and overcame his natural shyness so he would sing some love songs to you

You wear your wedding and your engagement ring, and Joel wears his too, not only that, he wears it proudly to show he is taken

After your time off, you had to adapt to your new routine, but now Joel leaves home a little later than he usually did, because now he had a sweet wife to have breakfast with ❤️ 

You have morning lazy sex most mornings, you always wake up with Joel's boner poking your back and you don't resist his sleeping puppy look with the messy hair, sweet smile and strong arms that pull you closer to his warm body 

Breakfast depends on who gets up first, sometimes it's Joel, sometimes it's you. He doesn't mind cooking you breakfast but he prefers when you do it because your food is way better than his 

You love packing Joel his lunch, sometimes when there's leftovers you pack him a full meal in his lunch box, otherwise you make him a real good sandwich and some other treats 

The guys who work for him low-key make fun of the fact the serious and kinda grumpy Joel Miller carries a lunch box made by his wife 

And Joel doesn't give a shit about those fuckers because he has a loving wife who takes care of him

If you don't work or you work from home, you make sure to leave the house always tidy and organized for your man 

If you work out, he makes sure to split the chores with you on the weekend, but since your shift is a lot shorter than his, you manage to do the cleaning mostly by yourself so weekends are for relaxing or going out 

You also make sure to bake him several treats: cakes, pies, cupcakes, muffins, homemade bread, cookies or desserts like pudding or different recipes 

Dinner every night for your husband, especially when he gets home a little earlier than usual and he decides to help you, because that leads to sweet moments and even maybe some dancing in the kitchen 

Usually weekends are reserved for takeout or he actually takes you out for lunch or dinner, because he wants his wife to relax and enjoy the weekend with him 

Joel's a gentleman and he doesn't want you to worry about sharing the bills at home, he sees himself as the one who needs to provide to you, so he insists you keep your money to yourself

And you do so by buying yourself things so you can be pretty for him 

But you also buy him a lot of things, you like spoiling things with new shirts, new jeans, new shoes and whenever you see something you think Sarah will like, you buy it for her too 

So when she comes home from her college break, there's usually a pile of presents waiting for her on her bed 

Joel works really hard and when you two were dating, he often arrived really late because of work, but after you got married, he decided to reduce his working schedule a little because he wants to be there for you 

But still, his work is HARD, so he often gets home exhausted and starving and you gladly serve him dinner 

He often invites you to shower with him after work, which you do it eagerly. Sometimes it leads to some slow, sexy shower sex, and sometimes you just wash his hair and down his back 

When he's sore from working so much, it's also common for you to massage him. You get some lotion and apply on his sore back and you enjoy his grunts and pleasure moans as you help him relief the tension and it might lead to a happy ending with a handjob or not, it depends on the mood 

Or you just cuddle on the couch after dinner, Joel is a gentleman and insists on doing the dishes for you or at least help you with it 

You either rest against his side or he rests his head on your lap 

Run your fingers through his hair and you can swear that man purrs at the relaxation, it never fails him to sleep 

When Tommy finally leaves the house for good, Joel and you start making plans on what to do with that spare room. If you're into art he is willing to turn it into an atelier for you; if you love reading, he already got the tools and the wood to build you a big shelf for your own library at home 

Or one night he just suggests it would could be home office so it gets easier to remodel it once the baby comes 

"What baby Joel?" You frown softly and he cleared his throat "well, you know, I thought we would… or maybe just in case…" 

You hadn't discussed that before marriage and perhaps now you see maybe you should have, but you just assumed he wouldn't want more kids after he spent the last decades of his life raising his daughter by himself 

And to be honest, not even Joel himself is sure if he wants kids or not, but he does love to picture you with a baby bump, carrying his baby, just as much as he loves watching you interact with little kids 

You two decide to sit down and talk things through, and you come to the conclusion that if it happens, it happens, but it's not a necessity or a deal breaker in your relationship

Because you love your husband Joel, and he loves you too ❤️

_____

A/N: idk I wanna marry him so bad 😭

[in1-nutshell]

IM GETTING EVERY IDEA I GOT OUT WHILE REQUESTS ARE OPEN IM SORRY

also I'm sorry i keep bringing up chaotic teen Buddy and Megatron, but i love seeing this fucker suffer through forced adoption.

I'm still kinda trucking through the comics, but i know that at some point Megatron is essentially yeeted into a whole ass different dimension and spent 300 years there (i could be totally wrong, if so ignore.) long story short, i have been stuck on the idea of Megatron getting stuck there for 300 years, mourning his funny little human child after 80 years, cause he figures even if he does get back home, they wont still be there.

Luckily for everyone involved, that 300 years was just a few months for the lost light. unluckily for everyone.

Buddy - "My father is gone, therefore I am no longer responsible for the consequences of my actions."

Hello again! Don't feel bad for asking/ requesting. Requests are fun to do for me and I can write almost anything someone asks, almost. Still, ask if you want something written. It is time for the return of Fearless Buddy!

Hope you enjoy!

Fearless Buddy reaction to Megatron coming back from the other dimension

SFW, platonic, familial, bit of angst here and there, Human reader

MTMTE/LL

Buddy had conveniently slept when Megatron had left. Don't blame them, they had been running off of little to no sleep for weeks and their body finally had enough.

Rodimus had to break the news for Buddy.

"What do you mean Megatron is 'gone'?!"--Buddy

"He left, he just up and escaped! But don't worry we'll get him back on board in no time."--Rodimus

"He... He really just left?"--Buddy

"I'm afraid so."--Rodimus

"Well, you know what? Who needs him anyways! The big sorry pile of scrap can go rust in space for all I care!"--Buddy

"Buddy--"--Rodimus

"Who needs him! Thanks for letting me know Roddy, really. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some important things to go over with Whirl."--Buddy

"What important things? What could be more important than this right now?"--Rodimus

"We are going to put a bumper sticker on Minimus saying 'Kachinga'!"--Buddy

"... Carry on!"--Rodimus

Rodimus really wishes now that he had stopped Buddy from making it to Whirl's. The ship had become the two's playground for pranks and sillies.

No one was spared from their wrath.

Many bots on board got mad at the two. But it was the bots closest to Buddy to realize something was deeply troubling them.

Their enthusiasm seemed forced most of the time. Their laughter almost seemed... Robotic almost. And their eyes... they looked so hollow and lacked the usual twinkle they had before.

Whirl appointed himself Buddy's guardian in the meantime. There wasn't much argument there as being Buddy's Amica, it was probably for the best.

Whirl lost count of the amount of times he caught Buddy going into Megatron's habsuite and crying over some of his poems. He wants to hurt Megatron so badly for the pain he inflicted on Buddy. They became Rung's most frequently seen patient after talking with Whirl.

"You really think this is going to help?"--Buddy

"I'm sure of it! If Eyebrows here can stand me, then you'll be like a walk in the park!"--Whirl

"... Thanks Whirl. I mean it, you're the best Amica a friend could ask for."--Buddy

"Hey now, don't get soft on me yet. That's Rung's job. Now get in there and punch those feelings in the face!"--Whirl

The day when Megatron comes back after everything is settled Whirl is one of the first in line to deck him across the face.

"You sorry excuse of a tyrant!--"--Whirl

"I know you're upset Whirl... Buddy passing must not have been easy..."--Megatron

"Passing? What are you talking about?"--Whirl

"Surely they have already passed it's been more than 80 years."--Megatron

"Megs, it's been a couple months since your little disappearing act."--Rodimus

"...Is Buddy alive?"--Megatron

"Of course they are! Why--Hey!"--Whirl

Megatron sprinting pass him and to Buddy's habsuite.

Megatron had never sprinted as fast as he did at that moment. For the past 200 or so years he had been in a constant state of mourning. He thought he had lost Buddy forever. The biggest regret he had was not at least telling them good bye.

Now here he was... He almost backed out of knocking on the door, but he did it. The doors opened revealing Buddy in all of their morning glory.

"... Buddy?"--Megatron

"Ah man it's one of those dreams again. Listen fake Megs, I'm not in the mood right now. So if you'll just come back next week that'll be great."--Buddy

Megatron finally snapped out of his dazed and scooped up Buddy into his servos and held them close to his spark.

It took Buddy a solid second to realize this wasn't some fever dream.

"Megs?"--Buddy

"I'm here now. I'm here."--Megatron

"...How... How dare you! YOU LEFT ME HERE ALONE! YOU DON'T JUST CALL SOMEONE THEIR KID THEN LEAVE THEM HIGH AND DRY! WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE ME?!? OR AT LEAST SAY GOOD BYE!? TELL ME! TELL ME WHY?!? DAD WHY DID... why did you leave me...*--Buddy

"...I am so sorry..."--Megatron

"...you better be... I will never leave your side again... You're worse than a toddler getting lost at a Walmart..."--Buddy

It wasn't an easy transition at first. Buddy had their friends always within arms length from Megatron. Buddy themselves put up some walls to avoid getting hurt again.

The two eventually decided to seek counseling to try and mend their relationship. Thank goodness that happened.

Now Megatron was sitting in his habsuite with Buddy telling him all the latest news on the ship while reviewing their latest poems.

These were the little things he missed most and was glad he had gotten a chance to get them back.

[paladin-heart5]

Save Her (Part One)

Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary; Leon's fiancee has been captured by an underground black market group. He needs to save her, but once he does, he needs to prepare for her recovery.

CW; hurt/comfort, captivity, swearing, blood/bruising, mild suicidal thoughts. (lmk if I missed anything)

Three weeks. For three weeks his best friend, no, fiancée, has been missing. And after all that time stressing, all those sleepless nights, he's got a solid lead. An underground gang that sells bio-weapon prototypes. They buy blueprints off the black market and build them to sell to high bidders. With the intel Hunnigan found, they gotta be the ones who have her. The question is, why would they take her? They better not be experimenting on her. He'll have to put a bullet through every head, just like the undead he spent most of his life killing. Maybe he'll do it anyway. When he came home from work one day, he found the door broken open, many signs of a struggle, but they still got her. No ransom notes, nor blood. The anger in his eyes was strong, they can't just take her away like that. She's going to come home safe and sound. She has to. 

“The location has been sent to you, but you'll need to be careful getting down. There's likely going to be some form of security, definitely cameras. Keep your head down.” Hunnigan explains as Leon, Chris, and Rebecca gear up. Leon knew he couldn't do this alone, he needed his friends. Jill is on another mission, and Claire is traveling for TerraSave. Chris wasn't going to let him do this in the state he's in. Barely a wink of sleep, very little food in his system. He had to force him to do both just so he wouldn't kill himself. He can't save her when he's passed out on the ground. “Head to the warehouse, clear the area, and find the hatch. The rest I won't be able to help much with.” She finished explaining, earning a nod from Leon.

“Got it, thank you, Ingrid.” He says softly. Ingrid gives a hint of a smile.

“I care about her too, bring her home safely.” She states, pointing at them. Leon chuckles and gives a two finger salute. The three of them are off in no time, settling into Chris’s jeep before taking off. Rebecca looks through her computer for possible access to the cameras at the warehouse.

“It doesn't seem like there are many camera's underground, just in the warehouse itself. So I'm guessing there might be some muscle down there. Judging by some old files, their number of sales on the black market have increased by 40% in the last three months.” She explains to the men. Leon's leg bounces anxiously as he listens, Chris frowning as he thinks. 

“I just don't understand, what do they want with Y/n?” The muscular brunette asks. Rebecca hums and types for a couple of minutes before answering.

“My guess, using her knowledge as a biologist to build their newest experiment. Though I can’t seem to get through this inscription, so I won’t know for sure until we get there and see it for ourselves.” The professor explains.

________________

The echoes of men cheering down the hall caused a spike in her heart rate. The cold floor of the cell she’s on makes her shiver as she sits in only a dirty hospital gown and undergarments. Her hair is greasy, and knotted. She'd kill for a shower if she wasn't so weak. Y/n hugged her knees to her chest, the chains connected to her ankle making a clanking sound. Bruises and cuts litter her skin, all that fighting ended in such pain. She just wanted to be home, resting in bed with her soon to be husband. But those words from the fuckers that took her. They haunt her, every day she starts to believe them.

“He's not coming for you, doll."

“And even if he did, he won't love you.”

“You belong to us now.” 

She squeezes her eyes shut as she holds her head. Tears starting to prick her eyes for the hundredth time since she's been stuck here. Leon would never leave her like that. He loves her, he promised that when he proposed. “He's just having trouble finding me.” She mutters, but still; as time goes on, hope continues to fade.

____________

The ringing of gunshots caused her to wake with a start. She can hear shouting and footsteps all around. Y/n curls up and covers her ears, too afraid to even try to see what's happening. Could be friend or foe, but it's hard to tell at this point. All those torturous nights of scaring her into talk, forcing her to do tests. She's simply too tired to move, to think. She's not even sure she wants to live anymore. 

“Leon! Check all the cells! We have to get her out quickly if we're gonna blow this place.” A familiar voice called out, followed by footsteps nearing her cell. Why can't she remember that voice, and did he say Leon? As in her soon to be husband? Perhaps her mind is starting to play tricks on her. That little bit of hope left could be tricking her. 

However, the footsteps get louder. A shadow of a man draws closer, and she isn't sure what to do besides try to hide herself. When the footsteps stop suddenly, she peaks her head up slightly. A tall man, fairly muscular and sandy blond hair stands in front of her cell. His eyes are a beautiful blue, but they seem dull. As he sees her, his heart stops, breath hitches. It's her, his future wife. Y/n stares at him in disbelief, this definitely has to be a trick, that man looks just like Leon.

“Y/n..” The sound of her name was breathy, but it immediately made her feel a sense of comfort. His voice, deep and smooth, it's very soothing. Though she still can't be sure that her mind isn't playing tricks. She hugs herself tighter, shaking as he approaches slowly. He kneels down in front of her, worry and sadness clear in his eyes. He frowns and slowly reaches his hand out towards her face. A whimper escapes as she tenses, which only makes him feel worse.

“It's me, baby. It's Leon.” He says softly, managing to graze his fingers along her cheek. Her eyes widen, they look almost lifeless to him. They become glossy as tears quickly begin to pour. 

“You're- you're really.. here?” She asks quietly, earning a nod from the blond. The tears fall heavily down her cheeks as a loud sob racks her body. Leon quickly grabs her hands, trying not to let himself fall apart because he just can't. He has to be strong for her, he needs to get her to safety. Chris runs by and hears her cries, stopping in his tracks. He looks over and his eyes widen. He begins to step into the cell, noticing the chains. He then pulls out a set of keys that he collected from one of the guards.

“Leon, here.” He calls softly, giving him the keys. Leon looks back and smiles thankfully. “Where's Rebecca?” He asks, quickly unlocking the chains around Y/n’s ankles. 

“Grabbing the files so we can figure this out. Let's go, quickly.” Chris states before rushing out. Leon looks at his fiancee and cups her cheek. 

“Baby, I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? Just hold on to me.” He watches her head nod in acknowledgement before carefully lifting her up. She grabs his vest as he carries her bridal style, following where Chris went.  Her glossy eyes wander around tiredly as they move. Everything feels fuzzy, the sounds of gunfire become muffled. Even Leon's voice fades in and out, but when she realizes he's talking, she looks up at him slowly. He holds her close, realizing how pale she is. When they finally find Rebecca, she goes to Y/n to check on her. 

“We have to get her to a hospital. Now.” She states with a firm tone. The two nod and get what they need. Chris sets up some C4 in the computer room before they all rush out. Another group of guards enter the hallway, guns blazing. Leon takes cover, shielding her from harm, while Chris and Rebecca clear them out. Once they're all down, they run out to the warehouse and jump into the jeep. Leon looks down at his lover to see she's unconscious.

"Shit, Y/n!" He calls, trying to shake her awake, but she's out cold. He feels her neck for a pulse, luckily it's there, but faint. He shouts at Chris to hurry, and Chris detonates the bomb before speeding to the hospital.

Please be okay.

~~~~~~

A/N; Welcome to the first part of my first little series! Hope you enjoyed it, more to come soon!

[broz0neglitters]

𝕀 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕣𝕖 🫶🏻🌷💕🎀🌸

Floyd x Fem reader Smut/NSFW

Warning: Smut & P*rn mention, Vaping Mention, and Alcohol mentioned

-Floyd, likes to take things slow so nothing to serious yet but he'll mostly dry hump you is that good enough?

-Floyd just like branch he watches P*rn 24/7 you will often catch him jerking off you would get angry at him for jerking off at those beautiful girls on there but he can ensure you that he was thinking of you when he's jerking off

-He wants you to bloom for him (Meaning he wants you to show off all your beautiful naked body body size/breast sizes don’t matter to floyd he likes you just the way you are <3)

-Floyd owns a weed pen and a flavor vape (Flum pebbles icy peach) he isn't big on those flavor vape but he sometimes gets those sweet desires from those icy peach cuz it reminds him of you

(Side notes: I own two vape the greek pluse pink lemonade which I perfer the most and a flum pebble icy peach which burns my throat sometimes No I'm not addicted to it I have my limits I only use it for partys or when I hangout w friends/get together so don't worry about me i'm okay i know my limit still struggling to manage two vape plus hide it from my strict parents and yes i'm legal i just turn 21 recently :) and also I been keeping myself healthy and checking my health I'm not suggesting you guys vape or anything is not worth it for your health I'm planning on throwing it away if you do vape please know your limit and think about your health i have tons of friends who are addicted to it so please be safe for those of you who vape I'm not judging just want you all to be safe just putting a message out there anyways back to the Headcanon <3)

-Floyd would offer you to vape just to get in the mood vaping plus drinking gets him in the mood

-floyd has high alcohol tolerance (all his brothers dose)

-Floyd Likes to cockwarm so do expect to cockwarm

-His Cock is small not too small he's a late bloomer he's insecure about it but you told him it dosen't matter

-Don't underestimated his small cock I mean it

-Overtime he's ready for some real fucking action meaning he is ready for base two he often would asked if he could finger you but you told him that he dosen't need to ask you permission cuz he's all yours

-like I mention before do not underestimated his cock size cuz once his cock is inside of you; you would constantly beg him to go harder and faster which he dose

-He starts off slow but hearing your moans and cries and how needy you are for him to go faster so he went faster to the point he's a rough fucker (I feel like all of brozone brother are rough during sex but the roughest of them all is john dory and the least rough is floyd)

-He's super careful when he finger you but you ensure him that you wants him to go faster cuz it feels so good

-He is super loud aswell you so you both were worried that other trolls would hear you both

-Would he dominate you during sex yes, and? but you also dominate him aswell so switching postion

-You love to cowgirl/ reverse cow girl ride on his dick is his sweet desire because while you're riding on him he holds onto your hips and trust you til it hits your sweet spot

-don't ask why but he has a whole playlist of slowed reverb songs but you can barley hear it because all you can hear is his moans and yours

-did i mention that he has ELD Lights in his room he would turn it on to pitch red it would set the mood real quick

-Also I forgot to mention when he drink the alcohol hits him making him drunk so he would drunk fuck you

-When you're sleeping he would be so needy cuz he's drunk and had too many to drink he would just take your pants off and fuck you right on the spot you can't tell him to stop cuz it feels good

-When eating you up he would tell you that "I get this sweet desire just from licking your soft smooth cunt." he said teasing your clit with his soft tongue you couldn’t take it because it feels so good you would hold onto his hair

-He'll cum in your mouth and body and breast

-He will suck your breast like a literal baby + he'll even tease it while he's fucking you

-He would want to fuck you while watching P*rn

-He would even vape when going to town on you again is his sweet desire

-his cum is milky

-you like licking his cum off his cock especially his tips cuz its also your sweet desire

-You're his sweet desire even during sex

-He and you also would take a couple of shots of pink lemonade vodka before continuing to have sex cuz it sets the mood for him and he wants you to be real needy since you're super drunk

-His sex after care are the best so he and branch has the best sex after care he would give you tea or drink of your choice and even fesh cut fruits or any food you request and he will definitely cuddle you afterwards

--------------------

Anyways, I hoped you enjoyed it anyways fill free to request me at anytime :^) *it might take a while to get back to you as I mentioned before I would just write it on my own without any requests plus I've school and real life stuff so be patient with your request your requested are heard loud and clear <3 -------------------- Like and Follow are very much appreciated 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

[thebunnednun]

LOYALTY [Chapter 5]

Katsuki Bakugou x Sugar Baby! Reader

Summary:

Your ex tries to kill you and now your boss is throwing his hat in the ring too. Good thing Katsuki is here.

Songs: Pour it up by Rihanna Don't tell em by Jeremih feat. YG

As always this is a mature story so minors DO NOT INTERACT!!

TW: Abusive relationships and violence.

---------------Chapter 5: Same Assholes, New Beginnings--------------

Michael was actually the one who turned the stream off as you sat up again, yawning. That was close. You couldn't sleep in this room, even if it was cute. She helped you up and got you situated in your own room, the one that felt safer, even if it wasn't the most comfortable. The package from him was still in the trash, and you weren't sure if there was a police station open this late.

"That was close," Michael said, her tone a mix of concern and exhaustion. "You sure you want me to sleep in the bed with you?"

You nodded, the fear still clutching at your chest. "Yeah, that freaked me out more than I want to admit."

Michael shuddered as she put her bonnet on, settling into the bed beside you. "I told you we should've gone to the police earlier. What if that thing has a tracking device? I know some guys at the club that would love to do us a favor."

You shook your head quickly, not wanting anyone else to get involved. "No, no, no, please. I don’t want anyone else dragged into this."

She sighed, bouncing into the bed to get comfortable. "You need more color in here. It looks like a minimalist beige mom spray-painted everything neutral."

You huffed some air before finally taking off that damn itchy wig. You shook out your real hair before grabbing the matching bonnet Michael had gotten you, sliding it on with a sense of relief. "Well, you try living with a creep who throws your stuff out and controls everything you wear and own. I should really burn those clothes."

Sliding under the sheets, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you. Michael joined you, leaving the night light on, knowing how much you hated the dark now. Ironically, that was part of his quirk—a dude with psycho strength who could shoot blasts of light from his hands. A flashy quirk, indeed. But when you acted up, he would shroud the entire place in darkness that felt so heavy you couldn’t do anything except curl up and cry. His apartment was so blindingly white that it made you sick constantly.

Yours, though... was a little different. Thanks to quirk marriages, you had two quirks. Much like the pro hero Shoto, you could wield both water and fire. If you were hydrated enough, you could even conjure ice. To think, you shared almost the same quirk as the #3 hero of Japan. 

It was so fucked up. 

You actually had an unused hero license sitting in your drawer. No, literally. That’s how the fucker found you—a small, emotionally vulnerable girl with a shitty home life in a student exchange program. You gave up your career before it even began because of "love," which was really just his small dick ego ruling you again. 

But the truth was, you didn’t think you had the stomach for it anyway. The injuries pros got made you sick, and the idea of your comrades—your friends—dying? God, you couldn’t do it. That’s how you ended up as a marketing manager, finding all the good shots of heroes to promote them to the next top whatever. Especially your main project: Kyoya, aka " Unyielding," hero known for his indomitable spirit and sportsmanship, who embodied the ideals of chivalry and justice. 

Fucking poser. 

Promoting someone like him felt like a way to stay connected to the hero world, even if you couldn’t be a part of it the way you once dreamed. 

What was all of that for, anyway? Who would want a Pro Hero who couldn’t even fight off her own boyfriend—her fiancé at that? Who stayed in a shitty relationship longer than she wanted to, just so she wouldn’t have to be alone or move back home to get her ass handed to her by her parents. Parents that kicked her out three months before graduation, when she needed them the most. It was a miracle you didn’t have any siblings to go back for; at least they didn’t have to suffer through the same hell.

A Pro Hero who has to strip and entertain weirdos on the internet for money because that same ex was blocking all her job opportunities. The same ex who, according to office gossip, had already moved his new girl into the old apartment and was letting her do whatever she wanted to erase every trace of you. 

The bed you slept in, the photos you hung up, the little decorations you picked out with so much care—gone. Replaced by her, some woman you never met, who probably didn’t even know your name. And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? Being erased like you never existed.

Yeah, some hero to look up to.

You lay there, the weight of it all pressing down on you like a boulder, making it hard to breathe. The room felt suffocating despite its size, the walls closing in as the thoughts spiraled deeper. The candle’s gentle flicker was the only source of warmth in the cold void you felt yourself slipping into. The soft glow that once felt comforting now mocked you, reminding you of what you could never truly be—a light in the dark. Instead, you were just another shadow, hiding behind a screen, pretending to be something you weren’t.

Michael shifted beside you, her presence a small comfort in the darkness. But even she couldn’t reach that part of you buried so deep, the part that still ached for something more, something you were beginning to doubt you’d ever have.

It was all just so fucking pointless.

You and Michael settled into the bed, the weight of the day finally lifting as you both let out matching sighs of exhaustion. She rolled onto her side to face you, her dark eyes soft and full of understanding.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, a tender smile playing on her lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you murmured back, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. The warmth of her touch grounded you, even as the memories of the past threatened to pull you under.

You both said your little prayers, whispering words of gratitude for the small blessings you still held on to—each other, a roof over your heads, the strength to keep moving forward. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get you through the night.

As you lay in the dark, the familiar feeling of dread crept in, but you pushed it away, focusing on the steady rhythm of Michael’s breathing beside you. Eventually, sleep took you, but it wasn’t peaceful.

You dreamed of suffocating darkness, of hands that grabbed at you and a voice that whispered lies in your ear. You were trapped, no matter how much you struggled, unable to escape the cold grip that held you down. Then, suddenly, you woke with a start, your heart racing and your breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

It was 6 a.m., the room still cloaked in the early morning shadows. Michael was holding you, her arms wrapped protectively around you as if she had sensed your distress even in sleep. You took a shaky breath and snuggled back into her embrace, feeling her warmth seep into you. She didn’t say anything, and neither did you. There was no need for words; the silent comfort of her love was more than enough.

Her alarm went off shortly after, breaking the silence. Michael groaned softly, reluctantly pulling away from you to shut it off. She stretched, her muscles flexing as she prepared for her morning workout routine.

“You gonna be okay?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” you nodded, giving her a small smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours as if looking for any sign of doubt, before finally getting up. “I’m heading to the gym. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

You both got ready in the quiet morning hours, the sounds of the city slowly waking up around you. The ritual was familiar, almost comforting in its routine. You dressed in your office clothes, something professional but with a touch of lipgloss—a little armor to help you face the day. Michael was ready in no time, dressed in her gym gear, hair tied back, and eyes focused. She was always so strong, so put together, and it made you feel a little stronger too.

The train ride was uneventful, the two of you sharing a comfortable silence as you stood side by side. The city rushed past in a blur, but you barely noticed, lost in your thoughts. When your stop came, Michael leaned over and kissed you on the cheek, a quick, reassuring peck that made you smile despite the nervous flutter in your stomach.

“Good luck,” she said, her voice warm.

“Thanks.” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you stepped off the train. The office loomed ahead, and you squared your shoulders, determined to get through the day.

Today, you had a meeting with your boss, presenting a new marketing plan for Koi Fish. It was just another task, another hurdle to overcome, but it felt like a mountain. You could do this. You had to do this. With a final glance at the receding train, you turned and walked into the office, ready to face whatever the day would throw at you.

You step into the office, the sterile scent of coffee and paper filling the air as you walk down the hallway. The click of your heels on the tiled floor echoes with each step, but it’s the sudden hush that catches your attention. Eyes turn toward you—some wide with surprise, others narrowed in curiosity or judgment. It’s as if they didn’t expect you to show up today, or maybe any day.

You offer a polite nod to the receptionist, who quickly looks away, pretending to be busy with her screen. The quiet whispers and sideways glances follow you as you pass by your coworkers, their conversations halting mid-sentence. It’s a familiar feeling, but it doesn’t sting any less. You straighten your posture, your heart thudding a little harder in your chest, and keep your eyes forward.

At your desk, you set down your bag and pull out the notes for your presentation. The marketing plan for  ‘Koi-fish’ sits at the top of the stack, the bright, serene colors a stark contrast to the tense energy around you. You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task ahead. But the weight of the stares and the unspoken questions hang over you like a cloud.

A colleague, who usually avoids eye contact, suddenly looks at you with a mixture of pity and confusion. "I didn’t think you’d actually be here today," he says, his voice low as if trying not to be overheard.

You offer a small, strained smile. "Why wouldn’t I be? Got a job to do, right?"

He nods slowly, but his gaze lingers a moment too long before he turns away. You can feel the judgment in the air, the silent questioning of how someone like you, with your history, could still manage to show up, put on a brave face, and keep going. 

The pressure in your chest tightens, but you push it aside. Today isn’t about them or what they think. It’s about getting through this presentation and proving to yourself that you can still do this. 

You glance at the clock on your computer screen. Just a little while longer until the meeting. You can handle this, just like you’ve handled everything else. One step at a time.

You scan your badge and make your way to the top floor, the familiar hum of the elevator a small comfort as you brace yourself for the day. The doors slide open, and you're immediately greeted by the sight of your mentees, their faces lighting up as they spot you.

"You're here!" one of them exclaims, rushing over to hug you.

You laugh, returning the embrace. "Of course I am. Now, let's get to work, soldiers."

They fall in line with exaggerated seriousness, but the warmth in their eyes is unmistakable. You take a moment to savor the connection before heading to the conference room.

Inside, you find your boss, Mr. Yakimoto, Kyoya's manager, and his assistant, Mia. She looks relieved to see you, though her frazzled expression suggests a stressful morning. The last figure in the room is a girl with a sharp, confident presence—another hero, no doubt. Her posture is rigid, her eyes tracking your every move.

"Good morning," Mr. Yakimoto says, gesturing to an empty seat. "Please, take a seat, and we'll get started."

You nod, moving to the chair, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze on you as you settle in.

The discussion quickly turned to recent popularity polls and media outlets. Mr. Yakimoto highlighted the positive trends, noting how Kyoya's recent public appearances had garnered significant attention. Kyoya's manager chimed in, mentioning the upcoming announcement from the Hero Commission about the newest top heroes. The excitement in the room was palpable as they discussed the magazine interviews being set up and how the makeup crew was already booked for the shoot.

You let your mentees take the reins, presenting the finer details of the new marketing strategy you'd been working on for Kyoya. They were confident, well-prepared, and delivered their points with a professionalism that made you proud. But as they spoke, you couldn't help but notice Kyoya's gaze. He was staring at you— intently —to the point where it felt like he was trying to drill holes into your skull with his eyes.

At first, you tried to ignore it, focusing instead on your team’s presentation. But his unwavering attention began to make you uncomfortable. You saw him nudge his manager, but the gesture went unnoticed, leaving him to continue his silent, intense observation.

It wasn’t long before others started to pick up on it. Mia glanced at you with concern, and even Mr. Yakimoto paused mid-discussion, his eyes flicking between you and Kyoya as if trying to decipher what was going on. The tension in the room thickened, and your resolve to ignore him faltered for just a moment as you locked eyes with him.

What was he trying to convey? And why did it feel like everyone else was just as confused as you were?

The tension in the room was palpable, growing thicker with each passing second of Kyoya’s unyielding stare. You could sense the confusion spreading among your team and the others present, and it wasn’t long before someone finally broke the silence.

"Um, why is—" a voice chimed in, cutting through the room’s awkward energy. It was her —the girl he left you for. Her name was Sayuri Minami, also known by her hero name, Gleaming Siren . She had an aura that commanded attention, much like Minerva Orland from Fairy Tail . Sayuri was tall and slender, her curves accentuated by her hero costume, which hugged her figure in all the right places. Her long, wavy hair was a striking shade of midnight blue, cascading down her back, and her eyes were a bright, almost unnatural shade of gold. Her presence was as alluring as it was intimidating, her beauty undeniable but her personality... not so much.

She interrupted one of your mentees mid-sentence, her voice carrying a slight edge of disdain. You quickly jumped in, your protective instincts kicking in to shield your mentee from her venom.

"Excuse me, but I believe they were speaking," you said, keeping your tone firm yet professional. The room fell silent as Sayuri’s golden eyes narrowed at you, her lips curling into a faint smirk.

"Oh, I’m sorry," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just thought maybe we should focus on what’s actually important here."

Her comment was clearly aimed at belittling your mentee’s contribution, but you refused to rise to the bait. Instead, you maintained your composure, ignoring the slight. But Sayuri wasn’t finished. She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she continued to make little comments, her eyes flicking toward you with a calculated glint.

Finally, after a particularly pointed remark, you’d had enough. You turned to her, your expression calm but your eyes sharp. "Sayuri," you began, your voice cutting through the air with precision, "what exactly do you mean by that?"

The room went dead silent. Sayuri blinked, clearly caught off guard by your direct approach. For a moment, she seemed to struggle to find her words, her confidence wavering as all eyes turned to her. She let out a small cough, her poised demeanor slipping.

"I—uh, I just meant..." She faltered, her golden eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "I think I need some water."

Without waiting for a response, Sayuri hastily excused herself, practically fleeing from the conference room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving a tense silence in her wake.

You took a breath, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, and returned your attention to the presentation. Your mentees looked at you with a mixture of relief and admiration, clearly grateful for how you had handled the situation. Kyoya, on the other hand, was still staring at you, his gaze unreadable but intense.

It took all your self-control to ignore the feeling of vindication settling in your chest. The meeting wasn’t over yet, and there was still work to be done.

The meeting wrapped up with a final round of discussions, everyone contributing their last thoughts on the upcoming hero rankings, magazine interviews, and promotional strategies. You made sure to direct the conversation back to your mentees, giving them the space to shine and showcase their hard work. As the room began to clear, you offered each of them words of encouragement.

"You all did great today," you said warmly, pulling them into a small huddle. "Your presentations were clear, your points were solid, and you handled yourselves with professionalism. Just remember to keep refining those pitches and be ready for any follow-ups. I’m proud of you all."

Your mentees beamed at the praise, their earlier nervousness melting away. You gave them specific feedback, pointing out where they excelled and where they could improve. They nodded, soaking in every word, clearly eager to keep learning and growing.

As they dispersed, gathering their things and chatting excitedly amongst themselves, you were about to make your exit when Mr. Yakimoto’s voice called out to you.

“Ms, a word before you go.”

You turned back, already dreading what was to come. Your instincts told you that this wasn’t going to be good. With a steadying breath, you walked back into the conference room where Mr. Yakimoto waited, his expression grim. Kyoya’s manager, Ms. Hayashi, remained seated as well, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Please, sit,” Mr. Yakimoto said, motioning to a chair across from them.

You complied, sitting down with your back straight, your hands clasped in your lap. Your eyes flicked between the two of them, sensing the tension.

“We’ve been reviewing recent events, particularly the footage from that... incident at the charity event,” Mr. Yakimoto began, choosing his words carefully. “As you know, the security tapes and video footage of that evening have gone missing. Given the importance of that event and the subsequent fallout, this is a serious issue.”

You kept your expression neutral, even as your heart began to pound. This wasn’t just a meeting; this was an ambush.

“Ms. Hayashi,” he continued, nodding toward Kyoya’s manager, “has requested that you be removed from Kyoya’s team. However, Kyoya has been... unusually adamant about keeping you on board. This puts us in a difficult position.”

You remained silent, letting him finish.

“Because of these complications, and due to recent budget cuts,” Mr. Yakimoto said, his tone now more clipped, “we have no choice but to place you on a temporary suspension, effective immediately. During this suspension, you will not receive pay. Furthermore, if you are found to have had any involvement in the disappearance of those tapes, you will be terminated, and there could be legal repercussions.”

He gave you a look that was meant to be a warning, but it only fueled the fire in your chest. “Consider this a friendly warning,” he added, as if that softened the blow.

You stared at him, your face unreadable. The anger simmered beneath the surface, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your composure.

“I’ll be taking my leave now,” you said calmly, standing up. The implication was clear—you were going to find a lawyer.

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked out of the room, your strides purposeful. You kept your head high, refusing to let them see how rattled you were. As you approached the elevator, you pressed the button, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of them good.

The doors slid open, and you stepped inside, leaning against the cool metal wall as you let out a breath. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand shot out, stopping them. The doors reopened, and Kyoya stepped in, his expression unreadable.

“Hold up,” he said, his voice low.

Your heart rate spiked, and you instinctively prepared to defend yourself. It had been a long time since you used your quirk, but you were ready to blast his face with fire if it came to that. You weren’t about to let him beat you to death in an elevator.

He stood close, too close, and his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Did you get my package?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

You shrugged, trying to gray rock your way out of this situation. “I get a lot of packages.”

His frustration grew with each attempt at conversation. He tried to needle you with small talk, but you kept your responses curt and uninterested. Finally, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a nasty whisper in your ear.

“You know, I’ve missed you. Missed the way you used to—”

You shoved him back, your hands sparking with the threat of fire. He took it in stride, a twisted smile curling his lips. “I always loved and hated this part of you.”

You wanted to spit on him but held back. You knew that if you assaulted him right now he would have you arrested so fast that it would make your head spin. The elevator doors finally opened, and you shoved him out with all your strength. As the doors close, your work phone dings. It’s a message from an unknown number: 

“You still got a sweet ass.”  

You screenshot it, making a mental note to report it to HR later. Now, you ran from the building, wishing you had your car, "Lemon," to take you home. Michael would be at her office job until five and then sleep until ten before getting ready for the club. You would be going too tonight and then doing your live stream afterward. You needed all the money you could get if you were being suspended or worse—fired.

Would it even be that bad at this point?

Just like two weeks ago, you ran all the way home, adrenaline pushing you as you bounded up the stairs two by two, unable to wait for the elevator. You burst through your apartment door and found the package in the trash. You'll clean the mess later; now you  change into your sneakers and before locking the door tight and racing to the nearest police station.

You sprint through the streets, your heart pounding in your chest, not from fear but from sheer adrenaline. The nearest police station is a 20-minute walk, but you cut that time in half, your legs pumping as though powered by some secret third quirk that only activates when your heart’s been shattered by an asshole. Whatever it is, you let it fuel you, pushing your feet faster until you reach the station.

You pause outside the doors, trying to catch your breath, fixing your flyaways and composing yourself. As you enter, a blast of cold air hits you, the AC a stark contrast to the heat of your run. You make your way to the receptionist's desk, ringing the little bell. A moment later, an officer with a dog head—likely a hybrid quirk—appears, his expression friendly yet professional.

"How may I help you, ma'am?" he asks, his voice calm and reassuring.

You offer a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady. "Hello, I hope I'm not interrupting, but I was wondering if I might have some assistance. You see, I recently broke up with my ex-fiancé, and he changed the locks on our old apartment while I was at work. Our previous landlord delivered this package to me, and... I’m not sure what's inside. Given our bad history, I thought it would be safer to open it here."

Just as the officer opens his mouth to respond, the doors burst open behind you. The room fills with a sudden rush of energy and noise as Pro Heroes Ground Zero, Red Riot, Deku, and Shoto burst in, dragging several apprehended villains behind them. The villains are a mess of bruises, cuffs, and defiance, clearly the result of a failed attempt at robbing a jewelry store in Tokyo.

Ground Zero—Bakugou—looks as fierce as ever, his usual scowl deepening when he catches sight of the villains. Red Riot stands beside him, his unbreakable form looking no worse for wear. Deku is talking rapidly to Shoto, who remains stoic, though there’s a hint of frost still clinging to his right side. The sight of them is both awe-inspiring and intimidating.

The officer's attention shifts momentarily to the heroes, but he quickly refocuses on you. "That sounds like a wise decision, ma'am. Let's take a look at that package in a safe area. Please follow me."

You nod, trying to ignore the sudden influx of hero energy in the room as the officer leads you to a more secure part of the station. As you walk past the heroes, you can’t help but glance over. Bakugou’s sharp eyes flicker in your direction for the briefest moment before he turns his attention back to the villains, barking orders at one of the officers.

The package feels heavier in your hands as you follow the officer, the anxiety of what might be inside creeping back. The sight of the heroes reminds you of how far you’ve come, and yet how close you still are to the past you’re trying so hard to escape.

As you follow the officer, the package in your hands starts to feel unnaturally warm. At first, you think it’s just the lingering heat from your sprint, but then it begins to burn, the temperature rising quickly. Panic flares in your chest, and you know you have to act fast.

Without thinking, you drop the package onto the floor. You scream, your voice cutting through the noise of the bustling police station.

"ICE IT!"

Shoto, who was mid-conversation with Deku, snaps his head toward you, his mismatched eyes narrowing in confusion. For a split second, he hesitates, unsure of the situation. But then he sees the package on the ground, its surface now glowing a dangerous red.

In an instant, his left side surges with cold, and a blast of ice shoots from his hand, engulfing the package in a thick layer of frost. The officer, realizing what’s happening, tries to rush around the protective glass, his eyes wide with alarm.

You don’t wait to see what happens next. You instinctively move backward, away from the package, when suddenly, you feel two large, hot hands wrap around your waist. They’re strong, pulling you backward with surprising speed and force. Your feet leave the ground as you’re yanked away from the imminent danger.

Just as you’re pulled clear, the package explodes with a deafening bang. The sound reverberates through the station, and shards of ice and debris scatter across the floor where the package once lay. The protective glass shakes from the force of the explosion, but thankfully, Shoto's ice had contained most of it, preventing any serious damage. The overhead sprinklers activate causing a downpour of water on you and the others present. 

But that’s not what’s on your mind right now. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize you’ve been pulled into someone’s embrace. You glance up and meet the fierce, determined gaze of Ground Zero. His hands are still wrapped around your waist, his body shielding you from the blast. His expression is a mix of frustration and relief as he looks down at you.

"You okay?" he grunts, his voice rough but not unkind.

You nod, still shaken but unharmed. "Y-Yeah, thanks..."

Before you can say more, Bakugou releases you, turning his attention back to the aftermath of the explosion. Shoto approaches the now ruined package, his eyes scanning the remnants, his breath still coming out in cold puffs. The other heroes and officers quickly move to secure the area, checking for any further dangers.

The officer who had been helping you earlier finally reaches your side, his face pale with concern. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "I’m fine, thanks to him," you say, glancing at Bakugou, who is now shouting orders to the pro's.

He catches your gaze for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if to say, "Be more careful next time." Then he turns away, already moving on to the next crisis.

You can’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and embarrassment as you process what just happened. The memory of Bakugou’s hands around your waist lingers, along with the realization that your ex’s threat had just escalated to a whole new level.

The noise in the lobby only grows as more officers rush in, their uniforms a blur of navy blue as they move to take the villains into custody. Shoto and Deku follow the officers, their expressions grim as they keep a watchful eye on the apprehended criminals. The scene is chaotic, but everyone moves with practiced efficiency, ensuring that the situation remains under control.

Amidst the controlled chaos, Red Riot rushes over to you, his usual bright smile replaced with a look of deep concern. His red hair is slightly tousled from the recent scuffle, and his sharp, crimson eyes scan you from head to toe, checking for any signs of injury.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle despite the intensity of the situation. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his grip firm but careful, as if he’s afraid of hurting you.

You nod, still a bit shaken but grateful for his concern. "I’m fine, just a little rattled. Thanks to Ground Zero and Shoto, nothing worse happened."

Kirishima’s worried expression softens into a small, relieved smile. "Good, that’s good. You were really brave back there."

Before you can respond, the officer with the dog head—his name tag reads "Sergeant Inu"—steps forward, his demeanor calm but authoritative. "Ma'am, if you could follow me to the back, we need to collect a statement from you about what just happened."

You glance back at the scene in the lobby, now being secured by the heroes and officers, before nodding. "Of course," you reply, ready to cooperate. The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins, but you know that giving a clear and accurate statement is crucial.

Sergeant Inu gestures for you to follow him, and you fall in step behind him as he leads you through a side door into a quieter, more private area of the station. As you walk, you can feel Kirishima’s eyes on you, his protective instincts still on high alert.

"Don’t worry," he says, giving you a thumbs-up as you turn to look at him. "You’re in good hands here."

You manage a small smile in return, appreciating his attempt to lift your spirits.

Sergeant Inu leads you to a small, dimly lit room with a table and a few chairs. It’s quieter here, the noise from the lobby now a distant hum. He motions for you to take a seat, and you do so, trying to steady your breathing.

Once you’re settled, Sergeant Inu sits across from you, pulling out a notepad and pen. His eyes are kind but serious as he looks at you. "Alright, ma'am, let’s start from the beginning. Can you tell me everything that led up to the moment you came into the station?"

You take a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. "Yes, I can," you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. And so, you begin to recount the events of the day, from the unsettling package to the terrifying moments just before the explosion.

As you speak, the gravity of the situation starts to settle in. Your ex-fiancé had escalated his harassment to a dangerous level, and now it was clear that you couldn’t handle this alone. You would need the police, legal help, and possibly even the protection of heroes to navigate what was to come.

'Fuck me.'

You follow another officer through another series of winding hallways, finally arriving at a smaller, more private room. The walls are bare except for a few motivational posters, and a single table with two chairs sits in the center. The room feels like a stark contrast to the chaos of the lobby, with its quiet and clinical ambiance. A detective gestures for you to sit down, and you take a seat, your hands trembling slightly.

As you settle into the chair, the officer begins to prepare for the questioning. He sits across from you, his expression a mix of professionalism and concern. “We need to get a full account of what happened today, ma’am. If you could start from the beginning…”

You nod, trying to steady your nerves. “I received a package from my old landlord. My ex-fiancé had the locks changed on our apartment, so I didn’t have access to it. The package was delivered to my new apartment, and I brought it here because I was concerned about its contents.”

The detective takes notes, nodding as you speak. “And why did you think it was necessary to bring it here?”

“I was worried about what might be inside,” you explain. “Given my history with my ex, I didn’t want to take any chances. He has a… history of controlling and abusive behavior.”

As you recount the events, Bakugou and Kirishima watch from behind the glass. Kirishima’s brow is furrowed in concern, while Bakugou’s gaze is locked onto you, his eyes narrowed in thought. He had requested you be brought to the back because something about this didn't sit right in his gut.

Meanwhile, Todoroki and Izuku enter the room, their expressions serious as they join the others.

“What happened?” Izuku asks, his concern evident.

“Apparently, the package was sent by her ex,” Kirishima explains to Todoroki and Izuku, who have just joined them. “She doesn't want to give his name, but she’s had a pretty rough time with him. He’s got a record of abuse.”

Todoroki raises an eyebrow, glancing back at you through the glass. “Is that why you’re so focused on her, Bakugou?”

Bakugou doesn’t respond, his eyes still fixed on you. “Just… keep watching,” he mutters.

Inside the room, the officer continues his questioning. “Do you have any idea what was in the package? Why did it get so hot?”

“I’m not sure,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “But when I noticed it getting warmer, I asked for help. I didn’t want to risk it hurting someone or something.”

As you speak, the door to the room opens, and Red Riot—Kirishima—enters, looking more relaxed now that the immediate danger has passed. He gives you a reassuring smile. “Hey, just checking in. Are you sure you’re alright?” He slides you a cup of water and you take it gratefully. 

You nod, offering him a small smile in return. “I’m okay. Thanks for your help earlier.”

Red Riot glances at the officer, then back at you. “I’m glad you’re safe. If you need anything, just let me know.”

The detective continues with his questions, but your mind keeps drifting back to the earlier events. You can’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu, particularly when Ground zero was pulling you back. You try to ignore it, focusing on answering the officer’s questions as clearly as you can.

Meanwhile, Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki, and Izuku watch from behind the glass. Bakugou’s eyes are fixed on you, an intense look of recognition in his gaze. Kirishima continues explaining to Todoroki and Izuku, who are both listening intently.

There’s something about you that’s nagging at him, something that feels familiar. He watches as you sit down, your hands nervously fiddling with the hem of your skirt. You’re wearing a mini pencil skirt that hugs your curves, paired with a peachy button-down shirt. The sweater you had on earlier is gone, likely due to the water from the ice blast, and your hair is slightly damp, clinging to your face in soft tendrils. Even though you’ve clearly been through a lot, there’s an undeniable poise to you, an elegance that doesn’t waver even under pressure.

But it’s your eyes that keep pulling him in. There’s something about them—a mix of warmth and vulnerability—that stirs a memory deep within him. He’s sure he’s seen them before, met you somewhere before. The feeling gnaws at him, refusing to be ignored.

Izuku notices Bakugou’s intense focus and raises an eyebrow. “Kacchan, you okay?”

“I’m fine, nerd.” 

Your voice remains steady as you speak, but there’s an underlying tension, a fear that you’re trying hard to keep in check. You’re jiggling your leg under the table- probably from nerves. 

Wait.

Fuck he really needed to start sleeping again. He could have sworn he’s seen those legs before. Bakugou’s eyes narrow slightly as he watches you, his mind racing to connect the dots. There’s no way he’s going to let this go. 

As the questioning wraps up, the detective informs you that they’ll be taking measures to ensure your safety. They discuss options for protection and keeping you secure, given the potential threat from your ex. The room feels a little oppressive now, the weight of the situation still hangs heavily in the air.

But you don't want to give more details than you have to and he's getting frustrated. Just before you’re about to leave, the detective places a protective detail on you, ensuring that you won’t be left alone. You feel a sense of mixed angery and lingering anxiety as you prepare to head out. "I believe I did say no thank you."

Bakugou watches you leave the room, his expression unreadable. The memory of your eyes, the way you looked today, and the connection he feels but can’t quite place—it's all gnawing at him. 

And he was gonna get to the bottom of it. 

The detective looks taken aback as you decline the offer for protective help. “Are you sure you don’t want us to arrange something? It’s important to stay safe.”

You sigh, feeling the weight of your decision but knowing it’s the right one. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather just have a report made of today’s events. I don’t want any special treatment.”

The present officer’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why would you refuse protection? This is a serious situation.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “Because… I don’t have much evidence against my ex. And… well, he’s about to become a top 10 pro hero.”

The revelation hangs in the air, causing a ripple of shock among the officers and the pro heroes observing from behind the glass. The detective's eyes widen, clearly stunned. “He’s a pro hero?”

You nod, your expression a mixture of resignation and frustration. “Yeah. He’s got a high rank in the hero community. I’m worried that the law and the public won’t be on my side. They might think I’m just making things up or trying to bring him down.”

The shock on the detective's face is palpable, and he glances nervously at the pro heroes behind the glass. Kirishima, who had been standing quietly, looks even more concerned. He turns to Bakugou and the others, a look of disbelief on his face. “Unmanly.”

Izuku’s eyes widen, his concern evident. “That’s serious….”

Todoroki looks at you with a mix of sympathy and anguish as he remembers his own mother. “If he’s a pro hero, it’s even more important that we handle this carefully. We’ll have to contact Jiro and Momo to see what they can dig up.”

Bakugou’s gaze is still locked on you, his expression shifting from one of confusion to something darker. He’s clearly grappling with the gravity of your situation and the impact it has on how he views you.

The detective nods, his demeanor now more serious. “We’ll make sure your report is properly documented. It’s unfortunate that you’re in this situation, and we’ll do what we can to assist.”

As the officers begin to prepare the report, you thank them and leave the room, feeling the weight of the earlier confrontation and the new revelations. The pro heroes behind the glass continue to watch you with concern, each processing the news in their own way.

You exit the station, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. The thought of Kyoya trying to kill you has you in a daze and you realize that you should’ve asked for a business card at least or a ride home. The reality of your situation weighs on you, but there’s little time for reflection as you start running again. All but kicking the doors open, you change quickly into a fresh outfit, a look that blends professional and alluring, ready for the night at the strip club. The urgency of needing money for your uncertain future drives you, and you race out the door, determined to make the most of the evening ahead

As you make your way to the club, the world outside seems to blur into a mix of neon lights and distant chatter. The adrenaline from the day’s events still pulses through you, adding to the electric anticipation of the night. The stakes are high, but you’re ready to face whatever comes your way, fighting for your future with every step you take.

You burst into the club’s dressing room, the familiar hum of activity immediately subdued by your presence. The other dancers, already in their pre-show routine, turn in unison, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern as they see you. Micheal, her phone pressed to her ear, ends the call abruptly and hurries over.

“Where were you?” she demands, her voice tinged with worry. “I’ve been calling you for hours!”

She throws her hands up into the air before dropping them down onto her hips.

You sit down heavily, your body sinking into the plush couch as the other girls crowd around you. Their hugs are a comforting blanket against the storm of emotions raging inside you. You take a deep breath and start recounting the day’s chaotic events, your voice trembling but determined.

As you describe the unsettling encounter at the police station, some of the girls gasp in shock, their hands flying to their mouths. Others express their frustration more physically, punching and kicking the walls in frustration. Micheal, still holding your hands, looks at you with a fierce mix of concern and anger.

“Oh, fuck no!” Micheal exclaims. “You needed to report his ass!”

You shake your head, fighting back tears as the weight of the day presses down on you. “I literally can’t think of a worse way to get sold out as a sex worker while being unpaid and needing money for a lawyer when school is literally less than two weeks away!” You’re not angry, just overwhelmed, trying to keep the nausea and tears at bay.

You didn't feel up to performing tonight, you wanted to puke and to hide under your covers for a long time. There was an old burner phone with a google drive account that had pictures and videos of the abuse he put you through. It would show the dates of when things were taken and that was hidden inside a safe box in the bank. He didn't know about the phone, that was your best bet for some evidence.

Micheal was now your makeup with practiced ease and adjusting your wig until you look every bit the confident performer. You change into a lacey babydoll dress and silver heeled sandals, the outfit a mix of comfort and allure, better suited to help you feel at ease despite the circumstances.

Once you’re ready, Micheal gives you a supportive nod, her expression softening with a mixture of pride and concern. She offers her hand, and you grasp it firmly, drawing strength from her presence. The two of you head towards the stage, joined by Ruby, Pearl, Sapphire, and the other dancers who form a supportive circle around you.

You step onto the center floor with your troupe and the energy of the club envelops you.

Bakugou scanned the neon lit club, his sharp eyes catching every movement, every flicker of light from the scattered neon signs. The air was thick with the mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume, making his nose wrinkle in distaste. His grip tightened around the glass of whisky as he took a slow, measured sip, the burn doing little to soothe the irritation gnawing at him.

He couldn't believe he was here. This wasn't his scene—too chaotic, too noisy, and filled with people he couldn't care less about. Yet, here he was, all because he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that had taken root in his mind since the moment he woke up. His usual go-to corner was empty, devoid of your presence. It was unsettling.

A small part of him, the part he'd never admit to anyone, not even himself, had hoped you'd be here. That you'd be the girl from the station, even if that meant he'd have to confront whatever that meant for the both of you. But the more rational part of him, the one that kept him grounded, kept him from making impulsive decisions, was screaming at him to leave, to not get involved.

'What if she is?' The thought circled back, refusing to be silenced. He took another sip, savoring the warmth that spread through his chest, but it did little to quiet the tumultuous thoughts racing through his mind. 'What are you gonna do then? Drag her outta here and throw her in the back seat of the Ferrari?' He scoffed inwardly at the idea. He wasn't that kind of guy. He wouldn't force anything on anyone.

But he had to know.

He picked a seat at a center table, the perfect vantage point to observe without drawing too much attention to himself. Of course, that plan fell through the moment some idiot tried to claim the spot first.

"Hey man, I was sitting there—"

Katsuki didn’t bother with words, just turned his gaze, cold and sharp, on the guy. The idiot stiffened, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he faltered under Bakugou’s intense stare. “Never mind, it’s all good,” the guy mumbled, backing off with a hasty retreat.

Bakugou mused, his lips curling into a smirk for just a moment before his face returned to its usual scowl. He ignored the curious glances that flickered his way, dismissing them as irrelevant. He had one goal tonight—to find you, or to confirm that you weren’t here.

It took everything in him to remain calm, to not look like some obsessed stalker while his eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar face among the crowd of strangers. 'Just a quick check,' he told himself, 'and then I’m outta here.' But even as he thought it, he knew it wouldn't be that simple.

As the DJ’s voice crackles through the speakers, he announces the upcoming performance with a flourish. “Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for a show you won’t forget! Let’s hear it for Marshmallow and Baby Doll!”

His eyes narrow when he sees the spotlight shift to the main stage. The DJ’s announcement fades into the background as the lights focus on the two figures stepping into the limelight. The first is Micheal, with her confident stride and dazzling smile. The second, clad in a similar lacey dress you wore earlier, makes his heart skip a beat.

It’s you.

The pulsating lights of the club dance across the floor, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that wash over the crowd. The beat of Rihanna's "Pour it Up" thumped through the speakers, the bass vibrating through the floor. The crowd's energy was infectious, feeding into your every movement as you both began to sway to the rhythm.

You and Micheal glide onto the stage, both wearing outfits that shimmer under the lights. Your flowy dress swishes with every step, and Micheal’s ensemble colors complement yours, making you both look like a perfectly matched pair. The audience’s cheers rise as you prepare to start your routine.

Micheal took the lead, her movements fluid and powerful, as she set the tone for the performance. You followed her lead, letting the music guide you as your body moved effortlessly, your hips rolling in time with the beat. The audience was captivated, their eyes glued to the two of you as you danced in perfect harmony.

Micheal spun around the pole with a graceful ease, her leg wrapping around it as she arched her back, her hair cascading down like a waterfall. You watched her with admiration, your own body moving to the rhythm as you danced beside her. The crowd was going wild, their cheers growing louder with every move.

As the song's chorus hit, you felt a surge of confidence. For the first time, you approached the pole, your hand gripping it as you spun around, your body following in a fluid motion. The crowd roared in approval, their cheers filling the room as you lifted yourself up, your muscles flexing as you held your body in a perfect split. You could feel their eyes on you, their energy feeding into your own as you moved with a newfound strength and grace.

“Throw it up, throw it up (throw up)

 Watch it all fall out (fall out)

 Pour it up, pour it up (pour up)

 That's how we ball out (ball out)”

Rihanna's voice echoed through the room, and you sang along, your voice blending with hers as you twerked and whined to the beat. You could see the girls in the front row screaming for you, their faces lit up with excitement as they threw bills onto the stage. You smiled to yourself, feeling a rush of pride as you worked the crowd, your every move earning you more cheers and applause. 

Sad bitches love money after all. 

In the background, Bakugou had been sitting at a center table, his attention laser-focused on you. The moment he saw you step onto the stage, his heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had come here to see if it was really you, and now that he had his answer, he was utterly mesmerized. When you performed the split and showed your strength on the pole, his breath caught in his throat.

 “Strippers goin' up and down that pole

   And I still got more money

   Four o'clock and we ain't going home

   'Cause I still got more money”

He stood up, pulling out three thick stacks of cash and placing them on the edge of the stage. The sight of the money caught your eye, and you slowed your spin on the pole, locking eyes with him. The connection was electric, a silent understanding passing between you as you decided to give him a show he wouldn’t forget.

With feline grace, you crawled across the stage towards him, your body moving with a sensual rhythm that had the crowd on the edge of their seats. The noise of the room faded into the background as you reached out, your fingers brushing against Bakugou’s cheek. His eyes darkened with intensity as you leaned in closer, your nails gently scratching under his chin, like you were petting a kitten.

 “The look in your eyes, I know you want some”

He leaned into your touch, his breath hitching as you ran your hand down his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. You could feel the tension between you, a spark igniting as you pressed your palm against his chest, holding his gaze. Then, with a smirk, you pushed him back down into his seat, the unexpected move catching him off guard.

 “Money on my mind

   Money, money on my mind

   Throw it, throw it up

   Watch it fall off from the sky,”

The crowd erupted in wild cheers, the noise crashing over you like a wave as you stood up, your eyes still locked on Bakugou. He sat there, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck, not from embarrassment but from the sheer thrill of the unexpected. You had just turned the tables on him, and the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t sure how to react. 

He didn’t give a shit you did that in front of the crowd, he just hadn’t expected it to feel so good . 

“Who cares how you haters feel

  And I still got more money

  My fragrance on and they love my smell

   I still got more money

   So who cares about what I spend,”

As you continued to dance, the crowd’s energy surged, and you knew that tonight, you had owned the stage in a way you never had before. Bakugou’s gaze never left you, his mind racing as he tried to reconcile the woman on stage with the girl he once knew.

“I still got more money

  My pocket's deep, and they never end

   I still got more money

   I'm going dumb with all my friends,”

As the final beats of "Pour It Up" reverberated through the club, you and Micheal finished your routine with a flourish, your bodies perfectly in sync as the crowd roared in approval. The lights dimmed for a moment, giving you a brief respite from the intense spotlight.

Bakugou, who had been watching you intently, leaned back in his seat, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He flicked more bills onto the stage, one after another, until the DJ couldn’t ignore it any longer. 

“Shoutout to that blond dude over there that looks pissed off! I saw those 3 racks!”

The DJ announced over the speakers, drawing more attention to Bakugou. Almost instantly, the other dancers swarmed him, eager to thank their generous patron.

Bakugou’s expression shifted to one of mild annoyance as he found himself surrounded by the other girls. “Oh, fuck no,” he muttered under his breath, trying to maintain his composure as they fawned over him. But despite the situation, he kept an eye on you, watching as you were swept up in a whirlwind of affection from your friends.

Micheal and Mugumi hugged you tightly, their excitement infectious as they squealed and jumped up and down with you still in their arms. Little Ruby was kissing your cheeks, her tiny hands cupping your face as she showered you with praise. You felt a wave of warmth and happiness wash over you, a sense of belonging that you hadn’t felt in years. These women weren’t just colleagues; they were your support group, your friends, and the realization made your heart swell with gratitude.

As more of the businessmen around the club noticed the affection being shown to you, they began throwing more money onto the stage, eager to join in the celebration. Pearl—Casey—looked at them with thinly veiled disgust, her nose wrinkling as she observed their behavior. But before she could say anything, Sapphire gently hushed her, flashing a charming smile as she began to flirt with them, expertly keeping the mood light and playful.

The businessmen, already tipsy and loosened up by the atmosphere, made a request for another performance. The idea was met with enthusiastic cheers from the crowd, and you could feel the buzz of excitement in the air.

But first, you needed to clean up. You and the girls quickly gathered all the money scattered across the stage, stuffing the bills into your arms and purses before hurrying to the back. The adrenaline was still pumping through your veins, your mind racing as you headed to the dressing room.

Once inside, you moved with a sense of urgency, something gnawing at the back of your mind. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. You dumped everything from your work bag—a simple duffle—into one of the filing cabinets and locked it. Then, you stuffed the duffle full of the money, every last bill, before quickly hiding the bag in the ceiling tiles, pressing it into the narrow space with a surge of paranoia.

You took a step back, your heart pounding as you stared up at the hidden duffle bag. Something didn’t feel right, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Brushing off the unease, you forced yourself to focus, knowing that you still had a job to do. With the money safely stashed away, you could finally allow yourself to breathe, if only for a moment.

The noise from the club was muffled, but you could still hear the cheers and the music, the vibrations thrumming through the walls. You straightened up, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. The next performance was just around the corner, and the crowd was hungry for more.

The girls exchanged glances, concern flashing in their eyes as they caught on to your unease. Micheal leaned in closer, her voice a low whisper, “You know there’s no way the manager and bouncers won’t take a cut of that money otherwise, right?” Her words were a stark reminder of how things worked around here, and you could see the others nodding in agreement, their expressions growing grim as they remembered the last time something like this had happened.

“Fuck it, I'll quit tonight if that fat bastard thinks he's getting his hands on my money!” Sapphire declares with fierce determination. The room went silent, everyone turning to look at her in shock. Micheal, however, just smirked, giving her an approving nod.

“Nice to see you again, Eraza. Been a hot minute,” Micheal remarks. Sapphire—Eraza—smiles and rolls her eyes.

Ruby, ever the firecracker, jumped up and adjusted her bikini top with a huff. “Yeah, if they touch our money again, we quit and go to that club for pro heroes!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with the same defiant energy. The mention of pro heroes caught your attention, your mind flashing back to the scene at the police station earlier. You shook the thought off, focusing on the task at hand.

Determined, you switched into a two-piece set with a flowy skirt, the fabric fluttering around your thighs as you moved. You slipped a garter belt onto your left leg, the cool metal of the buckle pressing against your skin. A quick adjustment of your lipstick, and you were ready. “Then let’s milk them for all they’ve got,” you said, your voice steady, though there was a manic edge to your smile.

Micheal looked at you, her surprise evident. Concern flickered in her eyes, but she matched your smile with one of her own, albeit more tempered. “We go big or go home,” you added, and the others nodded in agreement, the tension in the room shifting into a shared resolve.

“Thank God, you don’t drink or do drugs,” Micheal murmured, her relief palpable. You giggled, the sound light and airy as you shook off the last of your nerves. 

After all, this was your moment, and nothing was going to ruin it. Not tonight. But as you stepped out of the dressing room, a chill ran down your spine, a sense of foreboding settling in your gut. You shook it off, knowing you had to keep your head in the game. Together, you all made your way back to the main stage, the energy between you electric.

The DJ whispered something to Micheal as you all took your places, the lights dimming around you. The atmosphere in the club was charged, anticipation hanging thick in the air. You could see your ash-blond regular still fending off the other women (and some men) who had latched onto him. They squealed and fawned over him, their voices rising in pitch as they practically screamed  obscene things, hoping to catch his attention. The dude looked like he was seconds away from blowing up the entire club, his patience worn thin, but the bouncers weren’t in any rush to step in and stop it.

The spotlight swung over to you and the girls, the crowd’s attention snapping back to the stage as the music began to pulse through the speakers. The DJ’s voice boomed over the microphone, announcing your return, and the crowd erupted in cheers. You could feel the eyes on you, the hunger, the anticipation. It was time to give them a show they’d never forget.

The beat of "Don't Tell 'Em" by Jeremih starts to pulse through the club, the sultry rhythm reverberating in your chest as you and the girls move to the music. 

“‘Rhythm is a dancer, I need a companion

   Girl, I guess that must be you

  Body like the summer, fuckin' like no other

   Don't you tell 'em what we do,” 

The stage lights flash, casting you all in a glow that enhances the sensuality of the dance. You and Micheal move in sync, your bodies swaying to the seductive beat as you act out the lyrics with every dip and roll of your hips.

As you dance, you catch sight of the manager emerging from his office, a thick cigar clamped between his teeth, the smoke curling lazily around his head. He surveys the room with a calculating eye, pausing as he notices the commotion at your regular’s table. His gaze shifts, locking onto you and the girls on stage, and then he gestures sharply towards the back, his intention clear. Panic flares in your chest, and you turn to flip your hair, a feigned act of confidence that’s really just an excuse to share a quick, panicked glance with the others.

You notice two of the bouncers beginning to move towards your mysterious regular and the last thing you want is for him to get caught up in some unnecessary trouble. You know how these things go: a misunderstanding, a few harsh words, and then it’s fists flying. And while his scars say he doesn’t seem like the type to shy away from a fight, you can’t bear the thought of him getting beat up for just enjoying a performance.

With a decision made in a split second, you glide off the stage and slip onto his table, moving with the grace and ease that you’ve perfected over the month. The flashing lights create an almost ethereal halo around your head as you approach, making Bakugou blink twice, his sharp eyes momentarily softened by the surreal effect. For a second, he thinks he’s seeing things—something divine in the way you move, the way the lights play tricks with the shadows around you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, your cool hands pressing against the warmth of his skin, and you can almost feel the tension in him, the way his muscles coil tight under your touch. But instead of reacting violently, he gently places his arms around your waist, his hands resting on his elbows as if he’s hesitant to touch you too intimately, unsure if you want to be touched at all. The contrast between his careful, almost protective hold and the raw energy he radiates is striking, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Only is you got me feeling like this

 Oh, why, why, why, why, why

 Loving while grabbing the rhythm of your hips

 That's right, right, right, right, right,”

Bakugou’s heart is pounding, so hard he’s convinced it might explode again in his chest. It’s a sensation you make him feel often, this uncontrollable rush of something he can’t quite name—something close to panic, but sweeter, almost intoxicating. As he takes in the details of your appearance—the smooth curve of your waist, the way your hair falls just so—he’s hit with a wave of recognition. The way you hold yourself, the slight tremble in your legs, it all clicks into place. The same eyes he saw at the police station, the same waist he pulled away from that burning package, the same leg you lotioned the night before.

But your hair—it’s different. As you move closer, he realizes the truth. It’s a wig. The realization is oddly grounding for him, a piece of a puzzle finally snapping into place.

A few of the other dancers start to murmur, their voices laced with jealousy and spite as they badmouth you for hogging the attention. But you don’t let go, and neither does he. You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear, your breath sending a shiver down his spine as you whisper, 

“Usual spot?” 

You tilt your head up slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of those familiar eyes.

Bakugou has to shift a bit to get a better look at you, his mind racing as he connects all the dots. There’s no mistaking it now—those eyes, that leg, that waist. It’s you. The same woman from the station, the same one who’s been lingering in the back of his mind ever since. And now you’re here, in his arms, and he can feel the weight of the moment settling over him like a heavy cloak.

He can’t help but smirk, though, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he realizes just how many coincidences have led to this exact moment. But his thoughts are cut short as you pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. You’re still wrapped around him, but there’s something almost tentative in the way you hold each other— two people who don’t quite belong to each other but can’t seem to let go.

As the song begins to wind down, you both remain locked in that moment, the world around you fading into the background. 

But then, a voice cuts through the air, shattering the bubble you’ve been in.

“Funny. Real fucking funny, baby doll.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie If you wanna be added lemme know!

Chapter 1 is here

Chapter 4 is here

That was the first chapter! So far there are 9 posted on my ao3 account.

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a Farmer Bakugou x Gardener Reader here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[poledancingdinos]

Shattered

Pairing: Charles Brandon X OFC (Emily)

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, forbidden love, unplanned pregnancy, abortion

A/N: Part three is here. If you haven't read my Charles Brandon Modern AU yet, find them here : Part 1 | Part 2

Masterlist

Charles shook the water off his head before flipping the hood of his jacket back. It was a rainy mid-September day, the kind that would normally lead to him staying indoors and spending a quiet evening alone in his flat but Henry had sounded preoccupied over the phone and he’d forced himself to accept the man’s request for a drink at the pub.

Henry sat at a booth in the quiet, near-empty bar, a half finished pint in his hand and two other empty glasses pushed to the side of the table.

“How long have you been here?” Charles asked as he slipped into the seat across from Henry.

“Honestly, I have no idea what time it is. I left my parent’s house at half five.”

Charles looked at the clock on his phone and let out a low whistle.

“Three hours then.”

Henry grunted an acknowledgment and downed the remaining beer in his mug.

“I’ll get us another round. I’m going to need it if I’m going to say any of this out loud.”

Charles watched with a concerned frown as Henry stood from the booth, nearly falling as he stumbled over the leg of the table but by some miracle managing to stay upright. He returned a few minutes later, setting down two more pints and shockingly not spilling either of them.

Henry glared at the gold liquid like it had personally wronged him before lifting it to his lips and taking a gulp.

“So what is it, mate?” Charles prompted. “You’re worrying me.”

“She’s pregnant.”

Though he didn’t know for sure who Henry was referring to, those words, at their age, always sent them straight into a panic.

“That girl you’ve been seeing?” Charles asked as clarification.

“No. My sister,” he hissed. “Emily is pregnant.”

Charles sat back in the booth. She couldn’t be, could she? They’d used protection. The condom hadn’t broken. Had she been with someone else since that night? Was she already pregnant before they were together?

Luckily for him, Henry misinterpreted his petrified expression as simple shock.

“Yeah,” Henry scoffed, “I couldn’t believe it either.”

“Did she—” Charles cleared his throat. “Did she say who the father is?”

“She refused to tell me the fucker’s name. She wanted me to help her take care of it without getting our parents involved.”

Charles' breathing sped up, turning into ragged breaths. He took a few large sips of his beer, hoping the alcohol would take effect quickly and calm his mounting anxiety. At least he hadn’t been summoned to get his face rearranged. Not yet anyway.

“Will you?” Did Charles want that? Not that he could stop her from getting a termination if that was her choice.

“Fuck no.” Henry looked almost offended at the idea. “Not until I get an answer. She’s not telling me who it is, she doesn’t want our parents to know and she’s rushing to get rid of it? I’m worried something happened to her.”

Something did happen to her. Charles happened to her. What had he been thinking? He didn’t remember being that pissed but he must have been if he managed to convince himself sleeping with Emily was a good idea. Sure, she’d been of age but that didn’t change that he was five years older than her.

“Then why are you here with me rather than back there with her?”

It made Charles angry to think that Henry had just left her alone at a time like this but he was more so angry at himself. He’d thought a lot about Emily since the night they had spent together. More than once he’d been tempted to give her a call and see if she might be interested in going on a proper date. If this was really his fault — which he was choosing to believe until he knew for sure it wasn’t — he should be the one by her side.

Henry dropped his head in his hands. “I lost my temper and yelled at her then came her.”

“Right,” Charles stood, putting his coat back on.

“Where are you going?”

Charles grabbed Henry’s elbow, pulling him to his feet. “I’m taking your drunk arse home to apologize to your sister and tell her you’re going to do absolutely anything she asks.”

Hopefully he’d be able to steal a moment alone with her while he had an excuse to be in their house.

Henry yanked his arm from Charles’ hold and fell back onto his seat. “I’m not doing anything until she tells me what happened.”

Struggling to keep his cool and seem inconspicuous, Charles put both his hands flat on the table and leaned forward.

“Do you think she will tell you anything if you let your pride rule your actions? She’s eighteen, she’s most likely terrified enough as it is and all you can think to do is sit here and sulk because she didn’t share how it happened?”

Henry’s head fell into his hands.

“She’s my sister, Charles,” he whispered in a broken voice.

Charles’ breath hitched, feeling the same rush of emotions bubbling up his throat. The difference was, he couldn’t be there to support her, not without attracting the wrath of his best friend and more than likely her parents as well.

“Exactly… She is your sister and she needs you.”

Henry sniffed, rubbing his hands up and down his head before nodding in acceptance. This time, when Charles helped him to his feet, Henry didn’t fight. After wrestling him into a cab, both men headed back to Henry’s family home.

The outside lights were already on and as soon as they made it up the front steps, it was clear that the atmosphere inside was tense. The screams coming from inside the home could be heard before the door was even pushed open.

“How could you be so careless? You’ve thrown your life away for some boy!”

Henry tripped on his shoes as he kicked them off, causing the front door to slam against the mirrored wall of the entryway. The loud bang drew the attention of the three other occupants of the room. Emily sat in the stairs with her arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes were red and swollen, making it obvious that she had been crying for a long period of time.

Her mother sat on the couch, her back to the stairs. Though her tears weren’t as obvious as her daughter’s, there was evidence that she too had been crying. Her husband stood only a few feet in front of their daughter. His chest heaved from his enraged ranting and his hand was clenched around a thin white stick. It didn’t take long for Charles to understand what was going on.

“Henry, we didn’t expect to see you home tonight.” He looked behind Henry to the young man he’d seen in his house more often than not when the boys had been teenagers. “Charles.”

Elizabeth stood abruptly from the couch, looking between the two men. Charles placed an arm around Henry’s waist and led him further into the main room.

“He’s a bit pissed,” Charles said by way of explanation.

Moving towards her son, Elizabeth placed a kiss on Henry’s cheek and took Charles’ place to lead him to the couch.

“Charles, darling, thank you for taking Henry home but our family needs to be alone right now.” 

The man in question sprawled out on the couch, ignoring everything happening around him. Charles’ eyes briefly flickered to Emily before returning to her mother. He dipped his head, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to the door.

It wasn't often that Charles smoked but after ordering a ride on his phone, he walked to the corner and pulled out the joint he’d slipped in his pocket before meeting Henry. By some miracle, there was a break in rain, allowing him to remain dry as he waited for the driver to arrive.

An hour later, Charles reached his flat. He didn’t bother switching the lights on as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook in the little entryway. He moved to the living room and fell backwards on the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes.

The weed had helped settle his nerves somewhat but his mind wasn’t nearly as quiet as he wished it to be. Charles’ phone buzzed in his pocket, the faint light from the screen coming to life feeling all too bright in the pitch black flat. When it buzzed again, he pulled it out and tossed it across the room where it made a muted thump against the thick rug.

He ignored it as best he could but eventually the blinking LED light was too annoying to put up with any longer. He rolled off the couch, cursing when he hit his knee on the table. He was prepared to simply switch the device off completely but the text preview on the home screen caught his attention.

He dropped down onto the ground, leaning against the wall. He absentmindedly moved his free hand over the rug, feeling the smooth fibers between his fingers. He’d originally purchased it to cut the cold coming from the floor of his semi-basement flat. He hadn’t noticed until then how good it felt against his skin.

The number on the screen was unknown but that didn’t matter. Charles knew who it was.

Unknown: Does Henry know it was you?

Unknown: Is that why he went to see you?

That answered one of Charles’ countless questions although it seemed that where one interrogation was resolved, ten more arose. He unlocked his phone, retracing the password pattern three times before he finally got it right.

Brandon: I never told anyone about us.

It wasn’t even a question of breaking the generally accepted rules of male friendships by sleeping with his mate’s sister. Sure if Henry found out it would most likely earn him a fist to the jaw but he had no interest in sharing what happened with anyone else. He normally had no qualms about spilling the gory details of his conquests. In fact, he’d built up quite the reputation for it during their Uni years but Emily was different. 

Brandon: Are you sure that you’re really…

He didn’t know why he couldn't bring himself to type out the word. Maybe because he didn’t want any proof of what was being said in case her parents found her phone. Her father had looked about ready to tear someone’s head off earlier.

The next time the screen lit up, it was with a picture of three pregnancy tests from three different brands. So much for his attempt at discretion. One had a little plus sign, one had two parallel pink lines and the last read “Pregnant 3+”. That made four positive tests counting the one her parents found. Unless maybe she had taken this picture before that happened? Charles did some quick mental math which only confirmed what he had already figured out.

Brandon: Were you ever going to tell me about the baby?

Unknown: No.

Brandon: Why not?

While waiting for Emily to answer, Charles looked at the picture again. Just barely in the frame of the photograph was an assortment of colorful pamphlets. The shot was too out of focus for the titles to be legible but on the top one was a picture of what was clearly a heavily pregnant woman. She had already consulted a doctor then.

Unknown: Because it wouldn’t change anything. The newly received message read.

Unknown: Whether you agree with it or not, I’m not keeping it. It was foolish of me to think Henry might actually help for once rather than freak out and make this about himself. 

Brandon: He’s worried about you.

That’s what it had been, hadn’t it? Henry had been worried? He was a prideful man but walking out on his sister was because he’d been shocked, not because he was angry. Right?

Unknown: He had no reason to be worried until our parents found out. All I needed was someone to drive me over and sign me out.

Brandon: If that’s really what you want then I can do it.

Almost ten minutes passed as Charles stared at the screen but he received no response. He ignored the sting of the obvious rejection, instead changing the subject to something he hoped would elicit a response.

Brandon: How did you get my number?

He was not ready for the interaction to end just yet. He’d spent the last month trying to forget how much he’d enjoyed falling asleep with Emily in his arms that night. Trying to forget the feeling of her body against his. The feeling of her finally being his even if only for a moment.

Unknown: I copied it from Henry’s phone when it fell out of his pocket.

Brandon: Your brother won’t let this go. He thinks you’re refusing to tell him who the father is because you were forced.

Charles waited for the words to come. For her to answer "I was". Part of him wished he could blame his stupid decisions on alcohol but he knew that he was not drunk enough for that. He was clear headed enough to hesitate before going after her. To know there was a risk that they might get caught. To have a nagging feeling in his stomach from the fear that she wouldn't reciprocate his advances — or his feelings.

The truth was that he was fully responsible for his decisions that night. And the truth was that she probably didn't feel the same way he did. She most likely didn't even realize there was more to it for him than just a quick shag.

Brandon: What can I do to help?

Anything. He would do anything which only made him angrier at himself because he knew that he was selfishly searching for a reason to be near her.

Unknown: You can stay away.

His thumb hit the call button before he could think better of it. He pulled the phone up to his ear and rested his head in his hand with his elbow leaning on his knee.

The line connected and a whispered hiss replaced the ringing. “Charles.”

“Don’t hang up," he begged. "Please.”

“You can’t call me like this.”

“Why are you whispering?” he asked, ignoring her reprimand.

“My father took my bedroom door off its hinges.”

“He what!” Charles shouted, getting to his feet and pacing the room like a caged animal. Was that what it would have felt like if she had decided to go ahead with the pregnancy? Em whispering updates over the phone in the middle of the night, telling him to stay away so her parents didn’t find out. Would she have said that she didn’t know who the father was so that his name didn’t appear on the birth certificate?

“I guess he figures that no door means no opportunity for pregnancy,” she scoffed. “Either that or he’s hoping I’ll break and tell him who it was to get it back.”

There was a moment of silence as both let the implications of her statement hang in the air. Her father would probably try to have him arrested. He was a very powerful man and was just as prideful as his son. He would see this as a personal affront. Because that was what was important. His pride. Not the life and feelings of his eighteen year-old daughter who found herself unexpectedly pregnant.

Charles could picture Emily in her bed, hiding under the covers to muffle the sound of her voice. There was no good way to have a conversation such as that one but exchanging hushed words over the phone was definitely one of the worst on the list.

“Let me take you out. On a proper date. No one needs to know about what happened before, just… give me a chance to start over and do this right. The way I should have from the beginning.”

“No, Charles," there was a pause while Emily sniffled followed by the rustling of the sheets as she shifted. "You can’t use your charm to make things better. Not with this.”

“I’m not. This isn’t an act, it never was. Please.”

“No. I wish I could but no. I can't see you again. Goodbye Charles."

The line cut off before he could voice a protest. He slowly lowered the phone, staring at the outgoing call menu on the screen. I can’t see you again. Not “we can’t see each other for a while”. Not “we need to keep a low profile”. “I can’t see you again”. That was definitive. She made up her mind.

Just like that, all hopes of Emily and him ever ending up together had been shattered. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same about his feelings. Those were very much alive, only seeming to grow stronger with every passing day. 

Part 4 here: Second Chance

[giulliadella]

My thoughts about Hellraiser 2022

So I decided to watch this movie since most people told me that it's good. And they were right - it was indeed a good movie! And also, it was filmed in my home city!

I really liked the further exploration of the lore behind the Puzzlebox and the mechanisms by which it functions in this movie were super cool. The main antagonist was again a rich fucker lead by desire, but I believe that part was executed very poorly.

The effects were quite good and I was very glad that they used both the practical effects and the CGI. I loved the way they used that old smexy Hellraiser theme in a modern light. The acting was good as well!

Now, as much as I loved the new Cenobite designs, it should be clear that the Cenobites in this movie lack the kinky aspect. Like, sure, they are all for pain and they love to torture people and they are all sexy and strange, but they absolutely lack the perverse desire part that they had in the original. Maybe I'm the stupid one, but to me, Cenobites have always represented some kind of perverse forbidden pleasure. To me at least, they are sex demons, or, more precisely, demons of desire. And in 2022. remake we don't really have that much of it.

We have two very lame, very basic straight sex scenes, we have a dude who likes to throw orgy parties, but we never see his desires and the Cenobites just don't play pleasure and pain indivisible card, they just cause immense suffering. I don't know why all that feels so wrong to me lol.

Spoilers for the ending here:

The ending of this movie confirmed to me a theory I had for a while now: "We have such sights to show you" means "We're going to turn you into a Cenobite". Seriously, hear me out. Julia says that to dr Channard and then he gets thrown in the transformation chamber and becomes a Cenobite. The Hell Priestess says the same thing to asshole rich guy and he gets turned into a Cenobite. And I 100% believe that when Pinhead said that to Kirsty in the OG Hellraiser that he meant that. I mean, let's be real, Kirsty would be a great Cenobite.

Oh, yes, I really disliked the way the main girl, Riley, was able to escape the Cenobites. I honestly expected much more lol, but she just told them like "Nah, I don't want to do anything with you" and Hell Priestess was like "Ok, cool, sorry that we were chasing you for weeks and killed 5 people to get you lol". I would have honestly preferred if Riley became a Cenobite, not the rich fucker, but oh well.

Honestly, it's hilarious to me that this movie expanded the lore so much and yet it took so much charm away from the Cenobites. Like, those new designs were so elaborate and beautiful, but WHERE IS THE LEATHER!? Where is the kinky shit!? They all acted more or less just like generic horror monsters and idk, it just didn't feel like they were Cenobites. I mean, the rich asshole's villa had a protective cage and they couldn't enter, like wtf is that? And Chatterer and one other Cenobite were literally just used as monsters to chase our protagonists and get killed in kind of dumb ways. And, like, even the torture scenes weren't that creative. Idk, I'm mad because this movie had so much potential and creativity and I liked it a lot, but idk, there was definitely something missing and to me, that was the kinky desire aspect of the Cenobites.

Anyways it's 2:21 AM and I need sleep, so take this review with a pinch of salt lol. The movie gets a solid 7/10 from me.

[pansexual-puppy-pack]

Hi! Can you do Theo for your ask game?

yessir!! thank you for the ask :DD

favorite thing about him: his CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, my GOD. COME ON GUYS CAN WE LIKE. PLEASE. I CANT TALK ABT IT HERE BC IT WOULD DERAIL THE POST BUT YOU UNDERSTAND

least favorite thing about him: popular opinion but his absolutely shithead dumbassery in s5. or the way he just makes it a habit (or a hobby) to piss off people (i think it's actually a good character trait, but it's here because if i knew this fucker in real life i would punch him in the face)

favorite line: listen i cannot pick one right now so lemme highlight this quote from his article on the teen wolf wiki:

brOTP: COREY!! LET'S GO BRYKEN 🗣️🗣️

OTP: THIAM!!!! NEED I SAY MORE

nOTP: ooooo it's between stiles, scott, and malia, i think. it's not like a notp like "ohhhh im gonna attack u and send hate mail to your inbox" it's like i see a ship post involving either of those three and go "hm. okay. anyway moving on"

random headcanon: he's queer! i think he says this to someone post-canon and they're like "... you're what" and he pulls out his phone and it has an achillean flag sticker on it. also! he absolutely has insomnia and almost extreme night terrors, which pisses him off because he can barely get enough sleep as it is in his truck

unpopular opinion: this may anger some people, but i do think that theo's redemption arc deserves to be placed in the same category that zuko from atla is in. there i said it if i'm wrong, then i'm wrong, but by god if those two redemption arcs didn't do the exact same thing to my brain

song i associate with him: if i had to choose one, it would probably be devil town by cavetown! specifically the live at hoxton hall version (the faint voices singing along in the background and the slower tempo make it sound a little haunting, and i'm in love with it)

here's my playlist of him :) (let me be clear: when i make character playlists, it's usually songs that i associate with the character, not necessarily songs i think they would listen to)

favorite picture of him:

just. the way he looks at liam. i need someone to look at me like that fr

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Co-Workers

So there's some good news - I don't have to work overtime today and I might not have to work overtime anymore. That is ... basically it for good news in the work sphere.

The bad news? Oooooh let me count the ways.

First off, it's entirely possible that I might have to work Saturday. See, Goblin's away again tomorrow. I mean, not that she does all that much anyway, but given how things are going at the moment, it'll be enough.

The reason I say this is because "how things are going at the moment" have devolved into every other person who even touches the typing throwing all the hard shit at me while meandering through the short easy stuff. See, we have some new junior doctors (YES, AGAIN; we have so many more junior doctors than our current typing pool can handle even if we weren't inundated with unexpected absences), and they are both very, very bad at dictating. Guess who gets stuck with them? Not to mention the ones with the difficult accents, the ones who handle complicated cases, and the ones who dictate unnecessary bullshit and make the dictations longer than they need to be? That would be me; everybody's punching bag.

The end of the day today was particularly cheeky, as I'd ploughed through several longer bits of typing already and happened to notice that someone else had taken the other two, which was great, I thought! ...At least until those two ended up back in the queue at 5pm. So someone took them out of the queue, ignored them for a good chunk of the afternoon in favour of short snappy reports, and then went, "Oh, I guess I don't have time to do these ones; back into the queue they go! [Thess] can handle them!"

(Side note: I only had the time to handle one of them because the guy who did the dictation for the twelve-minute nightmare made such a mess of the block key that I spent fifteen minutes trying to figure out what the fuck he was doing before I gave up, bolded the problem areas, saved it to PDF, and emailed it to him - copied to our quality control department as per protocol - with the professional version of "THIS IS A MESS; SORT IT OUT".)

It's only now that Scruffman bothered to tell me that he was having issues with putting in my overtime hours; that apparently I had to if he was signing off on them. Of course, no one has ever actually demonstrated how to do that on our system, but I think I figured it out. I say "I think" because I don't see any evidence that the applications are pending and Scruffman apparently didn't have time to get back to me about whether or not there were any issues. That's a significant chunk of overtime pay, and if I don't get it in this month's paycheque, I'm going to be pissed. Though I guess if push comes to shove, it's extra Christmas present money instead of extra MCM Comic Con money.

So at this point, odds are pretty good that while I may not have to work today or tomorrow, I'll end up putting in a few hours on Saturday. Just because my colleagues (including the new temp, who I shall simply call Newbie; I have seen that this individual exists, though they're taking lessons from Temp insofar as leaving me with the long bullshit goes) are lazy fuckers.

Anyway, point is that I'm not committing to doing anything on Saturday because even if I don't have to work, I am a fucking wreck right now. I hurt very badly, I haven't been sleeping properly, I have a stress headache and sinus pressure that's probably going to turn migrainous fairly soon, and overall it's just not good. Like, at all.

Don't even get me started about what's going on in the UK at the moment. I cannot even think about the shit being spewed at the Tory Party Conference. I'm miserable enough without the reminder about how much this country hates me. I would love to say it's not specifically me they hate, but they do hate almost everything I am - or rather, everything I'm not - read, a British-born able-bodied wealthy cishet white male, since I only have one of those going for me. I don't really want to talk about it but it's there. Lurking. It adds to the stress, y'know? And I need way, way less of that.

But my Placid Plastic Duck Simulator has more ducks thanks to a certain bestie. So that's something.

[marvelmaniac715]

This is part nine of my Chucky transferring his soul into a human at the end of Seed au. This isn’t really a story, it’s more of a series of snippets that take place in different parts of the twins lives, all about Chucky trying not to murder those around him whilst setting a good example for the twins. Disclaimer: Glen and Glenda will be referred to by he/him and she/her respectively until they are 14 because in this au they realise that they’re non-binary when they’re 14 years old.

————————————————————-

One of the worst parts about having a career that allowed him to stay home and simultaneously being the father of two twin babies was the mind-numbing cartoons he had to subject himself to.

Tiffany was out shopping, and he was home with the twins. Today’s top pick for entertainment was Caillou. And oh god, if he had to sit through one more minute of this, he was strangling Gilbert the cat and feeding his remains to Rosie. Then he’d trap Caillou’s mom and dad in headlocks, one in each arm. They were both such weak pushovers all he’d have to do was apply a little bit of pressure and they’d pass out.

As for Caillou… that little bald fucker would never see it coming. There were so many methods he could choose from, but at this moment he thinks he’d settle for-

Tiffany came in through the door and sat down next to him on the couch, taking Glen from him and cuddling him close. She sighed when she saw what was on the tv and turned to look at Chucky sympathetically.

“How’re you holding up?”

Chucky smiled and finally made up his mind about the proper murder method for little Caillou.

“I’m gonna drop a rock from a great height onto his skull. His bald little head is so shiny, it’ll be easy to spot. Hell, I could drop the rock from space and it would still land perfectly.”

————————————————————-

Chucky had had to give up so many of his favourite things when he became a father. He loved his kids, he really did. They were the best things that had ever happened to him, and they were the smartest two year olds he’d ever seen. But his life was just so… dull, when he wasn’t spending time with them.

He couldn’t swear because Glenda loved to repeat any filthy language she heard to her little friends at toddler group and play dates. 

He couldn’t smoke because Glen had asthma. He was okay with giving that up because Glen’s health and safety was more important than cigarettes.

He couldn’t drink, because Tiff had seen some news article about drunk-driving killing a toddler and had poured all of his booze, including a really expensive bottle of wine that had been maturing for ninety-nine years and 364 days, down the kitchen sink. He was too devastated to pick up another bottle. He’d never drank in front of the twins anyway, he didn’t want to do or say something he’d regret when he was sober.

He couldn’t even have sex anymore, because the twins never went to sleep when they were told to, and one of his worst fears was that one day Glen and/or Glenda would walk in on them.

But, there was one hobby of his aside from painting that he could still enjoy to a degree…

Tiffany groaned from the doorway as she watched Chucky play yet another violent video game. He enthusiastically screamed ‘die! die! die!’ cackling as the characters fell to the ground dead. 

This had to stop. She knocked on the doorframe, successfully gaining his attention.

“Chucky, you gotta stop this, you need to finish that painting you were commissioned for.”

Chucky whined like a child and moodily three down his game controller after reluctantly pausing.

“Aw, do I have to mom?”

Tiffany stepped forward and punched him hard in the shoulder.

“Cut the crap, Charles, go make some money.”

————————————————————-

The preschool admissions woman stared at Chucky. Chucky stared at her. Tiffany tapped her foot next to him, trying to keep Glenda settled in her lap as Chucky tried to keep Glen settled on his. 

Tiffany had been on his ass about booking the twins an appointment to get a place at this fancy prestigious preschool for months now. He didn’t see why, when he was three he would just whack a beehive with a baseball bat for six hours a day. That improved his fine motor skills and his general intelligence, because after he was stung eight weeks in a row, he learned not to do that anymore.

He tried to explain that to Tiffany, but she had just looked appalled and screeched that that was ‘part of the problem’. So she’d frogmarched him over to the preschool with the twins and refused to leave until they’d sat through an interview with this extremely dull woman.

They’d been for a tour before they all sat down together, and he, personally didn’t think that this was the right place for his children. It was so white and pristine, the children were learning their times tables as they delicately nibbled on apple slices. Where was the finger-painting? Where was the sandbox and the ball-pit? Glen and Glenda deserved to be educated in a bright, cozy, messy, friendly little preschool where kids were allowed to just play and nap.

But Tiffany seemed thrilled because all of the celebrities sent their kids to this place, and Chucky had learnt to make her happy to avoid a screaming match. So he put aside his disliking of this preschool and tried to make nice. But the woman wasn’t buying it.

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t think that we can accept your children. They didn’t pass any of our intelligence tests, and Glenda bit a child. We just can’t have them attending this institution.”

Oh shit. Tiffany had told him that if they weren’t accepted here, he’d have to teach them himself at home, and respectfully, he just didn’t hVe the energy. He had to do something to change the woman’s mind.

“Okay, I didn’t wanna do this, cause like, it’s not okay to offer or accept bribes. But, I’m kind of a big deal in the art world, seriously, google me later, you’ve probably seen my work more than you’ve realised. If I offer to paint a big fuc- uh, a mural of considerable size on a wall somewhere for this preschool, will you take my twins?”

Bingo. They were in.

————————————————————-

He’d spent hours on this, but it was all worth it. It was worth the irritating baking videos he’d subjected himself to, it was worth wasting a perfectly good bag of chocolate and four chocolate bars. It was worth the blisters and cuts on his fingers because his hands slipped on the dough and the oven.

It was worth the sleepless nights and the entire day he’d spent baking. It was worth the judging looks he’d gotten for buying pink sparkly cupcake liners at the store. It was all worth it to finally have a full spread for the twins’ school bake sale. 

Glen and Glenda (now, he meant this with all of the love in his heart) couldn’t bake. They once baked him a cake for his birthday, which was so sweet and adorable until he took a bite and realised that there was eggshell in it to ‘give it some crunch’ and excess sugar to ‘make it sweeter’. 

There was a prize for the most popular stand, and he was determined to win that top prize for the twins. It was a full sized bouncy castle. He could always go out and buy one, but there was nothing sweeter than the victory of winning something expensive for free.

The sun was baking hot, and he struggled to find a good spot to set up his stand. But finally, everything was perfect, and all he had to do was wait for sales to pour in.

A middle-aged woman walked by his stand and rolled her eyes. It’s okay, he wasn’t upset, sticks and stones may break his bones but words could never-

“Try hard.”

The woman mumbled as she walked past. And Chucky crumbled, vowing to slaughter this woman.

————————————————————-

Glen was screaming. Immediately, Chucky leapt up in a panic. Something was hurting his baby, and he had to get in that room as quick as possible. He grabbed his gun from a concealed drawer and made sure it was loaded and rushed into Glen and Glenda’s room.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he realised that nothing was hurting Glen. But then his heart broke, because he realised that this must be a nightmare, and he hated to see Glen so distressed.

Chucky climbed into Glen’s bed and pulled the sobbing eight year old onto his lap, resting his head against his heart and stroking his hair soothingly.

“Hey, what’s wrong, buddy?”

Glen sobbed softly and slowly raised his head to reach his father’s gaze. Chucky stroked his son’s hair until the sobs had quietened into sniffles and waited for him to speak. 

“I-I had a nightmare, Daddy. A really scary one.”

Glen seemed really shaken up, and Chucky was never the best at offering comfort, especially when it mattered. He’d improved after becoming a father, but he was still in the doghouse for mistakenly believing that the picture that Tiffany had sent him of Glenda wearing thick rimmed black glasses was taken at a joke shop and not at an optician’s to ask for his opinion. He’d had to watch so many episodes of Scooby Doo to prove to his devastated daughter that girls with glasses were smart and cool.

But back to Glen, his little body was shaking with slowly rising sobs, and Chucky hated to see his little boy like this. He had to make this right, he had to help him as much as he could.

“What was your nightmare about, pumpkin?”

Glen had always groaned at this nickname, but it never failed to make him smile. Chucky had been calling Glen ‘pumpkin’ since he was a baby due to his red hair, and he didn’t plan to stop any time soon. Sure enough, Glen cracked a smile smile and sighed heavily, rolling his eyes and calming down slightly.

“I dreamed that I was in a cage in England, a man was calling me Shitface and tried to make me kill a rat. He kept telling me to tap into my ‘killer instincts’. I think I peed on the floor. Dad, it felt so real, why did it feel so real? I’m scared.”

Ah, this must have been a flashback to his life as a doll. Poor kid, those flashbacks could be intense, Chucky had experienced them himself several times. But telling the twins the truth would fuck with their minds, so he’d stick with what he and Tiff always told them.

“Wow, that sounds like a really scary dream. But trust me baby doll, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s all in your head, it can’t hurt you angel. And if anything did, your dad would beat ‘em up before they even so much as looked at you, got it?”

Glen stopped crying and laughed, grinning widely. His fears were clearly calmed, and he was looking sleepier by the second. It was high time that Glen was asleep, he had a science quiz tomorrow that he needed all of his energy for.

Chucky carefully climbed out of Glen’s bed and placed his son under the covers, making sure to tuck him in up to the chin. Chucky smiled softly and stroked Glen’s hair out of his eyes tenderly.

“Now, if anything else upsets you, anything at all, just come get me. Don’t suffer alone, I wanna help you if I can. Goodnight my little doll, I love you so so much.”

Glen nuzzled his face into the pillow and murmured a sleepy response.

“Mhm, g’night dad, love you too.”

[kellyurban18]

I love you guys. I really do, but some of yall are taking my writing and updating once a week for granted so this is just a PSA.

This is a hobby. Writing fanfic is a hobby. It is a funy hobby and one of the two hobbies I have the other is sewing/quilting.

HOWEVER.

I am also a freelancer, a stay at home mom, and a single mom to twins on top of that. I've been a single mom since the day they left the NICU. I had preterm twin babies who still to this day have some behavioral problems that needs my attention.

WITH THAT SAID.

I am a freelance Editor, Beta Reader, Ghostwriter, and Proofreader. I have clients and a job that doesn't officially have a clock out period. I am doing something 24/7.

Writing fanfic is fun, an escape, and something I don't completely need to focus on. Yes I edit it and I give it the courtesy skimming before publishing. But I do not write and edit and proofread my fanfics the way I write and edit for my job.

This is to escape that.

So while I am so glad and happy you guys love my stories that you want more of it, just remember when you comment or private message me two days after publishing a new chapter asking me to update...no just don't do it.

Don't do it to anyone. Everyone has a life outside of this world of fanfiction.

"Just post the chapters you've already written it's not a big deal"

Yes it fucking is Jessica. If I posted every chapter I have written for this story you would be confused. I dumpster write which means for the very first writing of a chapter I just slap down whatever I want to happen which ends up to be about 500-1k words then I edit that like 2-5 times before you have the chapters you all know and love with 3-4k words. Also I just wrote what? An 11k chapter for you little fuckers so relax a bit.

NOT ONLY THAT

I am renovating a home and helping my narcissistic mom with her hoarding lifestyle while also listening to her telling me my freelancing isn't a real job despite the fact I support my self and my family just fine while also giving my sister money on the regular because she won't ask our parents anymore because they make her feel guilty for needing to pay her heating.

(Sorry. I love her I do. She's my best friend when she's on a good day but that switch can be turned in 0.3 seconds I swear.)

There are only so many hours in a day. So many hours in a week. I need more than most of those for my job(s).

This isn't to say I'm not open to comments reminding me,

"hey it's been a while are you going to update".

This is for the person who has religiously private messged me every week since the first chapter asking me to update two days after publishing and then messaging me every day until Tuesday night and messaging me every hour or two on Wednesdays until I update.

Last week when I didn't publish until Thursday she told me I had responsibilities to my readers.

I have never wanted to throw my computer out my window before.

Anyway.

I love you all and this was just a rant.

I will be publishing a little late this week again and probably all month since February is a busy month for me

I have my kids' 5th birthday on the 19th and we are going to Orlando on a family trip from the 23rd through to the 7th. Disney and Universal of course. So please keep that in mind near the end/beginning of the month if I don't publish around there.

Most of you are amazing and the "Can't wait for more!" Comments are great! I love reading your comments!

This was just a rant and a little reminder that fanfic writers have lives outside of this world even if we wish we didn't. Unfortunately the economy isn't very supportive of hobby writers lol

Okay I'm done I think.

Love you all.

It's like 5am over here so I'm going back to sleep.

[insanebirddog]

Im currently working on some writing projects, so imma give a quick yap session. No spoilers tho, so i gotta be reeeeaaaaallllllllllllllllllllll vague about it.

CORRUPTION

We got a three pov story, told by shark/odin, grey, and jeremy/cerberus.

Its gonna be a horror story.

Since im gonna draw/publish their character sheets anyway I will be telling you all the characters.

We've got Shark/Odin, a 19 yr old non-binary kid, who uses angel/angelself pronouns. I wanna make give angel a weirdcore/emo style.

We've got Grey, an 19 yr old man, who uses he/him pronouns. I wanna give him a more distinguished, fancy fuck look. suit wearer. always styled, his hair looks clean & nice.

We've got Jeremy/Cerberus, a 20 year old agender male, who uses he/him/pups/pupself pronouns. I wanna give this guy a lazy fucker look. He doesnt wear shirts cause he doesnt feel like changing, or is always in sweats and a hoodie type look. never styles his hair, yada yada

We've got Aiden, 18 year old man, who uses He/him pronouns. Im not actually sure what type of style i wanna give, i think maybe a cowboy-ish style? nothing set in stone

We've got dollie, a 19 year old woman, who uses she/they pronouns. Im also not sure of theyre style, probably going to go with a veeerrryy modest style. not sure

We've got freddy, 47 year old man, who uses he/him pronouns. Father off odin, he will be a dad bod haver and very lazy clothes. hes a busy man hes got no time for style!!! single father, demanding job.

POWERHOUSE

A two pov story, guys fight ig man idk?? told by Aztral and Oscar.

In this world they have powers, so ill yap abt those too.

Aztral, an agender alien whos 25 in human years, uses it/its pronouns. My ideal style for this character is a twisted version of inumaki from jjk, but with more foraging stuff. Hes an alien scout, but a specific scout guy who collects plants to be analyzed. His powers include: increased strength, ability to jump higher, can breath out toxic gas/is immune to toxic gasses.

Oscar, a 20 year old deadgender human, uses he/him pronouns. My ideal style for this guy is like- pardon my language but HES A WHORE!!! No shirt like ever, if it is its a workout friendly one because hes a super buff bitch. His powers include shape shifting [because fuck you, my humans do what they want.] and dimensional storage. THIS FUCK FACE CAN STORE THINGS IN HIS TITS. because i said so, pretty boy gotta love him.

Commander Syx [ pronounced six ] some odd aged agender alien commander, uses xe/xem/xyr/xemself pronouns. Just gonna be wearing a uniform. dunno what yet L

Zerum [ ZZ-ear-uhm ] a 23 year old agender male human, who uses He/him/blood/bloodself/it/its pronouns. I'm not sure what i wanna do for him, but hes def father figure type. So im thinking either super lazy guy or another suit wearer like grey. Bloods powers include Healer, can make ppl sleep [ related to being put under for operation ], calming effect on all nearby.

Boa, a 20 year old woman hawk-human hybird, who uses she/her pronouns. A leader, and fucking RIPPED. Very strong lady, body builder type. I imagine her either just like oscar, or gothic woman. Has big pet snake. Her powers include  Talk to animal, strength, Flight

Rowan, a 27 year old male human, who uses he/him/it/its pronouns. LAZY FUCKIN MAN!!! also ginger, because hes rowan. Like, always so sleepy could fall asleep standing. Its powers are Emotion manipulation [ works through eye-contanct ], speed. My imagined style for something is similiar but not the same to that one super fucking lazy guy from seven deadly sins.

Cosmo, a some odd aged agender alien, who uses it/its/they/them pronouns. An alien scout who instead collects animals. Carries vials/ contantment stuff for small animals, and a lasso for big ones. GLOVES ARE A NEED!!! Powers are Same toxic gas/immunity to toxic gas/speed

Nebula is a some odd aged agender alien, who uses it/its/star/starself pronouns. An alien scout who instead studies cultlures. Carries books/writing stuff, and a universal translator. Powers are  Same toxic gas/toxic gas immunity/strength.

ANCIENT

A two pov story told be Ezekiel and marcus

I just started working on this today, i can thank a random tumblr post i saw on tiktok. It was a thing where every language sounds like english to you and when you speak to someone it sounds like their native language & this random fuck gets mad at you for speaking the ancient language.

This is different tho, and i cant yap AT ALL about the plot in any way or its SPOILERS!!! you are left to your imagination. But since i only started working on it today i have got only two characters which are the main ones.

Ezekiel, a man who uses he/him pronouns. I havent thought ANYTHING into his style, but hes a modest guy def. Not like, hellishly modest, but he is always covered. Long sleeve turtle necks and pants, he strikes me as the type to only wear cargo pants [ im projecting ]

Marcus, a genderclock person who uses it/its/skull/skullself. Also havent thought much into this guy, im thinking modest on another level and turned it into big style [ biased opinion there, in love with the style im abt to attempt to described ] he is always super covered, think muriel from the arcana but with a shirt. Cape, harness, also a turtle neck, cargo shorts, hood that covers his head, mask wearer type. like he is HIDDEN, fingerless gloves tho. I hate finger-having gloves so much i refuse to write them.

Anyway! thats all my projects im on rn. If you read all this yapping i appreciate it.

[gatheringbones]

[“WHEN I FIRST started really writing, like for real writing, like not a story for English class or in a journal but for really real writing, Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg was the only book I could hold up and say, “I want to do this. I love this book because this is a story about someone like me, and before there was this book, there were no stories about people like me written by people like me. I want to write a book just like this one, except less sad. I want to be like the person in this book, except funnier. I want to write a book about this hard life, except I need this hard life to one day be easier.”

Last year I got a letter (well, a Facebook message, actually) from a young trans guy who said he had read all my books, ever since he was in grade eight and a counsellor had given him one, and that my writing had given him hope, had helped him come out and transition and feel less alone, but now he was contacting me for the very first time ever to complain about something I had recently read at a live show I had done with some other writers. Their stuff was really heavy, he said, about sexual abuse and misogyny, and then I got up and told a funny story about how when I had top surgery, I was worried Did they switch my nipples around and stitch the wrong one back on the right side? or whatever, and how dare I make light of body dysmorphia issues like that? and he was so disappointed and so forth, and P.S.: Why didn’t I also talk about capitalism and the environment and other important issues?

I called another writer friend of mine and read her the message. I was nearly in tears, and she was trying not to laugh at me but not succeeding. She has three books out and is working on her fourth, but she was breastfeeding her second son right then as she was talking on the phone to me, and the dog, or maybe the cat, just puked on the stairs and it was still all over her sock, not to mention the carpet, and she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the first son was born and he just started grade one, so don’t hold your breath waiting for this novel, she told her agent last week.

“Wait,” she said. “Back the fuck up. Do you mean to tell me you can’t feel your nipples, like at all? God, what I wouldn’t give to not feel his little teeth coming in, day by day by day. I believe this is why babies are born toothless. No one would breastfeed at all if the little fuckers were born with a mouth full of teeth. You have to ease yourself in to excruciating pain like that,” she informed me.

I could hear water running in the background and the dog barking.

“Besides, switching nipples is serious fucking business, and anyone who can’t see that hasn’t had their nipples removed and stitched back on again. Yet. He’s young. It’s his job to turn on the ones who made him, who fed him, who taught him. It’s a rite-of-passage thing. It’s in all those fucking parenting books Jin is always bringing home. I tripped over How to Raise a Feminist the other day and fully felt like killing him for two days. It’s the lack of sleep, I tell him, but some days I suspect I actually do want to kill him.

“Anyways, don’t take any of this personal. It’s not even really about you, or what you wrote or said, or didn’t write or say. It about him flexing his brand-new biceps or spreading his newly feathered wings, or whatever it is the kids do these days to make sure we know that we are officially irrelevant now, and that they invented everything radical. You probably did it to someone too, pal, think back. Next.”

She has a way of putting things into perspective. That’s why I called her.”]

Ivan Coyote, Rebent Sinner