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eideticmemory · 5 years ago

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EVER SINCE NEW YORK II | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 2! Read Part 1 here.

Soundtrack:

Maps - Maroon 5.

Me & Ur Ghost - Blackbear.

Keep You Close - Frenship.

Word Count: 3,341.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, substance use, a bit of angst.

Fall, Sophomore Year.

Tisch School of the Arts,

New York University.

New York City.

“Okay, you know what?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I give up. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Claire laughed from behind you, “You alright over there?”

“No,” you grumbled. You pressed down on the black frame, using all your might to make the command strip stick to the wall. Yet, when you stepped back, it would pop off of the surface, and your ballet poster was lopsided. It’d been a vicious cycle for 10 minutes. “This goddamn command strip won’t stick. What the fuck?”

“Okay, grumpy, step away from the poster,” Claire ordered, grabbing onto your shoulders and escorting you to the center of the room. “The room looks great, [y/n], why are you so stressed?”

“I am not stressed. I am frustrated, and those damn command strips aren’t cheap. I’m pissed.”

“Okay, staples queen, tell you what,” she sighed. “I will go buy you a pack of command strips and personally mount the poster myself, okay?”

You looked up at Claire, giving her a soft smile. “Did I win the roommate lottery or what?”

“Yeah, but better not say stuff like that too much. People are gonna start thinking we’re a different type of roommates.”

You laughed, and shook your head at her.

“[y/n], what’s up?” Claire asked. “You’ve been moody as fuck ever since we moved back in for the semester. Classes haven’t even started yet and you’re moping around. What’s going on?”

Well, Claire, you thought. I’m glad you asked. I’m glad you brought it up, because I’ve been dying to talk about it for a while. You see, I fucked my mortal enemy, and it was so good that I did it a second time. And no, I’m not talking about my cinematography professor, I’m talking about Matthew. Gubler. I fucked Matthew Gubler. Yes, I know. Hell has frozen over. Because I hated him. I hate him. I think he’s awful. Especially since he thinks it’s okay to fuck someone, ignore their existence, fuck them again, ignore their existence, and then leave them with a vague ass note? 505. 505! I’ve looked up every possible meaning of 505 that there is. The song, urban dictionary, numerology. And I can’t figure the shit out. And it doesn’t help that Matthew didn’t say a word to me over summer break. I’m just lost and confused and I know you would understand and you would know what to do.

But it’s Matthew.

And I can’t tell anyone. Especially you.

“Last semester was a royal disaster,” you sighed. “I just don’t wanna overwhelm myself again. Y’know with class, and shows, and parties. I wanna do right this semester, but it’s a little stressful. So, I’m a little stressed.”

Claire looked at you for a long time, eyebrows lowered and her eyes scanning your face. She had a gut feeling that you were lying, but didn’t wanna be a bitch. So she bit her tongue.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” she smiled.

Classes started that following Monday. Your first lecture was at 10 o’clock. And you woke up at 10:15. Having showered the night before, you brushed your teeth, put on your outfit and fixed your hair all in ten minutes and hiked it across campus in 4 minutes. You rushed up to the classroom door, and entered the lecture very calmly. People were scattered about in the auditorium, some towards the sides, a lot front and center. But only one person sitting in the very back row.

Matthew.

Too occupied with explaining yourself to your professor, you didn’t notice Matthew until a few minutes after entering. You refused to make eye contact with him, nervously staring at your feet as you walked over to him. And took a seat at his side.

“Hey.”

Those were the only words spoken for an hour and fifteen minutes. However, within 10 minutes of seeing you again, Matthew began to rub your thigh. His fingers grazed the top of your leg, slowly but surely making their way to your inner thigh. You held your breath, staring up at the professor the whole time and pretending to take notes.

When Matthew’s fingers pressed against your clit, you almost gasped. But you kept your mouth shut, stifling the sound. He smirked to himself, only glancing at you when you were too shaken up to notice. You propped up the screen of your laptop, hiding your face behind it so you could let out quiet moans. You were so sensitive, and very glad that you wore a skirt to class.

Matthew’s fingers slid your panties to the side and made skin to skin contact with your clit, applying pressure as he rubbed you. You exhaled for a long time, swear words wanting to fly out of your mouth instead. The professor’s words drowned out a long time ago, and at this point you didn’t care. You just needed to come.

Matthew remembered the way you liked to be touched, he had to. Because he was able to bring you to the edge so quickly, it was insane. You clenched your thighs around his wrist to signal your nearing release, and he grinned.

You rested your head on the keyboard of your laptop, hiding from everyone as you came. Your jaw dropped, and you had to stop yourself from groaning too loudly. Matthew removed his hand from under your skirt. He sucked on the tips of his fingers, just to get the taste of you on his tongue. Then, with only 2 minutes left in class, he packed up his stuff and walked out.

You should’ve dropped the class. At the very least, sat somewhere else. But you didn’t. You stayed in that course. With Matthew. In the back row. And wore skirts every other day for a month. Some days he would repeat the action, and some days he wouldn’t. It was like he could tell how desperate you were each time. And if you were really desperate, he simply didn’t touch you. It sucked, but it kept you on your toes.

He missed class one day, and to cope, you had a dream about him that night. You imagined him using his mouth on you, in an empty lecture hall, bending you over the desk, making you come. When you woke up, you were in a cold sweat. You couldn’t believe you were having thoughts like this about Matthew Gubler. But you were.

You hopped out of bed, put on your slippers, and left the room to go to the vending machines. Holding a soda and some candy, you walked back to your dorm room silently. Alerted by the sound of footsteps, you turned your head down the hall to see Claire walking out of someone’s room. She noticed you and rushed up to you with a big smile.

“Hey!” She beamed. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t sleep. Where you been?”

She sighed happily, “I’ve been doing adult things, [y/n], I cannot lie.” She wrapped her arm around your shoulder as you both walked to your room. “I’m in love, kid. It’s crazy.”

“You’re in love? With who?”

“Ah, that will soon be revealed, my dear [y/n].”

That weekend, you two invited everyone to come hang out at your dorm. Someone was able to swipe some liquor, and it was a party. A handful of people, getting a little tipsy, music in the background. Claire insisted Matthew be invited, but you weren’t expecting him to show up. But of course, he did. Because he’s a nuisance.

He laid down on Claire’s bed and she sat beside him, the two of them quickly joining the conversation at hand. You tried not to look like a kicked puppy, tried not to pout, to sulk, to watch. But inch by inch, second by second, Claire moved closer to Matthew, until by the end of the night, her head was on his chest.

That Monday, you sat in the front of the class.

And every class after that for the next month.

Missing your daily release, you became cranky and nasty and moody. You didn’t mean to, but that’s how it happened. To help you get over the nagging feeling, you went out one Saturday night. A group of friends dragged you along to a dorm party in the next building over. You used it as an excuse to dress up, ignore your homework and get some fresh air. In a tight purple dress, you walked into the booming dorm. It was packed, smelled like booze and filled with heat.

A cup of vodka in your hand, it wasn’t until about two hours in that you realized you didn’t want to party. You sat on the couch the whole time, fiddling with your hands and the hem of your dress. You’d drank an entire solo cup of alcohol by then, and you were starting to get tired. Your friends had gotten lost a long time ago, and you knew it was fruitless to look for them. So, you picked yourself up and started to head for the exit.

“[y/n]!”

You turned around to see a guy walking towards you. Jonathan. “Hey, John, what the hell is going on?” You asked, noticing him supporting another guy on his shoulder. His friend was a drunken, sloppy mess, and could barely stand.

“Our boy Steve here had a little too much to drink,” John replied. “I’m taking him back to his room. You going back to your place?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I am.”

“Okay, do you mind helping me with him? Please? I’ll give you a dollar.”

You laughed, shook your head and put your arm around Steve’s waist. “Ooh, a dollar! Sounds exciting.”

It was cold, and you shivered on the way back to your dorm building. Steve only lived down the hall from you, so helping wasn’t too far out of the way for you. John used Steve’s key to let the three of you into Steve’s suite, guiding both of you to Steve’s room.

You both worked together to lay Steve down on his mattress. You covered him with his blanket.

“You’re a lifesaver,” John told you. “We both are actually.”

“Maybe we should start a business. We escort drunk people home for a small fee of $100.”

He laughed, “I’m in as long as you dress like that every time.”

You blushed, and ducked your head down to hide it.

“What’s going on in here?” A voice called to you two.

You looked up at the threshold to see Matthew standing there, looking sleepy, disheveled, shirtless, and beautiful.

“Hey, Gube,” John greeted. “[y/n] and I were just dropping Steve off. Kid couldn’t hold his liquor.”

Matthew scoffed, “You could’ve left him there. Let him get dicks drawn on his face.”

“Well, aren’t you full of love?” John laughed. “No, seriously, I’ve gotta text Lindsey and let her know I’m staying in for tonight.” He padded at his pocket, followed by a loud groan, “Fuck, I left my phone at the party. Fuck me.”

“That’s a higher power trying to tell you that you need to stay out longer,” Matthew said.

John smirked at him, “You’re right. Wonderful insight, Gubler.”

John walked out of the door, heading for the exit, and you followed him, avoiding eye contact with Matthew. As the two of you approached the front door, you froze. John exited the suite, not noticing that he was leaving you behind. And you would’ve moved if you had the power.

Hanging on the door of the suite was the room number: 505.

Your breath caught in your throat. 505. The room number. The room number of the suite you saw Claire leaving that day. 505.

“What took you so long?” Matthew asked, standing behind you.

You released your breath, goosebumps crawling on your skin as you felt him get closer to you. Your heart raced, your body trembled. You had a physical response to being near this boy. It was intense.

“I’m not doing this, Matthew,” you whispered.

“Doing what? We’re just talking.”

You turned around to face him, suddenly very angry, “No! You know what I’m talking about! You know what I’m talking about! And it’s gone on for long enough, Matthew. I’m out!” You kept your voice quiet, but still aggressive. You turned to exit the dorm, but he grabbed onto your waist and pulled you into him.

“Listen, Princess Peach,” he said.

“Fuck you—“

“Listen. I don’t know what your deal is, but I do know that I miss you—“

“You’re full of shit. You just wanna fuck.”

“That’s what I said. I miss you. I mean, for such a short person, your pussy packs a punch.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Face it,” he murmured. “You may hate me, but your pussy doesn’t.”

Your body melted into his at the sound of his voice. The feeling of his hands running down your body, landing on your thigh. “Just admit it. Or tell me to stop.” His fingers trailed under your dress, the tips grazing you through your panties. Your head rolled back at the gentle touch and he took that as an invitation to kiss your neck.

“Cmon, shortcake, tell me to stop,” he mumbled. “Tell me to stop.”

You responded by wrapping your hands around his throat, using all your strength to push him out the living room couch. He chuckled under his breath, stumbling back onto the cushion and pulling you into his lap.

“Oh, you gonna choke me?” He asked, his voice coming out strained. “Okay, princess, you hate me so much? You can’t stand me?” He pushed his pants down to reveal his erection. “Fuck me like it then.”

You crashed your lips onto his and pushed him back onto the couch, reaching down to grab his cock. You pulled your panties to the side and teased him against your core, moaning as his tip rubbed against your clit. You sank down onto his dick, feet pressed into the couch, hands holding his neck.

He stared up at you as you fucked him — fast and careless. Swear words fell off of his lips uncontrollably, his hands pawing at your breast. Your boobs fit perfectly in his palm and he was obsessed. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to stay quiet, grunting into his mouth.

“F-fuck,” he panted. “Wait, wait.”

You leaned in and kissed him roughly, grinding your hips against his. You made sure to stay silent, giving no indication that you were experiencing so much pleasure.

“H-hey — shit, fuck,” he groaned. “Wait.”

Matthew placed his hands on your ass, his eyes closed tight, his body tensing up as you rode him into the wall. “Oh, fuck!” He exclaimed, and lifted you off of his cock. Quickly, just in time for him to release all over his stomach. He panted, he quivered, he mumbled soft, dirty words. Whispered something about you.

As pretty a sight as it was, you refused to sit there and stare. So, you stood up, pulled the hem of your dress down. And this time, you left. Not a word said. Nothing.

Matthew followed you on instagram that night. You didn’t accept the request for a week, and when you did, you didn’t follow him back. He tried to add you on snapchat, but you declined it. You continued to sit far away from him in class, giving him no access. He brought you a drink at a party once and you asked for water instead. When he returned with the water, you had already left.

He had met his match. You dominated him, successfully, fearlessly, and without even trying. He wanted more. But you liked to watch him so squirm, so you didn’t give in.

Christmas break rolled around, and instead of focusing on the actual holiday, you and your friends planned your first spring break vacation. A group of you would head to South Beach for the week, and stay at a relative’s beach house.

You sat on your bed, trying to map out the cost of the trip. “So it’s me, you, the four of them...Claire, are you listening to me?”

“Is this a good Christmas gift for Matthew?”

You turned your head to her quickly, “Huh?”

“This,” she held up the book - The Magic Encyclopedia. “You think Matthew will like it?”

“Claire,” you sighed. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are you doing simping over this boy? Buying him gifts? This isn’t you, Claire.”

“Leave me alone, [y/n], okay? We’re just friends. And he told me he bought me a gift so I got him one. Jeez, do you have to hate him so much?” She pouted, dropping the book into a gift bag.

“Um, actually, yeah I do,” you nodded. “He’s a dick.”

A knock rang at the door, and as Claire hopped up, she pointed her finger at you, “That’s him. Do not pick a fight.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to planning. Matthew stepped into the room, carrying a bag in one hand. He used his other hand to cup Claire’s face and give her a small kiss on the cheek. “Santa Claus is here!” He exclaimed.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” Claire pleaded, reaching for the gift bag.

“Wow, Claire, I’m hurt. You’re so materialistic.” He chuckled.

“Oh, please, Gube,” she scoffed. “Give me my gift.”

“Okay,” he reached into the bag and pulled out a small box, wrapped into festive paper. “I got this for you, Claire,” he handed her the box. “And I even got something for your roommate here.”

You picked your head up, face ridden with confusion. Matthew licked his lips as he held the gift out to you, “I saw it and I couldn’t help myself. Merry Christmas, short stack.”

“Aw, Gube!” Claire squealed. Matthew let her tuck herself under his arm and hug him. “You’re so sweet.”

You stared at the tiny box in your hands, feeling it’s weight. “Thanks...” you whispered.

“Here, open what I got you,” Claired ordered Matthew, stepping over to her bed and grabbing the gift bag. She handed it to him with a wide smile, and giggled as he reached inside.

“Wow!” He cheered, holding the book in his hand. “Holy shit, Claire. This is incredible, thank you!”

“I knew how much you wanted that book so I remembered to get it,” she said. “So, I hope your gift for me is as impressive.”

“It is.”

As the two of them spoke, you opened up your own gift, quietly, hiding it behind your pillow. Claire unwrapped Matthew’s gift, and squealed. “Shut up! Where did you find this film?”

“Amazon!” he replied. “That fancy camera of yours only takes a certain type of film so I wanted you to be stocked.”

You pulled the item out of the box, focused on figuring out what it was. It was cold, metallic, and shone under the light as it was revealed.

“Oh, Gube!” Claire pulled him into a hug. “This is incredible!”

It was an antique. A silver polished miniature ballerina, perched on a pedestal. There was a knob on the side, and when turned, the ballerina twirled. It was precious.

You looked over at Matthew and Claire, watching as they broke out of their hug and looked at each other. “I expect a bunch of pictures when I get back,” he told her, backing out of the room.

“And I expect a professional magician,” she winked. Yuck. Claire turned her head to you after Matthew left, grinning, “What’d he get you?”

You quickly pushed the ballerina back in the box, shaking your head. “Socks. Mismatched socks. Very funny.” You replied.

She giggled, “But hey, a gift! That’s growth!”

“Yeah, whatever,” you grumbled.

“Matthew’s great,” She said. “You’ll get to know him better soon, since he’s coming to the beach with us.”

“He’s what?”

[PART 3.]

#mine #college!matthew #matthew gray gubler/reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg smut #mgg x reader #esny

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inklingofadream · 4 years ago

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Regarding your plot bunnies, litarly any of your time traveling daisy stuff sounds like loads of fun, but maybe the gang of feral kids, as a specific one

In response to this lovely ask, a small detail from the feral kids au:

daisy peaces out on her family within a year of ending up in the past, because 13-14 is like almost enough to pass as old enough to work (...that’s 15 here in the states, hopefully it’s the same in the UK. whichever, she probably has at least some idea of where she might find someone willing to hire her under the table from her cop days)

baby daisy heads to london, and decides to get gerry to join her fairly immediately. possibly she starts plotting mary’s death, and then as soon as she enacts it (and gets poor gerry on side lol) the $ and living situation problem is solved bc bookshop + access to Mary’s bank accounts. (mary in this au is also immortal, only instead of being tied to the book its in the sense that they never report the death and she’s remains a legal pretense until at least gerry’s old enough to live on his own and inherit legally)

pretty much everyone else but jon and martin i see as having fairly chill and happy childhoods. so the stokers and the girls mostly end up looped into the gang and hang around the bookshop after school and on weekends, but stay with their parents (until involvement with them leads something nasty to at least one set of parents. everyone thinks it was an unfortunate coincidence except daisy and maybe gerry, who feel deeply guilty). daisy was gonna leave em all alone except basira, but decided jon and martin needed friends

martin is almost as easy to recruit as gerry. it takes long enough to get around to him that his dad’s been gone for at least a year or two, and he’s starting to realize deep down that his mum’s never gonna care about him the way he cares about her, even if he’s not going to come close to admitting it until he’s an adult. daisy and gerry use the money from mary to get martin’s mum into a decent care home- bc even if adult martin was reluctant, kid martin who’s only been at it for a little bit definitely gets that he’s not currently equipped to care for her- and martin gets “lost” in the shuffle, ie relocated to morden. he’s like 10, so he doesn’t quite realize a) that daisy and gerry are not Adults or b) this is Not how foster care works At All. by the time he does, he’ll be too happy and well established with the gang to care. daisy convinced gerry on the grounds that someone should take care of this Small Child, and is v embarrassed when it turns out Martin’s better at cooking than any of them and claims the kitchen for his own.

jon is the first addition post-mary dying, and the hardest sell to gerry. daisy just kinda turned up as another kid who knows all about the entities and wouldn’t share her backstory, so gerry accepted that she had some messed up stuff she was fleeing and grudgingly accepted her presence and friendship. daisy waits a bit until mary’s dead, the bookshop is childproofed (gerry thinks they’re just selling and destroying leitners, but they’re childproofing) and she’s sure they’re not gonna get imminently caught or run out of money. and then she just Straight Up Kidnaps jon. he’s not even from the london area. daisy goes out for the day, as is her wont, and returns with a Crying Child.

gerry: where did he come from??? (assuming she like. found him homeless somewhere and he can sell her on dropping him off somewhere that’ll get him into non-spooky foster care with adults)

jon, sobbing: Bournemouth

gerry: what were you doing in Bournemouth???

daisy: getting jon

jon: i wanna go home!

“jon had an encounter with a leitner” is not enough to sell gerry on the whole situation. he and daisy have a big extended fight over it, and it takes ages to get jon to stop running away. he’s not really happy and secure with them until after Numerous Others have joined the gang willingly and join team “what the hell daisy??” and promise they’ll help him leave if he wants (they outnumber her now!) but most of the child/teen jon kidnapping variants end with his grandmother dying early of stress (im sorry maam but ur inconvenient) and so he can stay with his friends or go into care, and jon chooses his friends

when they finally go after jonah he has even less idea whats happening than in my other daisy time travel aus

#tma #daisy kidnapping jon agenda #asks #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #gerry keay #martin blackwood #also when melanie joins she's like 'wow. i dont respect literally any of you people'#mine #writing #the magnus archives #authora1604

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josephsaturn · 3 years ago

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Danganronpa: Trial 5 thoughts

Mukuro Ikusabsa, the 16th student, hiding somewhere in the school, the one they call the Ultimate despair, watch out for her?

But who is Mukuro Ikusabsa, the 16th student, hiding somewhere in the school, the one they call the Ultimate despair, watch out for her?

Why are, when Kyoko delivers the news on Mukuro Ikusabsa, the 16th student, hiding somewhere in the school, the one they call the Ultimate despair, watch out for her, her lips so plump?

Props to Erica Harlacher tho

Oh boy a foreshadowing!

So high he’d fall at terminal velocity, Aoi

Togami has absolutely no self awareness

Huh

Dude why are you sweating

Yay, 5th floor!

5A AND 5B TOO

also quick question: what Japanese high school has like, 5 years? We were already pushing it at 4, but 5??

At that point, the graduating class are all gonna be 20-21

What.

Did I walk in on the mastermind’s secret fetish room or something?

The mastermind has a crush on our bland ahoge boy I guess

Oh wait there’s a C classroom for the 5th floor? What?

Heh. “Raw”

I have been convinced that hope’s peak is an eldritch location

Just how high are these ceilings??

Crazy diamond? Isn’t that the name of Mondo’s gang?

That looks like a corpse plant, actually. They can get pretty big, but that’s just ridiculous

Ah so that’s where the bodies went

Bitch don’t u be talkin about fetishes

I saw 5-A

What the Fuck!!

“Eye for an eye…”

Oh god the blood is red not pink

And it looks recent

The walls aren’t leopard print too

That feels like a lie

They have cherry trees in full bloom?

For what purpose? To get people in the mood?

To flex?

Wait I got a monokoin from looking at the targets? Did my eyes pick it up or something

WHY DO THEY KEEP COMING BACK TO THAT

I swear I’ve heard like 4 times and it’s barely been an hour

Volleyball, really?

You’re not. You’re in a murder mystery visual novel

Thanks…?

Dang, a knife!

That was a weird sprite

Me too, Hiro

Genocide??

That would explain why there were only 15 (16?) students

That’s a big difference between won’t and can’t

It is so glaringly obvious what her talent is she might as well be wearing a sign that says “detective! Detective!”

Hold up how long has Monokuma been there?!

Hee ho gollum reference

Oooh, pretty key

5 TIMES, BAY-BEEEE

Mako likes a girl with drive

It’s okay Kiri you can say u don’t trust Togami

Eeew

Monokuma u nasty

Also the censor box was pretty funny

A secret?

I hope it isn’t what I think it is

2 Monokuma theaters?!

I feel so loved!

I love how toko is just absolutely terrible

Maybe she left to put that second important item to use

(I hung out with Togami, Aoi,

Huh. At least people like me, Togami

Everything about him is ultimate? Even his ego?

You’re a filthy commoner. I’m an heir to a big corporation. We are not the same.

Kenji Jojima?

Awwwww…she likes him!

How cute!

Apparently Aoi has a religious experience every time she eats a donut

Ah dangit the PLOT is back

Does this man really sleep in full uniform?

BITCH TAKE OFF UR JACKET

hun ur not p4 don’t be getting all shadow-self with me rn

A boring world, huh?

I just now realized that Kyoko’s got so many zippers on her uniform like wth

The knife’s GONE?!

OH NO

The gym?

The mastermind stopped puppetting him?

Why?

Break the door down?!

Fapsauce

Object X?

Kuhorpuss? Really Jill?

Whoever that is is wearing heels and acrylic nails. It’s obviously Junko

How do you not see the boots?

THE BOOTS, ASAHINA. THE HEELED BOOTS.

You can prob identify that that’s probably Junko!

Toko goes flying

6TH TIME BAYBEEEEE

Dissin’ Kyoko like that, huh

The data center?!

Woah…

But y tho

Ooh a tv!

Now I can watch my soaps, like Soap (1984)!

a Monokuma door?

What?

Is this the Truman show?

GAH

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

MAKOTO DO NOT IGNORE THAT CREAKING

DONT YOU DARE

this man really used despair 5 times unironically huh

Everyone else: *groaning and shrieking*

Togami: stop talking 😡😡

Oh new investigation theme

THE BOOTS

THE HANDS

HOW ARE YOU ALL THIS DENSE?

Alibi?

That makes sense

AND WHO DID THOSE NAILS BELONG TO, MAKOTO?

7TH TIME LETS GOOOOOOOO

Oh dang she is alive

TRIAL TIME TRIAL TIME TRIAL TIME TRIAL TIME-

Honestly, I agree w togami in this one specific point

Oh great she turned on me

Real smooth Kirigiri

I love how tired Byakuya sounds when he tells Makoto to just get it over with

i’m supposed to cover for her are you kidding me

The trash room?

Huh?

Ok here’s Kyoko

Your purpose, eh?

GUESS WHO WAS RIGHT ABT HER TALENT

THAT SHIT WAS OBVIOUS FROM THE BEGINNING

what

he’s your dad?

Wait there are two ultimate despairs?

See y’all after Trial 6!

#danganronpa trigger happy havoc #danganronpa #makoto naegi #kyoko kirigiri #byakuya togami #aoi asahina #toko fukawa #yasuhiro hagakure

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junosartsthetic · 4 years ago

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Rohan Headcanons

Here’s eight pages of Rohan shit I wrote late at night. I should stop doing that. But alas, I won’t.

Okey

HeS a lil shit

That’s canon

But

He’s also kinda 🥺🥺

Heavens door also is 🥺🥺

if Rohan isn’t in the mood to give affection heavens door will gladly hug you for hOUrs

It’ll just nestle up against your chest and sorta,,,, fall asleep almost?

N ur like Rohan it’s asleep on my tits

N he’s like,,,, god I wish that were me…. I mean,,,, uhh,,, fuckin sucks 4 you guess you’ll just suffer

he likes drawing you

lol sketches on napkins n such

He just likes lookin at ur face

🥺🥺🥺🥺

He also has a pen somewhere lost in his hair

He keeps it there just in case his other ones get lost

Somehow

Even tho he’s got so fuCKin many

Also he lovEs learning things!

He’ll pick up a book about anything and read it just because

He’ll try to impress u with weird n random facts

Most of the time it doesn’t work

he likes when you mess with his hair

On the outside he’s like

DOnt fuckin touCh me but on the inside he’s like,,,, oooo head scritches r niceeeee

He believes he has an exceptional sense of style and doesn’t take criticism

He wears silk pajamas

But only sometimes

99% of the time he sleeps in his clothes because he passes out from exhaustion mid-drawing

Rohan also likes writing

Just lil things

Poems n such

He’s rather sentimental about certain things

He likes to go to libraries even though he’s got a bunch of books at home because he believes it allows him to better absorb the information he needs

He hates off brand things

It’s a maJor pet peeve

“What the hell is this?”

“What do you mean? They’re pop tarts?”

“THESE ARE NATURALLY FLAVORED FROSTED BROWN SUGAR CINNAMON TOASTER PASTRIES GREAT VALUE BRAND™️!”

“Yeah, pop tarts.”

“JAHDHWHXUWUDUWHDGWG”

He likes to wear slippers

Bunny slippers

They’re cute

He got heavens door a lil pair of them

Gotta match, ya know?

He picks at his eyelashes when he’s nervous

You gotta tell him to stop or else he’s gonna have to wear falsies

That makes him quit for a little while at least

He once accidentally stabbed himself with a pen but refused to go to Josuke for help

He’s still got a scar from it

his house has a basement but he’s never gone down to it

Too scary

He just says he has no use for it

Lies!

He’s a scaredy-cat

He can play quite a few instruments

He can also sing

He sings in the shower

It’s not half bad but his song choices tend to be awful

“STOP FUCKING SINGING ‘I KISSED A GIRL’ IN THE SHOWER OVER AND OVER! ITS SEVEN IN THE MORNING AND IM SICK OF IT!”

He’s got an embarrassing tattoo somewhere

Probably something stupid like a butterfly on his calf

He pretends it doesn’t exist

He used to read random people’s memories with heavens door when bored or uninspired but after a mortifying memory he read he stopped doing that

He once had a coo-coo clock but smashed it because it was getting on his nerves

he hates the sound of gum chewing

It’s the worst™️ to him

he sometimes forgets to shower

Nasty

But when he does shower it is extra™️

He takes reaaaaally long showers

And sings, as established

what the fuck does he even do in there?

Idfk

It’s a secret

He orders takeout because he can’t fucking cook

He’s trash at it

He tries

But he just can’t do it

he tends to make faces when he draws

It’s hilarious

He once drank 17 five hour energies to see what would happen

He doesn’t remember what happened

He awoke 2 days later in the hospital

he enjoys playing scrabble but only because everyone who plays against him ends up crying in anger when they lose

He owns a bunch of record players for the aesthetic™️

Doesn’t use them like ever

Owns like 3 records that he will play once in a blue moon

Everything he does is for the aesthetic™️ tbh

He likes to be held

But only under certain circumstances

Do nOT touch when he is in the middle of drawing something intense

He will turn around and sMAck you with his pen (on purpose or accident? Idk)

He’s clingy

He’s needy

He’s whiny

He’s like a puppy

But with the ego of a cat

He’ll be actively spooning you but assures you he is nOt having the time of his life

Eventually he admits he likes hugs n human contact

But at first it’s like trying to give a cat a bath

Yikes™️

Speaking of baths… bath time!

He likes baths

They’re nice

Bubble baths

They help him think

And he likes to mess with the bubbles

He likes the smell of candles too

You normally buy him candles in special occasions

He loves them

Most of the time

Occasionally he will despise the scent but keep the candle around anyway because he feels bad throwing away a gift

Well, a gift from his s/o

Anyone else he’ll tOss that sucker into the trash

The gift— not the gift giver

Maybe

If it’s Josuke— he’s in the dumpster

Uhhhh

Slightly nsfw but uhh,,,

Boob stress balls?

Nice

It’s a win-win situation tbh

soft, moldable, attached to someone he loves

Amazing

You’ve gotten used to it tbh

Whatever calms him down

Also he likes when you kiss his forehead before going to bed

He’ll be staying up to finish something and you’ll kiss him good night and leave your chapstick on his forehead and he just—

Makes him feel loved

He won’t admit it though

you usually initiate the affection

Sometimes he’ll hold your hand or something in public

In private he’ll be more outgoing but deny it means anything

“What, no I didn’t mean to touch your ass it was an accident”

“You’re still touching my ass”

“It’s still an accident”

you two also get in realllly stupid arguments

“Did you open this door?”

“What?”

“Did you open it?”

“Why would I open the basement door?”

“Did you?”

“No!”

“Liar!”

“Why would I lie about that?”

he’s a blanket hog

Also loves his pillows

He wears a lil sleep mask to bed

It’s cute

he unironically has a hydro flask

It keeps his water cold

He finds the jingling of the ice in it annoying though

I think he wouldn’t enjoy digital art because he can’t feel the paper and the ink and it’s not as personal

he likes eating ramen

Even though it’s terrible for him

If you look closely there are little stains on his papers

It’s ramen broth

But it’s convenient and he can’t cook for shit so it’s what he eats

He acts all refined but he’s not if you look closely

He’s got a reallly messy closet I bet

He tries to keep organized but it’s difficult!

He likes drawing birds

Idk why

Birb

He’s got a framed picture of you on his desk

He looks at it when he’s feeling stressed

It usually calms him down and gets him ready to work

you’ve nude modeled for him a couple times

Half the time he’s not even sketching

You don’t care though

Seeing his suave facade and expression be replaced with red cheeks and stifling coughs is cute

By the end you just give him a kiss and then it leads to—

The nsfw is for later

anyway

He’s tried to get you to draw

But anything you draw he criticizes so harshly that you’ve sworn off showing him your drawings

You know he’s doing it to help you

But it still hurts

you’ll sometimes help shading things in his manga

It’s the only thing he trusts you to do

But only on minor panels

And in small patches

But you still get credit as a background artist so you’re happy

You paint his nails a lot

He doesn’t mind

his favorite color is a dark green like his hair, though he also enjoys gold to match his stand

#this also hasn't been looked over #so uhhh good luck reading it #jjba #jojos #rohan kishibe #rohan #rohan x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #jjba part 4 #jojos bizarre adventure diamond is unbreakable #jjba diu #jjba x reader

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afishyperson · 5 years ago

Text

I did that thing where my friends react to the fallout companions so...

Fallout 4 Companions as described by my friends

Cait

-She looks like the type of person to say she’s not hungry but eat all of the food you order. She just seems like a nasty stuck up person. This is because she’s ginger and fingers have no souls. Her name is Ginger.

-Elizabeth: Rich white girl who ran away from home to be independent but immediately regrets it”

- She looks like a random hobo women on the street who’d be dancing and someone would pass by her and sing “somebody come get her she’s dancing like a stripper”

Curie

-she may or may not look like a type of Karen

-She looks like emo Snow White, but things didn’t work out for her in the end.

-Mrs. Bell: your creepy librarian who believes shes vital to your school even tho she doesn’t do anything

Codsworth

-knock off star wars character

-Even though he can’t eat, he’d still hog all of the chicken nuggets. He may look cute on the outside but inside he wants the world to crumble.

-Looks like one of the junk pieces/bad robot from the movie robots

Danse

-This one is the flirt of the group, but no one finds him attractive. It won’t stop him from trying though.

-Looks like that guy from the little prince who crashed landed into the dessert

-confused astronaut man who just wants his normal food back and not his dried up almonds they packed on the rocket

Deacon

-This is a boy who thinks he’s a Chad

-A try hard cool dad wannabe who is divorced with the baby mama

-uncle john who comes to family events once every 10 years

Hancock

-The red avengers guy

-Oof he looks like darth vadar and Voldemort but in one person

-a character from either lord of the rings or harry potter but he feels upset because no one remembers him from the film

Piper

-A girl who is from somewhere else but gives tours to ppl around Spain

-This is the cool one of the group. She can talk to everyone easily but would rather not. Everyone wants to be friends with her but all she wants is some god damn peace and quiet

-journalist rebecca who writes irrelevant news about her school

Nick Valentine

-He’s the dumb blonde

-He’s an old yeehaw gang member

-detective who hates his job and wants to go to bed

Preston

-Your friendly neighborhood sheriff who is lowkey annoying

-knock off indiana jones

-He looks like he starred in old town road

MacCready

-introverted next door neighbor. you never see him leave his house

-He was the weird kid in the back of the class blowing his nose when he was a child

-I’m gonna name him Trevor. He’s weird and quiet and secretly a murderer. He’s the kind of man that has a white van that says “free candy”

X6-88

-He’s stuck in a lady Gaga music video

-men in black but in knight costumes

-He wants to look intimidating but he just looks gay

Strong

-Thanos and the hulk had an affair

-Hulk after aging 100 years

-hulks underated bröther

Dogmeat

-DOG MEAT. THIS CHILD WOULD KILL THE OTHERS TO GIVE ME A CHICKEN NUGGET. ID RISK MY LIFE FOR HIM (i’d send her pictures of dogmeat while i was playing. she was very enthralled by him.)

-the true murderer but nobody suspected him because he was too cute

-He has two modes: bestest boy or I’m going to eat ur toes no inbetween

God, I love them.

#fallout #fallout 4 #nick valentine #hancock #curie #fo4 #fo4 maccready #deacon fo4 #fo4 piper #fo4 preston #fo4 cait #codsworth #fallout 4 companions #paladin danse #fo4 danse #thank you amigos #fo4 dogmeat #fo4 strong #fo4 x6-88

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shameless-selfship-indulgence · 4 years ago

Text

Girl Help Part 2

I wrote this in a fucking frenzy

there’s no, like, content worth warning about in this one though

"calais," said Marvus. "cuh-LIE-is. soundz like a troll name."

"A troll name?" asked Calais.

"fo sho babe," said Marvus. "six n six. marvus xoloto. trizza tethis. all part o da fxxked up hellawhack shiznack dat dictates r planets whole history n shit. twelves all over da dam place."

"Is that what you are?" asked Calais. "A...troll?"

Marvus blinked at her, a slow, lizard-like blink. He gave a low whistle. "dam we gotta start w da basics here."

The planet was called Alternia, the species was called trolls. The entire society revolved around a rigid caste system based on blood color, which divided trolls into twelve distinct subtypes with different physical traits. Red was at the bottom, Fuchsia at the top.

"its all bullshit tho," he added at the end. There was a flash of something in his eyes.

"What was that thing you were doing?" asked Calais. "Earlier. To me."

Did Marvus stiffen ever so slightly? Was that a flare in his nostrils? His eyes flicked up and down Calais with lightning speed before he leaned back with affected nonchalance.

"chucklevoodoos," he said. There was something guarded in his voice.

Calais blinked at him for a second, hoping that the jumble of noise he had just poured at them would sort itself out. No luck.

"Chuck-a-what?"

"chuck-el-voo-doos," said Marvus again. "purpleblood shit. wuz doin it 2 every1, not jus u."

"You mean like...mind control?" Calais guessed.

Marvus frowned. "controlz a strong word 4 it, my dude. its more like vibez."

Calais suddenly understood something.

Should she say it? She usually liked to have her cards on the table. She did it as often as she could, in the hopes that the other person would do the same. She got the feeling this man wouldn't, though.

But then again, he already had all the power in this situation. The only hope that she had was to try to build some sort of relationship with him, and she liked it when those were built on trust. Besides, she liked being honest better. Easier to remember her answers.

But still, a voice in the back of her head screamed at her to think it through a bit more, even as she opened her mouth and blurted out-

"You don't like that you can't control me."

Marvus looked slightly taken aback. He narrowed his eyes a bit. "no, I don't," he said slowly. Candidly. His hand started to edge towards his cane.

Oh shit, he thought she was trying to flex on him. Calais started to fumble, multiple different de-escalators and disclaimers colliding on the way out of her mouth and throwing random sounds everywhere.

Eventually she managed to concentrate enough to form real words.

"I-I mean you CAN," said Calais. "You CAN control me. I just hate it. I hate it enough that I can tell that it's happening."

Marvus paused. Calais continued, trying to explain everything in a rush.

"Not that it feels bad. It feels good. That's what I hate about it. I can tell in my head that it's not how I'd normally feel. I know that normally I'd be...repulsed. Normally I'd have a sense of...boundaries. And what's gross and what's not. And whatever the chuckle thing does, it doesn't stop me from being scared. I'm always scared of that."

"scared of wat?" Marvus asked. His teeth glinted in a smirk. "gettin ur pail on?"

"My what?"

"dam. dunno wat pailing is? gettin freaky, babe. all concupiscent n shit."

"Oh. I mean. Yeah? I'm kind of scared of it...I mean." Calais stress stimmed a little. "It's more that I'm scared of not being in control? Like, did you know that being horny actively lowers your disgust response? Even without the voodoos or whatever. Literally, the only reason that we can enjoy reproducing is because we no longer have an accurate sense of what's gross and what isn't. That's what I don't like. The idea that I could be in a situation where I'm doing all these, just. Objectively disgusting things? And LIKING it? And not being able to tell that it's nasty? Or even being able to tell and not caring. I hate it. I hate it so much. It scares me. And I definitely don't want to be like that around another person."

"huh," said Marvus. "never met any1 else like dat."

Calais shrugged. "Maybe because they don't come to whatever it was you were doing."

"nah," said Marvus. "I seen ppl roll up who didn't want 2 b there. they come around in the end." He tilted his head at them. "prolly cause ur an alien," he said, seeming to decide it as he said it. "pailing n murder r pretty normal mental states 4 us. disinhibition doesn't bother ppl."

He looked a little more relaxed now for having come to this conclusion. Calais figured that was a good thing.

"so wat r u?" he asked.

"Oh! Um. We call ourselves humans," said Calais. "Uh, we all have the same blood color, so that's not a thing...and I'm pretty sure nobody has any psychic powers, either."

"dam. wat do u do then?"

"Uh..." Calais puffed air through her cheeks. "I dunno. I'm not sure what to tell you. Whatever it is would be completely normal for me, so..."

"wat color's ur blood?"

"Um, red?" said Calais.

Marvus winced, but he was smiling. "ooh. dats gonna b rough."

"Yeah, I was gonna say..." Calais curled into herself a little, then remembered her ribs and winced, stopping up short.

"how'd u get here?" asked Marvus.

"I...have no idea," said Calais. She blinked. "I don't know. I don't know at all. I was suddenly just. Here."

"where were u b4?"

Calais looked around, as if the answer were written somewhere in the room. "I...I don't know!" she exclaimed. "I mean, I must have been somewhere, but I don't...I can't..." she started to wring her hands.

"woah, woah, babe, calm down," said Marvus, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. "it's all gonna b ok."

Calais shied away from him instinctively. He was awfully close. But she realized that the fact that this bothered her was a good thing.

"What did you see?" she asked.

Marvus shrugged. "u weren't there. then u were."

Calais wondered briefly if he was telling the truth. But even if he weren't, there was no way they would be able to tell. They would have to take him at his word.

"That's...not very helpful," they said absently.

Marvus laughed. "guess not. dam."

"I don't know what I was doing before I came here, I don't know how I got here, and I don't know how to get back." Calais thought for a bit, chewing her lip. "M-maybe someone at the concert saw? Someone in the mosh pit?"

"m tellin u babe, there was nuthin 2 c," said Marvus.

"Can we...check?" Calais asked carefully, looking warily at her clown host.

Marvus smiled, a somewhat easygoing smile that was nevertheless a little too toothy. "my concerts r wild, my dude," he said. "they was deffs all distracted. n they're all prolly all hells 2 the indisposed atm."

Calais dimly remembered the general reaction - or lack of reaction - to their appearance and realized that this was probably true.

Calais looked at Marvus, running calculations in her head. She was starting to realize how this was going to go, although she didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to need him. But she needed somebody, and...

"u don't have anywhere 2 go, do u," said Marvus. It wasn't really a question.

Calais flinched. "Yes," they said.

Marvus drummed his fingertips against the table he was leaning on. They clicked on the wood. Calais realized that his fingernails were claws and swallowed hard.

. "tell u wat, babe," said Marvus. "m on the homeward part of my tour atm. y don't u come w me n we'll see if we can figure out how 2 get u home."

Calais closed their eyes and took a deep breath. Don't think about the creepy clown, don't think about how you feel, just consider him, consider yourself, consider the situation, there's no need to be scared if you just figure out what's going on and why you're afraid...

Blessedly, Marvus let her sit there in shut-eyed silence until she was able to put her thoughts together and turn to him.

Direct communication. It was something that she liked.

"You want to keep me near you," she said. "You don't know what to make of me, and you want me in...in, like, your hand."

"well yh," said Marvus. "dats all true. but dat doesn't mean it can't b mutually beneficial, ufeelme? yeah ur an alien n u might b useful n shit but dat doesn't mean I can't help u 2. u do need somewhere to stay right? alternia is vy dangerous. 'specially 4 mutants n aliens. 'specially 4 mutants n aliens w red blood."

"I do need your help," said Calais. "I just..." pain and trauma emboldened her; fear wasn't enough to keep her quiet. "I just don't want you to pretend your motives aren't selfish. I don't want you to pretend anything. It's okay that you want to use me...I mean, it's not okay, but I don't exactly have a choice and I probably can't fight you so at the very least I want to know that that's what's happening, get it?"

She picked at flecks of teal under her fingernails and realized for the first time that it was blood. Their stomach lurched and they froze, setting their hand back down. "I'll probably be more cooperative than you think," she said quietly. "As long as I know what I'm getting into. I mean. When you manipulate someone, you want to make them feel at ease, right? Like they can trust you? So they'll do what you want? Well, I'll feel way more at ease if I think I can trust you. If I know you're telling the truth. Even if it's bad. So just...don't try to sell me anything. Do you understand?"

She glanced up at Marvus. He was shaking his head slowly. "ur a rlly weird alien," he said. "sure. if dats wat u want."

"Do you promise?" asked Calais.

Marvus nodded. "fo sho, babe. promise. but m not tryna use u. not yet @ least. ur a wild card. jus wanna keep an eye on u 4 now."

"Right," said Calais.

"so it's a deal, then?" asked Marvus with a smirk. He held out his hand.

Calais looked at his hand, then back up to his face. Hesitated. Then reached out and took his hand.

Marvus' grip was strong, and his hand seemed to swallow up her own. Calais strengthened her grip, but she got the feeling that no matter how tight she squeezed, it wouldn't impress him.

He grinned at her and gave her hand a quick up and down shake. She seriously doubted that he was trying to make a show of strength, but it still felt as though he could wrench her shoulder from its socket, just by shaking her hand.

"alrite then. it's a deal," he said.

Calais pulled their arm back against her chest. A deal.

This creature was, evidently, not Satan. Just an alien with horns and freaky mind powers. But that didn't keep the phrase "deal with the devil" from reverberating wryly through her mind.

#Selfship hours #calais' words #💜 Clownfucker 💜

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mccnyoongi · 5 years ago

Note

the yoongi thigh riding drabble 😫😫😫 sis ur tryna kill me alsooo i know u said ur trying not to go for the “riding yoongi in his studio chair” trope however i FULLY support indulging in this trope 😉 i rlly love ur writing tho omg 🥰

+ anon said: hi im uh read your latest work and rEALLY LIKED IT so can i please request riding yoongi in his studio chair??? thanks if you would posts it!

+ another anon said: yoongi drabble, were where y / n and he have sex in his studio, pls?

hsfjksfh TWIST MY ARm why dont u !! (i told yall id do nasty soon) now i wanna write a multi-chaptered undergroundrapper!yoongi sjkfjsdf

⇢ word count: 2K+ (lmao)

⇢ warnings: unprotected sex, dom!yoongi, starts SUPER soft then devolves into filth, undergroundrapper!yoongi bc ion like writing idol!au skdfjsdfk, degradation, yoongi’s hands

Yoongi’s passion has always been one of your favourite things about him- if he cares about something, he’ll give his all to it. Thankfully you fall under that category. The only question is whether you’re first or second on the list, constantly competing with his music.

With Yoongi garnering a fair amount of success from his life as an underground rapper, you understand why it’s starting to take over more and more of his life, you really do. You loved Yoongi, you loved his music. But you couldn’t help but start to… miss your boyfriend. A sad irony that you could miss the man who’s been, as of late, spending the majority of his time in his ‘studio,’ aka the spare room of your shared apartment that he said was about a quarter the size of a proper studio.

How could you miss someone that was less than fifteen feet away from you, two doors away? You weren’t sure that it was possible until now, lying in bed, Yoongi’s side cold and the offensive red light of your bedside alarm clock telling you it’s far past the time your boyfriend promised he’d be in bed by. You sigh, sitting up, knowing that you wouldn’t get any sleep if you just sat there and stewed in your negativity. So instead you’d seek him out.

Thankfully there isn’t a lock on the door, he hasn’t gotten around to putting one in yet. You know the day will come soon, since last time your friends were over, Jungkook and Jimin had managed to sneak their way in, looking like guilty puppies when Yoongi had caught them.

Lock or not, Yoongi didn’t even hear you, ears covered by his almost comically oversized headphones, his dyed blonde head bobbing to whatever beat he’s working on at the moment. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of your sweet boy so immersed in the thing he’s dedicated his life to.

He’s only made aware of your presence when you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind. He finally takes those ridiculous headphones off, pausing the track and letting you rest your chin on the top of his head.

You look at the two monitors in front of him as though you have any idea what’s going on on the screens. “Hard at work, huh genius?”

You feel him cock his head under you and he hums gently, one of his large hands- something about him you first fell in love with when you saw it, pale and slender, gripping a microphone on stage- grabbing at yours. “Sorry,” He mumbles, and you can tell by the timber and the gruffness of his voice that he hasn’t spoken a word since he came into this room a couple of hours ago. “Lose track of time in this room. No windows.”

“S’okay Yoon. Just missed you is all.”

Your words are innocent but they tug at his heart and make him shut his eyes for a moment. He never wants to make you feel like second best, but the way he falls into things sometimes makes him forget that anything else exists in the world. But now he wants to be close to you, to touch you, to make it all up to you.

“C’mere,” He’s tugging at the hand he has in his grip, and he keeps tugging until you’ve circled around his chair to stand in front of him. “Up on my lap, babe.” An offer you couldn’t refuse. So you don’t.

You’re straddling him now, well-toned but not overtly muscular thighs under you- a familiar and welcoming seat of yours. His warmth is comforting to you and vice versa. “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” You don’t want to say yes, afraid of hurting his feelings but the pout that graces your features gives it all away.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” One of his large hands comes up to cup your face, and he coos softly when you lean and nuzzle into his palm, as if he isn’t thinking of all the filthy and depraved things he’s been missing out on with you while he’s been cooped up in his studio. “‘M gonna make it up to you.”

And then his mouth is on yours, and you’re reminded why you love kissing Min Yoongi so much. He’s careful and intense, every movement backed by the same confidence and dominance he exudes when he’s on stage. It’s when you deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, skilled and tactful, that you realize you weren’t just here for a quick visit.

“Yoongi,” You murmur as soon as he’s pulling back, detaching your mouths. You’re momentarily hypnotized by the string of spit that still connects the two of you, staring at it until it breaks. Yoongi notices this fascination of yours, and give you a smirk you regret ever confessing to him you find sexy.

“Are you getting all desperate for me, silly girl? Hm?” You can’t help but rut your hips against his own at the words, loving the way they fall out of his mouth so lazily but with as much purpose as a presidential speech. “So needy ‘nd squirmy for me… Love seeing you so fucking desperate, you know.” His hands are travelling up your sleep shirt- aka an old band shirt of his that you had staked your claim over before the two of you had even moved in together.

His hands don’t go where more inexperienced ones might immediately go but instead traverse up and down your back, leaving delicious goosebumps in their wake. You shiver both from the feeling, and from the anticipation of what’s to come. You go to take your shirt off but are stopped by two hands circled around your wrists. “Patience,” Yoongi’s voice is next to your ear now, as he’s pulled you down using the grip he has on you.

He’s made it clear that while you may be on top of him, he’s the one with control. And he’s fucking revelling in it, you can see it in the sparkle in his eyes as he lets go of your wrists. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you, I promise,” You trust him wholeheartedly, and communicate this with a nod. You know he understands when his hands slide down, under your shirt once more, this time staying far lower.

“Soaking wet and I’ve barely even done anything,” He’s so cocky and you should be annoyed but you can’t find it in you, instead you feel yourself get even hotter at his words. “Panties off, little girl.”

His tone leaves no room for arguing, so you scramble to stand up and follow his demands, panties lost somewhere behind him. You go to get back onto your spot on his lap, missing it already, but are stopped once more by his hands. One is on your waist, holding you steady, only using a portion of its strength and the other is on your face, squishing your cheeks, opening your mouth and pushing your lips out obscenely.

He looks like he’s still deciding what the hell to do with you, how hard to go. Then he’s cocking his head, brazen smirk back on his face as he pushes you down to your knees. The carpeting immediately makes the position uncomfortable as you feel it grating against the skin of your knees. But any discomfort is immediately quelled, or, at least, forgotten, at the sight and sound of Yoongi undoing his belt in front of you- any thoughts of your knees and carpet burn are replaced with the thoughts of Yoongi’s cock. He had that effect on you.

He chuckled at the look in your eyes, finally releasing himself from the confines of his jeans. He sighs at the release, cold air hitting his skin a shock to his rock hard dick. “Practically fucking drooling for this cock, aren’t you?” You nod earnestly and lean forward, towards his cock where his hand works over it lazily. He grabs a fistful of your hair with his other hand, withholding you from what you really want. “So fucking desperate, you slut. You wanna suck my cock so bad? You better do a good fucking job of it, convince me you deserve it in that slutty cunt of yours.”

You barely have time to think about how quickly he shifted from the sweet, loving Yoongi you normally know to this darker version of Yoongi, the one that comes out whenever he’s properly turned on before his hand that’s fisted in your hair is dragging you toward his achingly hard cock. You open your mouth, ready and willing, and mouth at his tip, letting your spit, your drool, collect and fall over it, dripping down the rest of his impressive length. You pull back to give the tip a gentle kiss, barely holding back a giggle when it jumps angrily at you

He breathes out heavily from his spot above you and yanks you back off his cock. “You wanna be a messy fucking tease? Fine. Open your mouth. Now,” You do as he says, not wanting to anger him further.

He collects spit in his own mouth, and you're made to sit and wait patiently, hair a mess and mouth wide open. You don’t have to wait long until he spits into your mouth, the act so filthy, so dirty, you can only close your eyes and whimper, so turned on from it all that you can feel your own wetness starting to drip down your thighs. Messy. “Don’t swallow,” He doesn’t need to explain more as he leads you back to his cock.

You let the combination of your and his spit fall onto his cock, the act obscene but astoundingly erotic. You finally start to swallow down his length like you know he wants, your hands coming up to help. Both of his hands are in your hair now, entirely controlling your actions, the speed of which your sucking his cock.

He finally pushes you down as far as he can, your hands falling to his thighs. Your nose is against his stomach, tickled by the sparse amount of hair there. You can barely breathe from this position, but you take it if only for the groans you hear tumble out of his mouth. “Such a good girl, my best fucking slut,” You moan at the praise, the vibrations making his head fall back on his chair. There’s drool covering both him and your face now, tears welling at the corners of your eyes from the intensity, and every second you can feel yourself getting wetter.

His hands fall slack on your hair, but you don’t pull back just yet, instead, taking the opportunity to swallow around him once, twice, three times. He yanks you off of his cock, his breathing ragged and heavy. He looks at you with a half-lidded gaze. “Up.”

It’s only one word, but he doesn’t need anymore, not with a commanding tone like that. You get back on his lap, immediately calmed and comforted by the spot. He finally tears off the shirt, now wrinkled and covered in drool and precum.

“Now fucking sit on it,” And you can hardly hold yourself back, eagerly lifting yourself up and positioning the head of his cock against your slick entrance. You let yourself fall, the whole of him filling you up perfectly, and so so good.

Yours and Yoongi’s groans mingle together in an unrivalled harmony, the two of you still for a moment as you bask in the feeling. “Being such a good fucking girl,” His hands work up and down your sides. “Now fuck yourself on my cock, and don’t you dare stop. Don’t stop until you full of my fucking cum, ‘till you’re my perfect, messy bitch.”

You start slowly, lifting yourself up until barely an inch is left in your pussy, and drop all the way back down. You continue like this, deep, strong strokes, slowly speeding up until your bouncing on his lap, the obscene sounds of the two of you filling the room, your very own symphony when combined with your groans.

“So good, baby, so fucking good, bouncing on my cock, gonna make such a fucking mess out of you, yeah?” He’s lifting his hips to meet yours, making every downstroke that much more intense.

He lands a spank on your ass, then another, the sharp pain only serving to make you wetter and bounce on him harder. He chuckles in between moans. “You like that, huh? You’ll take anything I give you, ‘cause you’re my perfect little whore.”

You can feel the crescendo coming, building up like a tsunami. “Yoongi- Yoongi please, please, you have to let me come,” Any other time you’d have reservations about begging, but when it came to Yoongi, all pride was left at the door. “Need it.”

“I have to? I don’t have to do anything, whore,” His hand is back on your face, lips puckering out again. You nod in desperate agreement. He’s collecting spit in his mouth once more and you open your mouth wider in anticipation of what’s about to come. He spits in your mouth again, this time wanting you to swallow. It’s a dirty act, so vulgar, and you both groan at the site.

“You see that, slut? You swallow my spit, bounce on my cock and cum for me, all when I fucking tell you to? You understand?”“Yes, Yoongi I do, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry, jus’ lemme cum.”

“Yeah, yeah, do it, fucking come for me.”

And cum you do, the feeling washing over you like nothing else, eyes closing and your head burrowing itself into Yoongi’s neck, the smell of his sweat comforting. You can hear Yoongi talking himself and you through your orgasms, but the words are too much for you to focus on. You can only feel his cum fill you up, already starting to spill out of you.

You’re both panting in the aftermath, his hands, once harsh, now softly caressing your back. The two of you are slick and sticky with sweat, but it’s the last thing on your minds.

“You still need to work on that song or are you finally gonna come to bed?”

“Please, neither of us are leaving that bed for the next 48 hours, besides to get the door for the take out we order.”

“Sounds perfect.”

#Anonymous #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts drabble #yoongi drabble #baby writes #ik this is over 1000 words i really couldn't help myself #this is where i've been the last 2 days #sfkjfshd yikes!

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quinnybee-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 5/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 5 Summary: Hizashi uses the first of his five favors, and some interesting new complications are uncovered along the way.

Part 1 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 3 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 4 on Tumblr / AO3

On AO3

The night was cold and quiet and empty other than Shouta and the two burglars he was silently tailing through the city park. It was almost a smart move on their part to cut through the far edge of the park, away from the main road swarming with police at the site of the corner store they’d broken into. The trees were dense enough to make visibility an issue outside of the hazy halos of light from the lamps along the path and the recently-mowed grass was still short enough to not give their footsteps away. But they hadn’t accounted for someone passing by while listening to police radio dispatches as they skittered away from the crime scene and it was about to make things much more difficult for them.

Getting back out onto the streets felt like finally slipping through the bars of a tiny cage he’d been trapped in. Yamada and his stupid wager still hovered over his head like the Ghost of Bad Choices Past, but Shouta refused to let it disrupt his routines any more than it already had. He crept along in the burglars’ wake, taking long, slow strides to avoid making any noise. The two of them had stopped under the tight row of trees near the park fence to catch their breath. Shouta reached the tree beside the one they were crouched under and pulled himself up through the branches until he reached where the park’s faux-natural manicuring brought the treetops close enough to almost touch. He had a decent vantage point from here, hidden by leaves and the rattling of branches in the night air. The two burglars didn’t look much older than their early twenties at the most, a couple of punk brats diving in way over their heads. Petty criminals were getting bolder and bolder these days, Shouta thought with a frown. They scuttled around in the shadows unbothered while flashier villains took up all of the city’s heroes’ time and energy. Crafty, but not necessarily smart. Activating his Quirk while he could see them but the branches still blocked them from seeing him, Shouta did a quick pat-down inventory of his supplies; the bolases and gags were in their designated hidden pockets at his waist, his zip ties hidden down the back of one boot and his knife stowed in the other, and a spare length of rope sitting in a looped coil around his neck under the collar of his jumpsuit. After the endless hassle his initial run-in with Yamada had caused him in the intervening weeks he was taking no chances.

The two below him were bickering in sharp hissing whispers. One was trying to convince the other that they still had more than enough time and good luck to slip back out of the park and knock over somewhere else before they called it quits for the night. The other was whisper-shouting back that his partner was crazy and they needed to make a break for their safe house right this second before the cops caught wise. He would need to be target number one, Shouta decided. Ego and bravado would make the first one stand his ground and pick a fight, but the other was almost guaranteed to spook and take off if Shouta didn’t take secure him first. Shouta eased a step onto the branch that got the closest to the next tree, readying himself to jump. A second later he froze, jaw locked against the startled gasp stuck in the back of his throat. His phone, tucked away in a pocket within a pocket under his arm, decided now was the perfect time to vibrate hard against his ribs in an insistent, rhythmic ringing. Shouta held his breath as the vibrations ground against bone, pressing his free hand against the pocket to make sure it didn’t make any sound. Finally the call clicked off and he let the breath go in a slow sigh. Not a moment later, though, the ringing began again. Shouta let his brain run through a long, florid string of every swear word he knew as he tried to refocus through the distraction. With his luck it was work calling him in to cover yet another overnight shift while an especially nasty cold ran rampant through the office, but he didn’t have time to investigate. Shouta slid forward, bracing his feet before making the short jump across to the burglars’ tree. He landed a little too hard in his haste and the more jittery one let out a startled squeak.

“Okay, that was definitely not a fucking squirrel!” he hissed as Shouta froze in the foliage above them.

“Would you stop being such a coward?” the braver one snorted. “You don’t have to lose your mind every time a leaf falls. If there was anyone else here I would have heard them by now, remember? If I knew you’d be such a chickenshit about this I would’ve left you for the cops!”

“Screw you for real, dude. Your plan was horseshit without me.”

“And the rest of my night’s been horseshit with you. Shut up and stop jumping at shadows before I knock your ass out myself,” the braver one retorted. “I’m gonna go make sure the road’s clear. Stay here and stay quiet.”

The jittery one muttered something acidic under his breath as his partner skirted the park fence to go check their escape route. Shouta ignored the itch of rapid-fire text alerts from his phone and quickly took advantage of the two splitting up. He dropped down behind the jittery one. As expected, the burglar jumped and whipped at the sound of his landing. He managed to suck in a hard breath and open his mouth to scream for his partner before Shouta knocked the wind out of him with a sharp shot to his sternum. As the burglar doubled over Shouta brought his elbow down hard against the back of his skull. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head as his knees instantly buckled and he dropped to the ground. Shouta took his collar in both hands and dragged him to the far side of the tree. He secured the unconscious man and the wrists and ankles with zip ties, binding his arms to his chest with a length of rope and sliding a cloth gag into his slack mouth just in case. His partner had fully disappeared down the park path but the duffle bag full of their take for the night guaranteed he wouldn’t be gone for too long. Shouta hefted himself back up into the tree to wait, pulling out his phone to see what in the world was so urgent.

He had two missed calls and a series of texts, all from an unknown number. As soon as he saw that the first text read I need a favor Shouta could feel a headache settling into the base of his skull.

I need a favor.

???

Do you have a degausser?

Really big magnet?

Hand drill/screwdriver should work too?

A sense of impending dread crept up the back of Shouta’s neck at the thought of what Yamada might have planned. Sighing, he texted back no no yes. His ears pricked up as he heard quiet grumbling approaching from the direction the braver burglar had wandered off in.

Perf! @ urs? Yamada asked.

“Got to be kidding me,” the burglar muttered as he came back into view.

not there out busy Shouta sent back. He activated his Quirk when he got a clear eyeline on the burglar and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“If you bailed on me, I swear to god…” the burglar muttered loudly.

Shouta eased his way back down onto the ground as the man continued to berate his absent partner in a furious whisper. He drew up short and rounded on Shouta as he finally noticed he was being followed. A momentary flash of rebuking anger flickered across his face before his expression fell to panicked surprise.

“What the--”

Shouta narrowly dodged a wide punch aimed squarely at his face. As expected, this one was more stubborn and quicker to react than his partner had been. Shouta ducked low and threw his shoulder up under the man’s ribs, winding him and knocking him back. The man kicked out as he staggered, managing to knee Shouta in the jaw. He tried to regain ground by grabbing Shouta by the hood but gave a frustrated groan as it slipped back and away in his hand. Shouta struck back with a hard fist to the man’s knee, reaching up with his other hand to grab the man’s wrist and wrench it to the side. The man fully overbalanced this time, dropping in a tangled, struggling heap with a yowl as Shouta held him down. Shouta managed to bind his hands together behind his back, but getting him to be quiet and stop flailing his legs was an entirely different story.

“Get off me, you psycho! What the fuck are you doing?” the man barked. He bit Shouta on the hand hard enough to draw blood as Shouta tried to gag him. Shouta pulled his hand free with a sharp hiss of pain and the man laughed darkly. “Try it again, I d--” His voice cut off in a doglike yelp as Shouta brought cupped hands slamming against his ears in a full-force thunderclap. He coughed out a few syllabic noises that were almost words and stopped squirming as the disorientation set in. Shouta stuffed the gag into his mouth and tied it in place before zip-tying his feet and wrestling him into a more convenient position.

Shouta dragged both men out the small side entrance to the park and out onto the empty service road. He tied them together around the pole of a roadside assistance phone and set the dufflebag on the flat solar panel on top. Shouta made sure they would stay secure until someone came to get them, then took the phone off the hook and pressed the button for the operator. He set the phone handset down as it began to ring and walked away quickly before anyone could pick up. As he reached the junction with the main road, Shouta dug out his pocket radio and earbuds and tuned into the usual police scanner frequency.

“--repeat, fire service requesting assistance with possible criminal invasion at Iwata residence…”

The premonition of dread was back. Shouta pulled out his phone to see if Yamada had answered back.

Same. @ urs 1 hr?

At least he had enough decorum left to not just let himself in uninvited, Shouta thought with a low sigh as new reports drifted in. 1 hr, he confirmed. It was more or less enough time to finish his patrol, maybe squeeze in a shower, and get some ice on the welt he could already feel raising on his jaw. A criminally short night, especially given how long he had been absent, but it looked like that couldn’t be helped.

The house was an obvious old-money relic, squatting in stately stubbornness amongst the cookie-cutter modern houses around it. An eight-foot-tall hardwood fence boxed it in on all sides, just barely curbing the sprawl of the pristine relaxation garden that surrounded it. It was like walking onto a period drama set piece someone had forgotten to tear down; the whole place smacked of respectable artifice, right down to the reinforced steel gate doors patterned to look like antique wood and the security keypad hidden inside the pillar next to them. Hizashi wondered if Iwata actually thought he was being inconspicuous or if he simply knew he had enough money and influence to not have to be.

The manor’s front door slid open as Hizashi approached up the main garden path. The man in the doorway was fifty at a guess and about half a foot shorter than Hizashi, but carried his stockiness with a relaxed bravado that made up the difference. His smile held the kind of cold benevolence that told desperate people “of course I can help you, you just have to help me help you first”.

“I saw you coming,” the man said a little smugly, gesturing to the smartphone in his hand.

Security system controlled by an app, Hizashi noted, keeping his answering smile neutral. “You must be Mr. Iwata,” he said, bowing.

“And you’re Seguchi’s contact,” Iwata replied, inclining his head. He gave Hizashi a slightly condescending once-over, then asked, “What should I call you?”

“‘Bird’ is fine,” Hizashi said. “They call me ‘Mockingbird’ but that’s a bit much to keep saying over and over. I’d hate to waste your time like that.”

Iwata seemed to find the quasi-flattery amusing, waving for Hizashi to follow as he began to walk around the manor’s outside deck.”You came remarkably highly recommended,” Iwata said as they walked.

“Oh?” Hizashi bit back a smirk at that; he’d made sure he would. With Hebiko and her lot keeping Seguchi’s arrest under wraps to avoid outside power plays it hadn’t taken much more than a few phone calls and a passable Seguchi impression to invite himself into the confidence of several key people from Seguchi’s address book.

“Seguchi thinks a lot of your skills,” Iwata said, nodding thoughtfully. “Have you worked with many others in the business?”

“No one of note other than Seguchi. I was surprised when he handed off this assignment if I’m honest, he’s never mentioned anything about there being anyone senior to him before. But I’m sure he was just banking on your reputation speaking for itself, of course,” Hizashi said, trying to sound appropriately embarrassed by his “accidental slip”.

Iwata didn’t reply, but the tightening in his jaw at the remark was all the confirmation he needed. When he’d reverted the files on the flash drive Hebiko had planted on him, Hizashi found that all the most acerbic communications seemed to be between Seguchi and Iwata. Iwata was only Seguchi’s senior by at most half a rung, but that half rung had obviously been taken in blood and fire and Iwata had no intention of letting anyone forget his place relative to their own. Bruising his ego in Seguchi’s name was a cheap move but Hizashi wasn’t one to let a good opportunity go to waste.

“You aren’t as much of a talker as Seguchi seems to think you are,” Iwata commented as they reached the back of the house. A squat faux-antique addition about the size of a walk-in closet stuck out from the back corner of the house ahead of them; if it hadn’t been so obviously hand-distressed up close it would have seemed like the cut off end of a wing of the house that had been excised to make it fit the shape of the city block.

“Only when the job calls for it,” Hizashi said, shrugging. “Other than Seguchi most people would rather pay me to keep my mouth shut about the things they have me do.”

Iwata chuckled. He slid a section of the door frame aside to reveal an electronic lock; a quick wave of his cell phone over it and the light flicked from red to green and a deadbolt slid back with a clunk.

“Impressive,” Hizashi commented. Iwata smirked.

“After you,” he replied, waving Hizashi inside.

Beyond the door was a short, steep flight of stairs with a sharp twist in the middle that lead down into a cellar under the main house. The walls had been reinforced with concrete to make a main room no bigger than a studio apartment. There were two doors on the far wall that lead into additional spaces; one was shut with the same type of electronic lock on the door as the entrance above ground and the other appeared to be a secure panic room with a recessed steel door. Iwata motioned for Hizashi to follow him into the panic room. The walls were bare white-painted concrete except for the wall across from the sleek hardwood executive desk, which was taken up by a series of large flat screen security monitors that all clicked off in unison as Iwata pressed something on his phone screen.

Iwata sat down in the plush leather chair behind the desk and gestured toward another less impressive wooden chair across from him. “Have a seat,” he said, setting his phone down on the desk and opening the laptop’s lid. The phone’s screen dimmed but didn’t turn completely off; Hizashi wondered if it needed to be kept on to run the security system without the wall of monitors. He tried to seem relaxed but curious, giving the room a quick once-over as he sat down. As a home office it was a bit on the dungeon-ish side but as a bunker it fit the bill pretty well. “I imagine Seguchi filled you in on the tasks I need assistance with?” Iwata asked. When Hizashi shook his head, Iwata’s jaw tightened in annoyance again.

“That isn’t really how Seguchi runs things,” Hizashi said apologetically. “He leaves it up to the client to specify the uh. Specifics. He likes to just be the coordinator. He mentioned something about a database needing opened or filled or some such but otherwise…” Hizashi trailed off with a head shake and a “what can you do” shrug.

“And you took the job anyway?” Iwata asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I go where the money’s coming from,” Hizashi said simply. “Seguchi has some...flaws in how he delivers information but he has useful connections to less lackluster potential employers.” His careful balance of badmouthing and asskissing seemed to be hitting right on target. Every old money boss Hizashi had ever worked for had been a sucker for a lippy, overly ambitious two-timer ready to throw their old employer under the bus for the chance to trade up; Iwata didn’t visibly preen, but the smirk he let slip was proof enough that he was no different.

“In any case, Seguchi seems very sure you’re the man who can track down information that other people can’t find,” Iwata said.

“I do what I can, depending on what you want to get out of it,” Hizashi said carefully. “I just need to know what I’m looking for and how much of it I need to find.”

Iwata’s grin widened, seeming pleased by the apparent bravado. He turned the laptop around to display a list of thirty or forty names, each with a sum of money in red font in the column next to it. “I want everything you can find about everyone on this list,” he said. “They’re of...certain interest to me, and have all decided they would rather not stay in touch as often as they should.”

Hizashi held in a snort, privately impressed that the people on the list had managed to evade Iwata long enough for him to get this desperate. He stood to lean over the desk, quickly scrolling through to get an idea of the job. The list seemed to be all men, and all of them had built up at least a million yen in debt. A few, however, were marked with a third column that showed the owed amount or slightly more in black with a plus sign and the repayment date.

“Some of these accounts look a bit on the settled side,” Hizashi said lightly, not looking up from the screen.

“I’ve never been one to hold back offers of future help to people I know have needed it in the past,” Iwata said, his tone sharpening. “And besides, you can never trust these machines to keep an honest count these days. A computer record might say they’re paid up but who’s to say there isn’t a faulty memory or two somewhere along the line?”

When Hizashi had arrived that night, all he had really been interested in was getting a feel for how useful Iwata might be as a source of information and whether or not he would be a viable defense against retaliation when Seguchi inevitably bought his way out of prison. Now, however, the boiling spike of sudden fury in the pit of his stomach decided that Iwata was going to end the night sans his stockpile of names of interest, his backup drives, and his freedom if the opportunity presented itself.

“A fair deal, all things considered,” Hizashi said. He turned the laptop back around with one hand and while Iwata was distracted with that he reached out his other hand and palmed Iwata’s phone off the desk. He tucked the phone into the back of his waistband under the guise of straightening his jacket as he sat back down. “Obviously the timeframe is going to vary depending on how deep you want me to dig. I’m assuming they’re all private citizens, so once I get around prefecture government security it shouldn’t take longer than, eh. A couple weeks at most from delivery of the list to the data drop,” Hizashi added. He made a vague dismissive gesture with his left hand to cover clicking in on all six bass switches hidden under the glove on his right. The directional focus began to hum against his neck as it came to life. “Should I expect the list tonight?”

“I’ll send a copy of the files to the usual meeting place at noon tomorrow,” Iwata said. “Seguchi should know--what was that?” The room’s floor gave a sudden hard shudder as Hizashi’s boosted subsonic growl rattled through it, interrupting Iwata mid-thought. Hizashi unclenched his fist and cleared his throat, putting on a concerned expression as he looked around the room for the tremor’s source.

“Earthquake, maybe?” Hizashi said slowly. “I read something online about there being a shift detected out at sea pretty recently.”

Iwata frowned and reached for his phone. His look of concerned bemusement only grew as he found the empty space on his desk. He checked all of his pockets, a hint of frantic anger in his movements as he found them to all be empty as well. He opened his mouth, presumably to ask Hizashi where his phone was. Before he could say anything, however, Hizashi squeezed his hand into a tight fist around the controls and let another hollow bass growl rattle its way up his throat and into the foundations. The impenetrable room shook even harder this time, making the chairs and desk rattle off in different directions.

Hizashi stood up quickly, trying not to sound too winded as he said, “This seems like a bad time to be underground, don’t you think?”

“This room is rated to withstand anything nature can throw at it,” Iwata replied dismissively. His expression, however, seemed less confident as Hizashi created another hard, quick tremor that shook two of the security monitors off the wall. Iwata swore under his breath and stormed over to inspect the damage. While his back was turned Hizashi silently closed the lid of the laptop and slid it off of the desk. Once it was tucked under his arm Hizashi quickly backed away towards the door.

“I’ll see myself out,” he said, reaching back with his free hand and retrieving Iwata’s phone. As soon as he had cleared the door Hizashi hit the icon for the security system’s manual panic button, swiping on the option for a fire alert in the main house. Almost instantaneously a buzzer sounded, painfully loud in the cramped quarters. Iwata turned around just in time to see the panic room’s door slam shut and lock down with Hizashi and his electronics on the other side. Hizashi let out a sigh of relief that turned into a rough hacking cough midway through. If he’d know he was going to have to be “on” tonight he would have warmed up first, he thought ruefully; he could already feel the painful little fires setting themselves throughout his vocal chords. He’d just have to chug some honey when he got home and hope for the best, he supposed. Right now finding Iwata’s data backups and making a swift exit before any authorities showed up was a much more pressing matter.

Hizashi went to the locked door next to the panic room and waved Iwata’s phone in front of the lock. It beeped and turned green, popping open the lock with a satisfying click. Never in his life had Hizashi been so glad for the arrogance of old money. Having all of his security eggs in one basket had probably seemed like an obvious choice for ease and efficiency at the time, but not so much now that said basket was on the other side of two inches of reinforced steel.

The room appeared to be a small archive and storage room with boxes of ancient paper files on metal shelves lining the wall. At the far end of the shelves sat a metal firebox the size of a large attache case with the now-familiar electronic lock on the front. A quick swipe from Iwata’s phone and it clicked open as well to reveal six laptop harddrives, all neatly labeled with backup dates over the last six months. Hizashi grinned to himself. He bundled them together in two neat stacks of three with some velcro cable minders and stowed them in a grubby canvas bag he found on the bottom of one of the older sections of shelves. It would take more time and tools than he had to pop the current harddrive out of Iwata’s laptop, so Hizashi made do with just transferring over copies of as many of the newer files he could fit onto the flash drive Iwata had pulled the spreadsheet off of. He’d just have to hope anything with an edit date prior to this month was already on one of the other drives. He checked Iwata’s phone to see what the response ETA was on the security app. Post-work rush hour was thick, granting him a few extra minutes. For good measure Hizashi told the phone to copy its local storage onto the mounted SD card. Better safe than sorry.

Standing there watching progress bars inch forward made him antsy, however, and Hizashi found himself pacing the tiny room as he waited. Once he’d gotten the drives home and checked them he’d need to find an untraceable way to dispose of them. The shredding service was supposed to come for the station’s old backups next week, but management had to sign off on every drive that was given to them to prevent new drives from getting mixed in with the old. Hizashi could maybe sneak one or two into the count and have it come off as human error, but six drives appearing from nowhere would definitely not fly. Just throwing them away might work in the short term, but the moment Iwata came up on charges the police would be searching high and low for any evidence they could scratch up. Harddrives in a landfill on the opposite side of town from Iwata’s disposal sitewould be a gold mine for them and a prison sentence for Hizashi. Destroying them manually and disposing of them piecemeal would be his best option; the only problem was his lack of easily-available tools to do it with. He did, however, know of someone who was almost guaranteed to be just the kind of over-prepared he needed right now.

Hizashi pulled his own phone out of his inside pocket and hit the contact he’d made with the phone number listed on Aizawa’s CV. The line rang and rang, finally clicking over to a short automated message that Aizawa’s voicemail box had never been set up before hanging up on him. Hizashi rolled his eyes, hitting redial as he checked the progress bars; the phone rang out, clicked over to the automated message, and hung up in his ear again. Trust Aizawa to be the type to never answer his damn phone. God willing he would at least be savvy enough to text back, Hizashi thought sourly. It would have been infinitely more satisfying to hear Aizawa’s soul leave his body as he realized Hizashi had been serious about the terms of their deal but he didn’t have time to waste on phone tag right now. Hizashi typed out I need a favor and jabbed irritably at the send button. He rocked on his heels, feeling the hairs on his neck standing up higher and higher the longer the silence stretched on.

“Come on you hermit,” Hizashi muttered under his breath, typing a quick but to the point follow-up of ???. Still no answer. Either Aizawa was busy or was ignoring him; either way Hizashi was losing ground on spare time fast.

Do you have a degausser? It was a long shot, but Aizawa struck him as the type to have a little bit of everything squirrelled away for particularly weird rainy days. Really big magnet? Hand drill/screwdriver should work too? At this point Hizashi would have settled for a 3-hole punch and a nail file if it meant he could have this over and done with.

Iwata’s phone finished copying itself over. Hizashi set his phone down and pulled a spare pin out of the underside of his ponytail to pop Iwata’s SD card out. He slipped it between his phone and its case for safekeeping and dropped Iwata’s phone into the empty fire box. Aizawa’s answering text finally came, as terse and to-the-point as any Hizashi had ever gotten from him.

no no yes

Hizashi grinned, a thrill of relief settling his stomach just a bit. Perf! @ urs? he replied. Iwata’s laptop gave a cheery ping to celebrate finishing its transfer. Hizashi tucked his phone and the full flash drive back in his pocket, giving Iwata's security app one final once-over. Traffic had thinned out faster than he’d expected and the fire service was practically on him now. Hizashi swore under his breath, slapping the fire box closed and grabbing the bag with the hard drives.

Hizashi slid open the addition’s door and waited, ears straining for the sound of people. Rhythmic red- and white-lit shadows of the top of the gate flashed against the fence in front of him, accompanied by the sound of the fire crew trying to force open the steel doors. Hizashi ducked out the addition’s door and crouched in the shadow of it, hiding his phone under his jacket as he checked to see if Aizawa had confirmed he had a hiding place.

not there out busy, Aizawa had replied.

Hizashi grimaced; so much for that idea. He wondered if he might be able to go bother Aizawa at work instead or if he was “busy” with certain other hobbies of his. Hizashi had the sudden mental image of Aizawa on patrol, frantically texting with one hand while he fended off an attacker with the other and had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The sound of the gate door slamming open at the far end of the yard brought his mood back down with a jolt that sent his heart into his throat and focused his mind rapidly back on getting out of here quickly.

At the corner of the garden closest to him there was a conveniently tall mossy rock that would make a decent boost over the fence if he could get a good run-up on it . Hizashi stuffed his phone in his pocket and looped the bag of drives around his neck. Trying to channel every squat, shuttle run, and wind sprint Haru had put him through Hizashi sucked in a deep breath and kicked off as fast as he could manage with no lead. The rock was more sloped than he’d anticipated and the top edge of the fence caught him sharply in the gut as he jumped. Hizashi pushed himself up on trembling arms and rolled over the rest of the way with a sharp hissed swear. He half-hopped, half-fell to the ground on the other side in the skinny drainage gully between Iwata’s fence and the breezeblock wall of the neighbor behind him. He quickly stowed his mask in the bag with the drives and shook his hair out of his hood. He waited a moment, holding his breath to hear if anyone was coming to see what all the noise had been about. When no doors opened and the only voices seemed to be coming from the other side of the fence he had his back pressed to, he pulled his phone out again.

Same. @ urs 1 hr? he texted Aizawa back. That seemed like a reasonable amount of time to give Aizawa to become un-busy regardless of what he was up to. Killing time was a hassle but getting caught with his hand in the data access cookie jar was a bigger one by far. There was a short delay, then Aizawa’s answering 1hr which was so drenched in begrudging, self-pitying dread Hizashi could practically taste it. Hizashi allowed himself a quiet breath of relief and tucked his phone away, blinking hard to make his eyes readjust. He skittered down the uneven pavement at a crouch to avoid being seen, standing up straight to merge into the night time street traffic as he reached the sidewalk. Hizashi forced himself to relax into a casual slouch as he moved through the crowd despite the rough cough that followed his deep sigh of relief. He was going to sound like an absolute car crash in the morning, but the bag now back in his hand was full of at least six reasons for it to be worth it. Now all he had to do was head home for a quick costume change and gathering of supplies before he met up with Aizawa for some recreational information theft and property damage.

Shouta was checking his molars in his bathroom mirror when he heard the doorbell buzz. A couple of his teeth felt loose in his jaw after that knee to the face, but so far it didn’t look like any had cracked or come uprooted. He folded his ice pack over the side of his hand as he held it to his jaw, letting it cool the bandaged bite wound and his swollen face at the same time.

“Rough night?” Yamada asked as he opened the door, giving him an amused once-over. Despite his perpetual air of calm surety, Shouta noticed the hand holding his grubby canvas grocery bag over one shoulder was clenched around the straps tight enough to make his knuckles go white. “This shouldn’t take too long,” Yamada went on when Shouta didn’t reply. “Just tell me where I can set up and I’ll be in and out in no time flat.”

“No one said you were coming in here,” Shouta said shortly. He picked up the old toolbox that he had packed all of his most replaceable tools into and handed it unceremoniously to Yamada.”Don’t bother bringing it back. Have a good night.”

Yamada caught the door as Shouta tried to close it on him. He was stronger than he looked, Shouta thought as Yamada held the door back enough to let him wedge his foot in. “Just like that?” Yamada asked. His voice was full of lofty disapproval at Shouta’s poor manners, somewhat undercut by a tired raspiness beneath it. “Talk about hospitality.”

Shouta glowered at him. “You asked to borrow tools. They’re right there. Have a good night.” He managed to remove Yamada’s foot from the doorway but Yamada locked his elbow to keep the door from closing just yet.

“Well, yeah, technically,” he said, “but I’m not going to walk off with your stuff like some deadbeat neighbor. What kind of person do you think I am? On second thought, stupid question, never mind,” Yamada added quickly before Shouta could let him know exactly what kind of person he thought Yamada was. “Just think of this as, like, favor-point-five. Like when a test question has part A and part B, y’know? Hand to god, half an hour max and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Shouta sighed, not bothering to keep back the groan that crept in around the edges. “And this has nothing to do with the fire call from this evening?” he guessed flatly. Yamada’s answering head tilt was note-perfect curiosity with absolutely nothing behind the eyes.

“The what?”

“Forget it,” Shouta muttered, no energy left in him to continue this pointless bickering. He stepped back and let Yamada inside. Yamada breezed past him eagerly, taking half a moment to kick off his shoes as he went.

“So, where can I--aww, hey there buddy!” Yamada’s question cut off into a laughing coo. Shouta turned to see Mikey, his flamepoint ragdoll, in the process of climbing Yamada’s torso and settling in a cheerful puddle on his shoulders. Yamada buried his hands in Mikey’s fluffy side and nuzzled him back as the cat began to purr at top volume. Shouta felt a stab of annoyance that Mikey had decided to make friends with Yamada, despite knowing full well Mikey by nature made friends with everything within eyesight.

“Don’t be a pest,” Shouta said, half to Mikey and half to Yamada as he reclaimed his cat. Mikey instantly turned into an affectionate blob in Shouta’s arms, which soothed him somewhat. Shouta gave him a quick snuggle before putting him down and trying to shoo him towards the bedroom. Mikey flopped over onto his back with a short, cheery request for belly rubs. “Idiot,” Shouta muttered affectionately, giving his fluffy belly a quick ruffle before turning back to Yamada.

Yamada looked stymied but like he was trying to quash a smile at the same time. Shouta raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Yamada said, shaking his head. “Just trying to regroup. You having a cat makes things slightly more complicated.”

Before Shouta could correct him, the automatic feeder in the corner went off. All three of Shouta’s cats came bolting down the hall at the sound of dinner being served, Mikey in the lead with Gingko and Kurotabi bringing up the rear. Yamada’s expression darkened another notch.

“This day just keeps getting better,” Yamada muttered with a tight grin.

“What do they have to do with whatever you need to get done?” Shouta asked. He almost hoped that making Yamada talk his plan through might tip him over into calling off “favor-point-five” and leaving. Unfortunately Yamada seemed to take it as Shouta showing interest instead, brightening at the question.

“Well, what I need to do right now is some pretty hardcore data management. We have to clear our backups twice a year and now’s the time,” Yamada said. “So I just need to wipe some of our older harddrives and drill a few holes in them just in case.”

“In case of what?” Shouta snorted, raising an eyebrow.

“In case someone shifty decides to recover sensitive data from them before they can be sent to the shredder,” Yamada replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We have a whole room at the station that’s full of old junk tech, and if someone decided to sneak in and make off with a recoverable drive full of personal information about our guests it would be super bad news.” When Shouta still looked dubious, Yamada went on, “Celebrity stalkers are no joke, Aizawa. I’m not in the business of getting sued because some weirdo with a hard-on for Mount Lady decides to raid our studio for scraps.”

That did nothing to explain why the operations manager was in charge of the project rather than their IT department, why it was being done after hours and presumably off the clock, or why it had to be done right now in his apartment, but at this point Shouta was rapidly becoming less and less concerned with getting an honest answer out of Yamada. “Fine, whatever,” Shouta muttered, shaking his head. “This is already taking too long. You can use the entryway. I’ll run an extension cord for the drill.”

“Do you have a box maybe yey-big,” Yamada made a square with his hands about the size of a toaster oven, “and some styrofoam or something I can use to brace the drill? If one of these shatters I’d hate for the pieces to get around your kitties, y’know?”

“Probably,” Shouta sighed. “I’ll put up a couple gates so they won’t bother you.”

“Great, thanks.”

Putting Yamada into a small enclosed space with bars was probably more satisfying than it should have been, but Shouta was going to take his silver linings where he could find them. He had been expecting Yamada to keep up his usual chatterbox stream of consciousness monologue as he worked, but he was surprisingly quiet once he settled in to work. He sat hunched over his laptop or crouched over the box Shouta had found for him to do the drilling in, face blank in concentration and headphones blaring music to cover the sound of the drill. After a while the sound almost faded away into the background of Shouta’s own after-hours work, scanning through police blotters and adding tonight’s unspecified misdoing to his spreadsheet about Yamada.

The one thing Shouta had predicted correctly was Yamada’s underestimation of how long things were going to take. His own work distracted him long enough to not notice that an hour and half had passed, and he realized that and the fact that Yamada was still there and working at about the same time. Shouta approached the cat gate cage and cleared his throat. The half-assembled remains of two harddrives sat on top of one another next to Yamada as the progress bar on a third hooked into his laptop crept forward. Yamada’s head bobbed to the beat of whatever he was listening to, eyes focused almost unblinkingly on the document he was scrolling through. Shouta cleared his throat again with no reaction. He tapped two knuckles sharply against the bars of the gate and Yamada jumped, finally noticing he was there.

“Sorry, didn’t see you. What’s up?” Yamada asked. The rasp in his voice Shouta had noticed earlier seemed to have evolved into a painful, gravelly tone in the meantime.

“Wondering how long this is actually going to take,” Shouta said.

“Oh. Yeah, right,” Yamada said, flushing slightly. “It shouldn’t be too much longer, I think? These drives were reused somewhere along the way so I’m having to defrag them before I can get a clean wipe.” His voice wavered in and out as he spoke, and he punctuated the explanation with a hacking, phlegmy-sounding coughing fit.

“Are you sick?” Shouta asked, leaning away slightly. Yamada shook his head.

“No, I’m fine,” he said as he coughed into his sleeve. “Long day, not enough water, you know how it is.” He sounded scratchy and miserable despite the upbeat tone he seemed to be trying to cover it with.

“Do you want some tea or something?” Shouta didn’t know why he said it, and by the way Yamada blinked at him in open surprise he didn’t either.

“Oh, uh. I don’t want to be a bother or anything,” Yamada said awkwardly. Shouta snorted at that, holding back a retort about how so far this evening had proved that to be a blatant lie.

“Forget it. I could use a cup anyway. You take it straight?”

“No milk, but some honey would be nice if you have it. Sugar’s fine if you don’t. Um. Thanks,” Yamada said, still sounding grateful but bewildered by the offer.

The tea gave Shouta something to focus on other than the late hour and the lack of any deadline in sight. Mikey and Kurotabi followed him to the kitchen, expecting an after-dinner snack; Gingko, who had been patrolling the bottom gate and growling with all the intimidation a three-legged, one-eyed bobtail cat could muster every time Yamada moved too much for her liking, refused to give up her post even under the implied promise of extra food.. At least she had some taste in people, Shouta thought with a warm pride toward his angry calico youngest. He let Kurotabi sit on his feet and Mikey flop over his shoulders as he stood and waited for the electric kettle to boil and for the first time that night allowed himself a few minutes to relax and pretend his apartment was just his once again. It couldn’t last forever, though. Once the tea had steeped, Shouta took Yamada’s mug and his slightly crystalized bottle of honey into the living room.

“Here,” Shouta said, knocking the mug against the gate to get Yamada’s attention. The third drive appeared to have been finished and hastily reassembled while he was dawdling in the kitchen and the fourth was already whirring away next to the laptop. Shouta wondered if it was a coincidence or if Yamada was actually trying to live up to his timeframe this time.

“Thanks,” Yamada said, standing with a grunt to reach over the top of the double-stacked gates.

Shouta nodded, then went back to the couch with his own hot mug. Keeping half an eye on Yamada, Shouta watching in fascinated disgust as Yamada squeezed out an overflowing spoonful of honey, stuck it in his mouth, and tilted his head back to gargle it before swallowing; Yamada then squeezed out another spoonful, which he plopped down into his tea like that was just something you did. At least he had enough sense to not drink it straight out of the container, Shouta supposed. Yamada soon went back to his motionless fixation on his data wiping and drilling, occasionally interrupted by gulps of tea. Shouta settled in on the sofa, scrolling the usual pro hero gossip message boards he frequented to find new leads the police might be trying to keep quiet. If there was a scrap of controversy to be looked into, these fanatics would be the first to know and the first to blab.

Someone had started a new speculation thread about how Mockingbird’s newest lull in activity had to mean that he was planning something huge and truly diabolical this time. Shouta snorted and glanced over at Yamada, who was sipping tea and nodding along with something that sounded suspiciously like a dubstep remix of the Wii Shop Channel theme music. Truly, a force to be reckoned with. One of the more notorious troublemakers on the boards was making yet another stink about All Might being confirmed as sighted somewhere within Musutafu city limits and had two of their three threads locked by mods already; the third was in the process of being spammed to death by the usual memes and mockery that followed just about any claims of an undocumented All Might sighting. Shouta rolled his eyes, scrolling through photoshop after terrible photoshop to see if there was any actual intel to be had. If the internet was to be believed, All Might had transcended mere hero-hood to become some kind of omnipresent boogeyman for villains, able to be sighted and active in ten cities simultaneously. But anyone with half a brain knew that if someone that well-known and flashy has shown up anywhere near here, a dozen different tabloids would have fallen over themselves to confirm it by now; it was one of the few instances where absence of evidence and evidence of absence overlapped and frankly Shouta was glad for it. The last thing the city needed right now was some self-important big shot showing up and dragging the populace into their problems for the sake of some attention.

Hizashi’s back was on fire and his hands felt like they were about to snap in two but at long last all of the data had been transferred and all the drives were very, very broken. He’d only gotten to look at bits and snippets as he kept an eye on progress bars, but it seemed like Iwata had even more secret pots on the boil that Seguchi did. The list he’d shown Hizashi wasn’t a bunch of deadbeat debtors; as far as Hizashi could tell none of them had ever even met Iwata, much less owed him money. Instead it seemed to be a list of every adult male listed as single on his tax papers who had put in a downpayment on the mortgage for a condo or single-occupancy home in Musutafu in the last eight months. Seguchi had been supplying Iwata with the names piecemeal, and both he and Iwata had been pretty cagey about the specifics of its use in their emails to one another in case someone else had gotten ahold of them. Stopped clocks were right twice a day, Hizashi supposed with a frustrated sigh. They knew enough about their target to know he had just moved into the city, was single, and was a registered Pro Hero, but not enough to be able to put a face to the name. Or rather, a code name to a name. If they wanted to get to a Pro Hero, though, it would have been simpler to just put out a public challenge with vague details that sounded personal and specific and narrow their search according to who answered. It couldn’t be that hard; it was like writing a horoscope, except instead of trying to produce a paragraph of harmless fortune-telling you did your best to incite a fight to the death with every Scorpio you could find. Iwata had been adamant about keeping their work secret until they had solid ground to stand on, though, much to Seguchi’s obvious irritation. Their emails had become steadily more stiff and icy as time went on, all the way up until the point where Hizashi’s eyes had begun to cross and he decided to put the mystery aside and take his leave before Aizawa got really ticked off at him.

Hizashi hissed as sharp jolts of pain shot up and down his legs as he stood. “Well, that should be good for now,” he said cheerfully. Aizawa didn’t answer. Hizashi rolled his eyes. It might have been later than he’d intended to stay but that was no reason to get petty. When Aizawa continued to ignore Hizashi’s attempts at getting his attention, Hizashi wedged his fingers in between the bars of the top gate and popped the latch open. He caught it as it collapsed in on itself and set it against the wall before unlatching the one on the bottom as well. The small three-legged cat that had been his self-appointed prison warden all night stood at attention as he did so, letting out a warning growl as it stared him down with its single brown-green eye.

“Easy there,” Hizashi said, edging past the cat at as wide a berth as he could manage. “I come in peace, all right?” The cat seemed unconvinced, following him at a suspicious distance as he crossed the living room. “Hey, Aizawa, I think I’m--oh.”

Moving closer he realized Aizawa wasn’t ignoring him to be petty; the other man had fallen asleep on the couch, buried under his other two cats. Up close Aizawa looked exhausted, the deep insomniac bags under his eyes almost dark enough to match the swollen bruise under his chin. Running a double life was tiring work, no matter what side you fell on, Hizashi supposed. Aizawa’s phone had fallen from his grasp and come to rest in his empty tea mug; his arm flopped limply over the edge of the cushion just missing it, like he’d passed out midway through retrieving it. Hizashi snorted, plucking the phone out of the mug and using the hem of his shirt to wipe a smear of tea off of its screen. To his surprise, the phone unlocked at the halfhearted swipe without any kind of code or password required. For being such a stickler Aizawa was remarkably lackadaisical about the important things, Hizashi thought, shooting the unconscious man a judging glance. The last thing Aizawa had been looking at was some trashy-looking hero fanboy gossip site. Hizashi was about to just hit the power button and move on when something on the page caught his eye.

The thread he’d been scrolling was a long series of increasingly doctored images of All Might doing stereotypically touristy things around Musutafu. Some of them were well-made enough to almost look real, but the bulk of them were purposefully terrible, so zoomed in and deep-fried they were little more than a handful of pixels held together with duct tape. What they all had in common, however, was the username tagged in every post: shigarakitomura. Nothing quite like some good old-fashioned internet dogpiling, Hizashi thought with a frown, though a quick scroll of the user’s post history showed they were no stranger to bullheaded spam and moody fight-picking with other All Might-obsessed members of the boards themself. It was the name, though, that was jingling a small bell in the overtired emptiness of Hizashi’s brain. He went back to his laptop and typed in a quick keyword search in his files for the name Shigaraki. A slow smile crept across his face as a recalled email from Iwata to Seguchi popped up at once. The recalled version read for Seguchi to take care to make sure Shigaraki was kept in the dark about what they were hoping to find; the edited and re-sent version replaced the name with “certain overeager outside parties”. Hizashi grinned, looking over his shoulder at the dark-haired lump snoring away completely unaware in the next room.

“Shouta Aizawa, you are a genius.”

Shouta jolted awake to the sound of his alarm screaming at him. He groaned and fumbled for it, trying to swipe the snooze and buy himself a few more minutes of rest. His thumb slid over something square and papery, however, rather than the screen of his phone. Squinting one eye open, Shouta saw one of Yamada’s now-ubiquitous yellow sticky notes stuck to it.

You should be more careful with your phone. Code is 4632. -M

Shouta groaned, the night before coming back to him in a wave of rampant discomfort. He’d been trying to keep himself awake long enough to make sure Yamada left without a fuss, but somewhere between the hypnotic motion of scrolling and two very warm longhaired cats curling up on him sleep had kicked his legs out from under him. He unlocked his phone with the code Yamada had put on it and hit the snooze despite being irrevocably awake now. He rolled off the couch and dragged himself upright, wondering with no end of bitterness how long he had been dozing away in a completely unsecured apartment.

To his surprise, the answer was “not at all”. His keys had been taken from the hook by the door and used to lock it from the outside; they now sat at the bottom of the bin under the mail slot with another sticky note on them that simply read “Thanks” in Yamada’s scribbly handwriting. Shouta scooped them out of the bin and hung them back up. He noted the cat gates and toolbox had been neatly repacked and set off to the side of entryway and both his and Yamada’s mugs and spoons from the night before had been washed and left to dry in the dishrack. A backhanded show of Yamada’s “hospitality” to spite him for being annoyed at his apartment being invaded, Shouta had no doubt. Yamada really was the king of pointless parting shots. His snooze alarm blared out from the living room, telling him in no uncertain terms that he could either waste time dwelling on it or have coffee before work. Surprising no one, the siren song of dark roast won out immediately. Shouta put the pot on to percolate and went to get cleaned up and dressed for the day.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #erasermic #present mic #eraserhead bnha #eraserhead mha #Fire Meet Gasoline AU #Quinny thinks she's a writer

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thaliamccn-blog · 5 years ago

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hello <3 i am diana ( u can call me di if u like ) and i am nineteen, a libra, go by she/her pronouns, n reside in the est timezone !! somethings u should kno about me…i am a girl group stan first and a human second ( stan loona stan twiceblackvelvet stan fromis 9 stan weki meki etc etc ). i am a sansa stark enthusiast and love lana del rey with my whole heart. so that’s basically me !! and now, onto thalia under the cut like this post n i’ll message u to plot!! my discord is we just wanna have some fun !#5522 if u wanna talk there, or i can message u on tumblr im’s <3

↪ son naeun. she/her. cis female. ╱ i thought i saw thalia moon getting questioned by the police. the twenty-two year old is in their third year at west bridge studying fashion design. they were at manon’s party because manon was wearing one of her designs. do you think they had something to do with her death? + eyes stained by glitter and mascara, the feeling of isolation among a crowd of people, smoking a cigarette with a glass of red wine. ◜ diana. 19. est. she/her. ◞

ok i’m gonna do my very best to keep this short because whew,,,, i’m a rambler asjdhkdjh

i guess i will start off by saying she’s aquarius sun scorpio moon...so that’s some indication of her personality ajksdshdh,,,

she is bisexual

here is her pinterest so u can get 2 know her aesthetic <33

now onto some backstory

her father owns a development company (basically think bart bass from gossip girl but she is not chuck bass because he’s gross) and her mom is a socialite

she was raised in a wealthy family on the upper east side (nyc). she is an only child, so she grew up weaned on expensive items and became a bit materialistic because of it

because she was an only child people assumed she was always the center of attention but the truth is her parents were very neglectful of her...n she grew up to be pretty emotionally stunted whew she literally cannot deal with her emotions but we’ll get to that

her parents never really wanted kids, they just had thalia to present a family-friendly image, so they used her whenever the cameras were around

during her high school years her father ran into a bit of legal trouble because of a building he owned that burned down. he had buried the story, but word was beginning to come out again (yes i’m ripping off gossip girl ASHDKJH)

her parents divorced because of the scandal, among other things. the two of them constantly fought ever since thalia was a child, but her mom decided to remove herself from the scandal while she still had the chance (which is exactly what her moms father, aka thalia’s grandfather, told her to do)

after the divorce, thalia was left in her father’s care

during the scandal, she began to lash out and rebel against her father specifically, but he threatened to take away her trust fund if she did not behave herself. he needed thalia’s help in maintaining his image

so she agreed to stop lashing out publicly, but still continued her lifestyle on the lowkey

she always managed to get herself into trouble, but also found her way out of it one way or another

thalia took an interest in fashion design early on in her high school years and was able get two internships while she was still in high school

after the divorce, she barely ever saw her mom. not that it mattered because she didn’t see her much in the first place, but her mother ended up remarrying suddenly became a family person, leaving thalia to feel extremely bitter

as all negative things did when it came to her father, the scandal blew over and the truth went unnoticed yet again

when it was time for her to go to college, her father basically told her now that she was an adult he did not care to see her much anymore. he said her trust fund was still in place and to not hurt his image, otherwise he would take it away, but he basically severed ties. this is why she decided to move away from her home in new york city and go somewhere she thought she could be more lowkey

she hates her parents, especially her father and wants to make her own money and stop relying on her trust fund, but she’s also too materialistic to give it up...rip

and here we have some quick words about her personality:

thalia is very closed off and has a hard time trusting people

she is not necessarily shy, but feels she is often misunderstood, which is one of the reasons she is never at the center of any social event and likes to hangout along the sidelines instead

thalia is always down to try new things, she is literally up for anything. she’s the type of person who gets bored easily, so she’s always seeking the next thrill

i would not say shes mean (she can be) but she just doesn’t have the most welcoming personality, and maybe she can come off as intimidating (that’s up to ur characters of course)

her view on the world is very negative, she’s most definitely a cynic

the party/manon incident:

thalia was at the party because she asked manon to wear one of her designs. due manon being extremely popular, thalia figured she could get more recognition as a designer by asking her to wear one of her designs

she attended the party to see how people were reacting to her dress, and also because she probably would have attended anyway

she wouldn’t have exactly considered manon a friend, but manon was one of the few people thalia didn’t mistrust, so when her dead body was discovered, thalia was definitely taken aback

thalia was definitely under the influence of something, so she probably doesnt remember that night all too well

when it came to the pact, thalia was quick to agree to it. her father’s one condition for her to keep her trust fund was to stay out of trouble. she knew he could probably have saved her from the mess, but she did not want to have to seek his help

she feels weird being apart of this pact, considering she probably doesn’t trust most of them, but she also didn’t know what else to do

plot ideas (if i remember i’ll strike them out when they get taken):

step siblings - either side of her family, her mom remarried and her dad definitely could have so i would looove step sibling plots. they can b on friendlier terms, or hate each other, literally anything would work

party buddies - this is pretty basic and self explanatory, but someone thalia can go out and have fun with. their friendship is most likely surface level, or prob started that way, but it’s possible they became deeper friends (maybe thalia opened up one day when she was most likely under the influence of something)

ex-fling - thalia is definitely the non-committal type so i doubt she would ever have an ex bf or gf, but it could still have been a serious un-labeled relationship, or just an ex fling. they could be on bad terms, good terms, still have feelings, not have feelings, u name it

unrequited crush - ur character could have feelings for thalia, but being the way she is, she doesn’t feel them back. this could develop into thalia eventually having feelings for ur muse, or not, whatever we want! OR thalia could have a crush on someone who does not like her back. maybe they’re even more emotionally unavailable than she is, or they simply do not like her back. we could plot this out however

current fling/“friends” w benefits - someone she is currently seeing/sleeping with. could be no strings attached, or there could b some feelings there. maybe they don’t want to make it anything serious, or maybe they’re ready to take it to the next level. maybe one person is ready to go further, and the other isn’t. i put “friends” in parenthesis because she probably doesn’t have many friends

enemies w benefits - imagine the tension!!! they started out hating each other, but ended up hooking up. maybe it was a one time thing, or maybe they can’t stop going back to each other. i think it would b cool if they kept it a secret, they don’t want anyone else to know. this could develop however we want

ex-friends - someone thalia used to consider a close friend, but they had a falling out for whatever reason n maybe they hate each other now. maybe they want to re-kindle their friendship but don’t know how

sibling-like friendship - someone thalia sees like a sibling. they’re there for each other and look out for one another, always have each other’s backs

dynamic duo - could be thalia’s current best friend. i would say she probably doesn’t have many friends, but this person is prob one of the closest people to her and has actually managed to break down some of her walls

confidant - someone who confides in her or someone she confides in, or they confide in each other. they don’t necessarily have to be friends, but they get along and maybe they talk more in private

rivals - they hate each other for whatever reason. maybe it’s jealousy or their personalities just clash, but for whatever reason they do not get along. i love a good enemies plot. they can just b nasty to each other!!!

safe haven - *mini drug tw* i did not know how to label this so i apologize for the name. but i think it would b cool if someone helped thalia out during a bad night. she typically saves herself from bad situations, but one day she couldn’t and luckily ur muse was there to help. maybe she drank too much or did too many drugs or mixed the two and ended up rly bad. either way, i would love for someone to have helped her from a tough time. she would probably feel really confused and guilty and like she owes them. maybe ur muse can manipulate her bc of it and make her do things bc she owes them, or maybe they genuinely had good intentions. i would also b down for a plot about thalia helping out someone else’s muse from a sticky situation!!

bad influence - i would loveeee for thalia to be a bad influence on someone. someone she can corrupt in a way, or just lead down a bad path akshkjhd and get them to try new, and not-so-good, things

good influence - someone to be a good influence on thalia. someone who brings out the best in her and tries to steer her down a better path

partner in crime - someone who does crazy, illegal shit w her. someone who is always down for the next adventure n they have crazy memories together

model/muse - someone who models thalia’s clothes. they could simply just be her model, or maybe they could also double as her muse, someone who inspires her best work. there can b romantic feelings there or it can b totally platonic !!!! but i think someone who models for her would be super fun

photographer - someone she partnered with to take pictures of her designs. it can be a strictly mutually beneficial business partnership, or maybe it spiraled into a sort of friendship where they bring out the best in each other (work wise) and stick together for their different projects.

childhood friends - someone who knew thalia when she grew up. maybe they knew about her weird home life, or maybe their friendship was set up by their parents. maybe they were just friends out of their own free will, but grew apart when they grew older. the possibilities are endless

roommates - they could be on good terms or bad terms. maybe thalia coming home at odd hours of the night doesnt sit well with your muse, or maybe they dont have an issue with it at all. maybe they are starting to get along and hangout more because of being roommates

tldr: thalia is an emotionally unavailable wealthy aspiring fashion designer who has issues with her parents and likes getting into trouble

#ps.intro #✧.° — cuz i be the baddie b barbie tingz › ( ooc. )#ok this got long but in my defense it was because i included plot ideas ajkdhskjdh #ASHDJKDH i'm so sorry...i rly tried to keep it short #u can skim through <3 #or i can summarize for u <3 #i didnt proof read...i hope everything makes sense #but basically im so excited 2 b here #also i had no idea what i was doing w thalia until i wrote this post whew my virgo moon is shaking at my spontaneity

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wildroseofarran · 5 years ago

Text

Barnacles || Tristan, Oliver, & Ronan

Oliver: The day was hotter than he'd ever felt before from Edenton. Sweltering, nasty heat like he'd felt on his deployments.

Oliver felt in the cooler for something to drink. How were they out of everything? He could swear he could see the water evaporating from the goddamn ocean.

Off came his tattered gray shirt, tucked into his jeans.

"At this point I fuckin' pray for another hurricane," he called to Tristan.

Tristan: "Bite your tongue, Cole," Tristan called back. He too was shirtless, hair piled into a messy bun and sweat pouring down his forehead. "Unless you wanna put in another few days of ship maintenance."

Oliver: "So long as this thing don't have a breakdown. I'll get under the boat right fuckin' now if it got me a drink."

Tristan: He poked his head around the corner. "That a serious offer? Feel like scraping barnacles?"

Oliver: "Get me some fuckin' cold drinks n'I'll dive right now."

Tristan: "Is there any more ice in the freezer? There's a case of water in the cabin but it's at room temp. Probably hot as fuck just like everything else."

Oliver: "S'more like a slushie at this point. Toss it in the cooler n'I'll get started."

Tristan: "Done. Grab the goggles and tool belt."

Hell, maybe he'd join him, he thought as he went into the sweltering cabin to get the water.

Oliver: Back to following orders, tossing his shirt into the cabin, along with his necklace he'd forgotten to remove. He didn't need a tan line of a cross on his chest.

"Hear 'bout that tropical storm brewin'?"

Tristan: "Yeah. If it turns into another full-blown hurricane I'm gonna lose my goddamn mind. I tell you my dock at home took a beating? Gonna have to take a weekend to fix it."

Oliver: "I'll help with that, man."

Ronan: Tristan would feel his phone buzz. It would be a message from Ronan, a picture of him and the stranger from far away.

{Text} Send me $1m or I'll kill ur daughter. I have her hidden away & I've got eyes on u RIGHT NOW

Tristan: "Seriously? Thanks. I'll pay you in beer and margaritas. And actual money."

He felt in his pocket for his phone, squinting at it for a moment before laughing.

{Text to Ronan} Are you creeping on me over there?

Oliver: "Ya had me at beer." The laughter had him turning, body beginning to bead with sweat. The house tattoo on his arm was given the illusion of being rained on with his perspiration. He wiped his mouth and pointed.

"Someone ya know?"

Ronan: {Text} Bitch I might be. Whos the guy???! U have other friends??? disappointed

Tristan: "Yep, sure is. That's my friend Ronan."

{Text} The guy is Oliver, he works with me

{Text} Take a break from creeping and come meet him

Oliver: "Now that's a name." Over the side of the deck he went.

"Can he help with the barnacles?"

Ronan: {Text} I dunno. Whwt do i get in return?

Tristan: “Is he physically capable? Yes. Will he? Highly doubtful.”

{Text} My company and everlasting platonic love

{Text} Also pizza later

Oliver: "Great. What's he, a Northerner?"

Ronan: {Text} u had me at pizza.

He'll be over shortly, eyeing up the stranger the closer he got.

Tristan: “Irishman. One who’s not all that crazy about manual labor.”

{Text} Deal. Be polite, okay?

Tristan put his phone away and waved as Ronan approached. “Hey, renaissance man.”

Oliver: "Renaissance man? That your official title?" Oliver called.

Ronan: "Actually my full title is Renaissance Man De La Miguel Rodriguez the Third."

Ronan: He hadn't seen that last message, so he doesn't have to be polite. That's the law.

Tristan: Tristan chuckled and shook his head. “It’s his nickname. Ro, this is Oliver, my first mate. Oliver, this is my friend Ronan.”

Oliver: A stained rough hand was brought out for Ronan to take.

"Sup, man?"

Ronan: Gross. He smacked Oliver's palm with his own by way of greeting. "Hey. What's goin' on?"

Oliver: Uh, the fuck? His gaze remained steady despite his desire to glance at his captain.

"Anyway. Gonna start scrubbin'."

Ronan: Ronan finally looked at Oliver's face properly, having to drag his eyes away from those gross hands. He smirked. Where has Tristan been hiding this fucker?

"Or you guys stop workin' for the day an' we go out for some drinks?"

Oliver: "M'at the whim of my captain, but also wherever the beer flows."

Tristan: “The beer can flow after we scrape those barnacles.” Tristan gave Ronan a look. “No distracting my crew, you.” My straight crew.

Ronan: Ronan gave Tristan a wink. Suuuuuuuuuure thing, Captain.

"Stop bein' such a killjoy, your little boat will still be here tomorrow."

Oliver: "Could help n'get it over with? I'll buy ya two rounds of your favorite drink."

Tristan: Tristan grinned at the suggestion. Ronan doing physical labor was a delightful thought.

Ronan: "My clothes are worth a bit too much t'start... what did you say? Fuckin' scrubbin'?" Yeah, no.

Oliver: "Yeah. Ya take those off." He gestured between himself and Tristan, very much shirtless and sun baked.

Tristan: “And if you’re particularly attached to your pants, you can take those off, too. We won’t judge your choice in underwear.”

Ronan: Why is Tristan gesturing like Ronan hadn't very much noticed........ He may need to make a point of walking this way every day from now on.... What time do you start work, guys? Which days? Asking for a friend.

"I've got silk underwear on, so I'd have t'take those off too."

Oliver: Oliver's smile returned with a mischievous show of teeth.

"Tris, ya still got a scuba suit in the cabin?"

Tristan: Tristan grinned back. “Ya know, as a matter of fact I do. Goggles and everything.”

Ronan: Ugh fuck. "How 'bout I jus' support you, like, emotionally?"

Oliver: "Gonna miss out on free shots."

Tristan: He chuckled. "Go on then. You can heckle us while we scrape."

Ronan: "Heckle?" Hm... but the free rounds... "What would I have t'do if I helped?"

Oliver: "Ya take this here - or this brush - n'ya remove the shit on the sides of the boat." He'd deal with the bottom.

Tristan: Tristan was riding the same train of thought. "Just the sides, don't worry about the bottom. We'll take care of that. If you decide to help, that is.'

Ronan: He inspected the boat from where he was stood.

"Gimme your pants." He gestured to Tristan.

Tristan: "You wanna wear my pants instead of the scuba suit?"

Ronan: "It's gonna be fuckin' tight an' shit."

Tristan: "Have you ever been in a scuba suit? It's designed to be mobile and comfortable in the water. Especially this one since it's me sized and not you sized."

Ronan: "An' clingy. You tryna catch a glimpse of my cock size?" the question was directed at both Tristan and Oliver. "Jus' gimme your pants. You can wear the suit."

Oliver: Gayyyy. "They won't fit ya anyway. You're already fuckin' wearin' pants." And he was removing his own in favor of the new black, red, and blue board shorts in the cabin. The door creaked halfway shut behind him. If Ronan was determined, he would catch a glimpse of perfect swimmer's tan, accentuating the pale firm muscle of his ass.

Tristan: “It can’t cling if it’s too big for you,” he chuckled. “Also, it’s not silk. Silk clings. And Oliver’s right, my pants are too big for you, but if you insist. Just tighten my belt all the way.”

Ronan: "Yeah but mine are fuckin' clean an' nice. This is what clothes are meant t'look like. Must be a shock." Ronan would glance but nothing else... even if the image would linger with him for a moment after looking away.

"Uh huh. You're so lucky I'm even doin' this for you, you likkle prick."

Tristan: "Aww, you cut me to the quick." He grinned and kissed Ronan's cheek. "Yes, I'm very lucky. Thank you."

Tristan proceeded to strip out of his jeans. Unlike Oliver, he already had his trunks on underneath as he'd been vaguely planning to tackle the barnacles before the ungodly heat forced his hand. "Here you go. I need to get my tank on."

Ronan: Ronan was clearly very proud of himself! He smiled to prove it. The kiss helped.

"Don't start fallin' in love with me, 'kay?" He takes the jeans. Yeah. Pretty huge. He'll need to swap one pair for another... where... should he change...

Oliver: Oliver widened the door to the cabin and stretched. It seemed his favorite boss caved.

"So how pale are ya, Irish? I wanna see veins. Ya better bring honor t'Ireland," he smirked.

Tristan: "I'll try my best," Tristan chuckled, gathering his goggles and scuba tank from a storage compartment.

Ronan: Hm. He steps towards the cabin, putting a hand on Oliver's chest in order to guide him out of the way.

"I grew up in Italy an' have been around America for years. I'm tan, thanks."

Oliver: Touchy feely. Not new by any means, and not a surprise. What little he knew of the man, the touch was accepted.

"Italy, huh? Ya like the Mediterranean?"

Ronan: "Nah, fish kinda freak me out. Why the fuck do they move like that? Eugh, yikes." He stepped into the cabin to start changing. He'll have to message Matheus and let him know, too. Ronan'll also send a picture of his shirt folded up neatly and ask if he's proud.

Oliver: {Text via Matheus} Very tight fold. You've learned well.

Tristan was given a smile, humored by this random piece of information. A phobia, maybe?

"What about, ha, octopus? That do anything to ya?"

Tristan: Tristan was laughing as he strapped his tank on.

"He'd have told me, wouldn't you, Ronan? He would've freaked out every time he saw the one tatted on my arm. Speaking of, think I'll get another. Maybe a giant squid on my leg somewhere. Or a Kraken."

Ronan: "You should let Conor do it. You won't find any tattoo artist with as much experience as him." He smirked. It was a joke only he and Tristan would get.

He emerged changed, shirtless, and with the belt keeping Tristan's trousers up. "I'm fine with them. They don't move like-" he gestured the wishy-washy movement with a hand.

Oliver: The thirst which had nearly suffocated him had been quenched. Quietly, he got to work, tethered to the boat with rope and carabineer.

"I shoulda been in the Navy," he muttered, disappearing behind the port side with a wink.

Tristan: Tristan hummed thoughtfully. He actually hadn't thought of that. "Maybe I'll pop by his place and ask him," he said, smiling at Ronan. "See what he'll charge me."

He grabbed some gloves and a scraper for Ronan. "That's seriously the only thing that freaks you out about fish? The way they swim?"

Ronan: "I'll get him t'do it t'you for fre- actually you're makin' him do this, so I'm gonna tell him t'charge you double." the gloves and scraper were snatched. He put the gloves on far from gracefully. "They look weird an' move weird. An' they're wet ALL the time, or they die. It's fuckin' weird. Weird!"

Tristan: “You will not be present during price negotiations,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, I pay well. Just ask Oliver.”

He laughed again. “Ain’t their fault. They’re just trying to live their lives. All right, into the water, Renaissance man.”

Ronan: "... Are there fishes around here?" He shuddered. "Talkin' about 'em freaked me out..."

Oliver: "Get in the fuckin' water!" came from the other side of the boat.

Tristan: "Nah, not in this area. The noise and activity from the ships scares them away. Come on. Oliver will show you how to do it."

Tristan adjusted his oxygen and his goggles and lowered himself into the water. A few moments later he disappeared beneath the hull.

Ronan: "Fuck you!" He casually called back. He watched Tristan disappear into the water and... shuddered. "Ugh. Gives me the heebie-jeebies."

Oliver: "You'll be fuckin' fine! C'mere n'start scrapin' with me."

Ronan: "You come HERE!" grumpy grumpy.

Oliver: A head peeked from the edge a moment later. "What d'ya want, an audience?"

Ronan: No, he just wanted to be a brat.

"You're on thin fuckin' ice."

Oliver: "That was easy," he smirked.

Ronan: "What was?"

Oliver: "Gettin' on thin fuckin' ice." Beads of sweat and ocean were wiped from his brow. "If ya can't swim just say so."

Ronan: He scoffed. "Can't an' won't are different."

Oliver: "The result's the same." He held out his hand. "Come on. I'll help ya down."

Ronan: He squinted at the hand. "I thought you weren't a pansy."

Oliver: "Says the man afraid of fish."

Ronan: "What's that got t'do with bein' a pansy?"

Oliver: "You're a fuckin' pussy."

Ronan: "People wanna fuck me? True."

Oliver: "People wanna fuck you?"

Ronan: "Yeah. Like a pussy." Is there a fish somewhere he can throw at this fucker?

Oliver: "You're alright with that?"

Ronan: "Are YOU?"

Oliver: "I ain't into all that gay stuff. N'I ain't wantin' a conversation. Just get in."

Ronan: He gave the other a dirty look.

"You sound like-" me not that long ago. "Make me, nigga!"

Oliver: "If you were any less black you'd be clear." A splash followed his disappearance from view.

Ronan: Eyes rolled. Yeah. He's not gonna help. He'll find a place to sit and smoke some weed instead.

Tristan: It was a few minutes before Tristan's head popped out of the water again.

He looked around. "Ro?"

Ronan: "Mm? Your friend's a piece of shit. Wanna smoke?"

Tristan: "Ro, you're supposed to be helping!"

Oliver: "He's just gonna keep tellin' me why people wanna fuck him."

Ronan: "Go back t'your fish friends!"

Tristan: "Jesus Christ. Ro, if you weren't gonna get in why take my pants?"

Ronan: "I was gonna get in 'til he annoyed me, now I don't wanna help him."

Tristan: "You're not helping him, you're helping me."

Ronan: "Ughhhh why you gotta pull that shit?"

Tristan: Tristan flashed his best smile. “Is it working?”

Ronan: "Bitch it might be." He threw his joint into the water and below and shuddered. He hadn't even smoked enough to calm his nerves yet, but apparently here he goes... "How do I get in?"

Tristan: He laughed. "Nice to know I still have my charm. There's a ladder on the side there. I'll catch you if you need."

Ronan: "Uhhhh huh." he just had to... uh... do some stretches first...

Tristan: Tristan swam over to the ladder and offered up a hand to Ronan. "C'mere, renaissance man. I've gotcha."

#Barnacles chapter #tristanseger #olivercole #mournus

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