#the biggest clown you know
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baggy-holmes · 1 year ago
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i’m the joker, baby
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eggsistential-breakdown · 5 months ago
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Ian and the twice-divorced gray-eyesed rift Ian from the first chapter of @reblogincarnation-blues's fic!
anyways the closest experience I've had to the the feeling of reading the second chapter is taking my roommate to the ER for four hours for suspected appendicitis only to come back with a UTI diagnosis and an antibiotic prescription. and it breaks your one year streak of roommates getting appendicitis. in a good way.
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 2 years ago
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Okay, random question but in the panel where Lan Zhan & Wei Ying are riding side by side, why is Alan Zhan’s horse sad? Is Little Apple bullying him? :(
PS: I check in daily for your posts, OBSESSED 😭
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Alan Zhan (patron saint of when the substitute professor gets your name wrong).
#poorly drawn mdzs#ask#MDZS#wei wuxian#lan wangji#mdzs au#I was going to give a serious answer but then I saw Alan Lan#I gotta warn you all; if it was not already evident - I am the biggest instigator of 'typo in the group chat' hazing#be warned (affectionate (non-threatening (a little threatening)))#Shout out to everyone with a non-western standard name who went to a western school and had their name constantly butchered#shout out to everyone who goes by/went by a nickname because 'people don't mess it up'#I *see* you. May you find Solstice in St. Alan Zhan's arms#whether wwx snuck into the class early to change the attendance sheet is is innocent is up to your interpretation#he's just enjoying the class president (and his academic rival) lose his cool#i dont have a ton of modern au thoughts but I do love the teen era dynamic of ‘smart class clown and smart nephew of headmaster’ rivalry#idk how it was at other people’s schools but the viciousness of being in the top 5 in class was a bloodbath at mine#The *Drama* between top students was wild. Validictorian selection was basically done at knife point#anyways; who’s writing teen wangxian modern AU where they are rivals for the valedictorian spot?#getting to know each other just to win but then actually enjoying the tome spent together#they both need to win and be the best sooooo bad; I cant imagine such a story ends well#wow we got far from Alan Zhan in the tags#Thank you for your on going support! I hope you don't mind me teasing you a bit like this tumblr user deathoverdignity#comic proper resumes tomorrow!
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beastsovrevelation · 7 months ago
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An endless list of favorite characters: War (Good Omens)
"I am War. You were made to serve me, to live in me and die in me."
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pardonmydelays · 9 months ago
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HAMILTON?
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clowningaroundmars · 8 months ago
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my absolute fave thing to read in punkflower fics is lovesick puppy hobie brown
cool-as-a-cucumber hobie overthinking miles' every move, leaving lingering touches on him, longing glances thrown his way
certified BAMF hobie hanging by a doorway or window just a second too long before leaving miles
"skinny-hot" hobie refusing to believe someone as ✨️cool✨️ as miles would be into someone like him
badass punk hobie just yearning and pining and practically draping himself all over miles in desperate attempts but then pulling back all scared when anyone even hints that they should get together
god, i need pining lovesick loser hobie like AIR rn 😭
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brynn-lear · 4 months ago
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I never got too deep into enstars but there are days where I miss Mama 😔
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#no one should ever be surprised that I main Boothill >:( /silly#yeehaw partner /jjjjjjjjj#i also like eichi for the aesthetic. he's like if you mix dain's face and ayato's mindset. actual warcriminal emperor-#and i think in terms of singing kaito slays 🔥🔥🔥🔥 I'm sorry.#actually in terms of songs in general imho it's valkyrie and akatsuki HAHAHAH#then idk i think i vibe with most undead songs though i wish there were like valentine eve's nightmare-#PERFECTLY-IMPERFECT 🔥🔥🔥🔥#fORBIDDEN RAIN- okay ill#stfu abt undead songs HAHAH#me typing these tags just slowly but surely reminds me I actually very much enjoy adonis' voice#in terms of trauma I think I got it most from Eden songs HAHAHAHHA the fricking apocalypse dance shit i forgot name but THAT#i love how i went “oh i like undead too but not as much i guess” and then proceeded to talk about undead songs more than akatsuki#and valkyrie HAHAHAHHA I'm a fricking liar#HEY HEY i mostly like valkyrie cuz shu's voice is mesmerizing- and every song in akatsuki slays because of their vocals even if I'm not th#e biggest fan of their genre leave me alone my biggest taste in men depends on their voice 😭😭😭😭😭#though in terms of friendship MaM/DoubleFace CrazyB and alkaloid for sure we'd be friends absolutely-#i played the music!! one not the original and nothing got me as hyped in the story as the fricking crazy roulette HAHAHAHA#GOT ME FEELIN LIKE I WAS IN THE CONCERT#never be a loooooSAAAAAUURRRRR *breakdances*#kiss of life is also mwah they're all my children. i know nothing on properly playing this game but i know i tried to main the christian guy#produce? forgot name but HIM I also love his voice and I have one of his priest card so he fricking dances with the priest uniform HAHAHAH#random confession: i don't have a 5 star mama card. orz.#anyways back to regular chaos in the tags omg aira i remember him what a mood and also the phantom oh frick forgot his name but i have his#sanrio card HAHAHHA 😭😭 i haven't leveled it up. i don't play this religiously-#the grind feels so overwhelming and i understand nothing I'm still on the work task 2 thing HAHHAA 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#most importantly i want to mention my redhead son i forgot his name but i love him very much my pretty son and his chaotic older bro i#support them both amen#as for fine. i don't really like most their songs that much...? okay this time I'm not lying like with Undead HAHAHAH I do vibe with#tempest nights for SURE absolute bop my dear blue haired clown is my fave fine member (as you can tell i love my loud girlies HAHAHHA)#most knight songs are bops and I like all the members- specially mister ensemble stRaws musiC (my other red haired son)
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jianqzai · 1 year ago
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shower your affection, let it rain on me
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la-pheacienne · 2 years ago
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me an appalled greek yiayia on the left, boiling with rage in a foreign hostile environment and on the right my non-greek mutuals trying to make me accept the new reality
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oldestking · 2 years ago
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     ❝ He was made for me first. ❞  
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razrbomb · 2 years ago
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MESSAGE. tie.  for your muse to adjust an article of clothing on my muse. ⤷ sent by @primordyalsoul​​
‘ via the system of touch ’ — ( accepting )
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—THE RIBBON ON HER school uniform was out of place. An unremarkable observation, one could even say it was an inoffensive gaffe; but, according to Reze’s “guardians”, a misstep as small as an untied ribbon is a sign of the young girl’s undoing — her appearance is important above all else after all, especially in the presence of her peers. A proper appearance is ubiquitous with an agreeable &. honest student. Appear slovenly, &. suddenly she will receive unwanted attention, her attitude &. disposition sure to follow suit after her unkempt appearance. So she was told.
For once, she did not care. Maintaining a prim &. respectable appearance somehow felt insignificant — unimportant in comparison to almost being late to class; it served no purpose save for the appeasement of her “guardians” — no one else seemed to notice Reze as she easily blended in with her fellow classmates. Each as ordinary as the last. Not a single feature to stand out from the rest.
This was an unexpected response for a foreign transfer student. No one seemed to pay Reze any mind, only passing glances &. low whispers. A gentle smile remains plastered on her face as she sat alone at her assigned desk.
Until the First approached Reze, not saying a word, to tie the bright red ribbon of her school uniform. Perfectly tied in a neat bow, perfectly hoisted at the center of her collarbone. Reze could only respond with a gasp, holding her breath in surprise. Of course; it would be the First to pull a fast one on her —  the specter that disappears without a trace yet commanded attention in her quiet solitude. She was truly an enigma she couldn’t hope to understand.
“Thank you, miss Ayanami,” Reze bowed her head, expressing gratitude customary to the other’s culture. ‘Be agreeable,’ those orders became a mantra that bears repeating; she finally exhales the breath she was holding. Perhaps this isn’t bad for a first day after all.
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artemiseia · 2 years ago
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dutybcrne · 4 months ago
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I like to think Dainsleif and Kaeya hooked up precisely ONCE bc Kae proposed it as a means of stress relief for them both after the fucken Revelation the man had given him and Dain only agreed Just This Once bc why tf not, if anyone can handle the Abyss energy plaguing him AND be less likely to run into him in near future, it ls Kae.
And then just mutually agreeing to never speak of it again. Unless-
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whirlybirbs · 2 months ago
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— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍
summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.
You never did go pro.
Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development. 
The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:
What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?
How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun? 
You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago. 
Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide. 
You see it differently.
Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest. 
You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent. 
You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence. 
Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.
What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time? 
Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown. 
He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care. 
He isn't a villain-in-training. 
None of them are.
It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children. 
So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents. 
You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet. 
After all, you never did go pro.
And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.
He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it. 
It was the beginning of the end, then.
His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class? 
Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.
It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes. 
Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:
Endeavor's wing. 
There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now. 
Very different.
Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."
"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"
"Oh, ho, no way!"
Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again. 
"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"
"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."
It is you.
You look... good. 
Happy. 
You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time. 
For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.
It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto. 
"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"
Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.
Shoto is on the move.
The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.
Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero. 
Shoto Todoroki.
He looks... good. 
Really good.
He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.
For a second, you're seventeen again.
It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.
They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.
There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.
"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever." 
You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk. 
Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher. 
"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"
"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember. 
"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"
"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.
Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing. 
"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"
There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle. 
You're using him as a teaching moment.
Shoto's smile is soft.
You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."
"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"
Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute. 
You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all. 
He hangs back. 
He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto. 
...It's kinda cute.
Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was. 
Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds. 
And he deserves to be happy.
Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.
You hang back. 
Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.
"Hey."
"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."
"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."
His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."
You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.
Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."
"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."
"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are...  good."
Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose. 
And the underdog in question can read a room. 
This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.
"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"
You jump.
How long has he even been there?
"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.
"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"
"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."
Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.
"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"
"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."
Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."
"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."
There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions. 
It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment. 
"Would you like to—"
"Are you free—"
Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.
"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"
You make yourself available.
Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.
Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell. 
From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.
"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?" 
"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy." 
"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.
"Father was the one who suggested it."
"...That old dog." 
Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"
The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.
Shoto winces.
"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.
"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."
Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.
"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.
Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya. 
"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."
"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"
"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"
"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."
"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?" 
"She wants me to call her after—"
"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"
Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.
"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."
Shoto lets out a long breath. 
Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"
"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"
It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."
Easier said than done.
You never did go pro.
Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates. 
You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.
He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful. 
Fuyumi's contribution. 
You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.
The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back. 
It feels like you've been lit on fire.
You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine. 
Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables. 
The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.
You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you. 
For a second, you're seventeen again.
Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A. 
You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks. 
A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass. 
He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy. 
"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."
Graduation day was the last time you saw him. 
Until this morning, that is. 
You smile into your drink. 
"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.
His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.
"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."
Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."
He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."
The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."
You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.
He notices.
Shoto's face feels hot. 
He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school. 
Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.
Now, less so. 
It's adorable. 
Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home. 
While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it. 
Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.
His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you. 
His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss. 
But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen. 
The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you. 
It's sweet.
Really sweet. 
The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit. 
"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.
His hand settles there. 
Your stomach does a flip. 
You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure. 
Keep it together. 
He isn't seventeen.
He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years. 
...Right?
Green light.
His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment. 
The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park. 
It makes your chest ache.
Shoto swallows thickly.
Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.
He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.
What if you don't want to kiss him?
When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?
Why does he feel like he's going to die?
"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly. 
"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."
You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."
"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."
"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"
Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."
"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"
"I'm not being weird—"
"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.
"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."
His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest. 
It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?
Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now. 
"You don't need to be."
Shoto's breath catches at that.
So, he makes his move.
His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment. 
Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.
Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone. 
He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful. 
The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.  
Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together. 
Then, his eyes stick to your lips.
"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. 
You never did go pro.
But, Shoto did. 
It shows. 
Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—
His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory. 
It's better than anything he could have ever imagined. 
And then you whimper. 
It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching. 
You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.
He needs to slow down.
He is not having sex with you in his father's car.
That's shameless.
He needs to slow down.
He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up. 
Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him. 
You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.
It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that? 
He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect. 
"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."
A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person. 
"Are you serious?"
"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.
"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"
Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face. 
"Are you free this weekend?"
"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."
"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"
"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."
Shoto scoffs. 
Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:
"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."
Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.
Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend. 
Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki. 
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sweetnans · 3 months ago
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Katsuki had a sixth sense when you were mad. It was like a struck on his head that evolved in being the biggest clown of all. He actually enjoyed riling you up so when you have your back turned to him with your shoulder stiff, He knows he has a job to do.
"Bad day at work, Princess?" He says using your given nickname when you aren't in the mood.
"Shut up, Katsuki," you say, cutting the onions with precision
Ok, ground control done. You called him Katsuki so you are mad but not extremely mad.
"Oh baby, what did I do?" His sultry voice coming from behind, his hands starting to press onto your lower back.
"You know exactly what you did, now back the hell off. I have a knife in my hand, " you warn.
Katsuki smirks carefully, making sure that you don't see him. If you see him enjoying himself at your expenses, he's done for good.
"Are you mad?" He asks the obvious. His hands going up from your hips to your ribcage right under your breasts, his breath fanning above your neck and cleverage.
"I'm not mad, I'm pissed at you," you murmur, chopping the garlic and the bell peppers.
"Mm baby," he grunts in your ear, spreading kisses at your neck and behind your ear.
"Oh no, uh-uh." You wiggle your body from his grip. "Don't baby me"
You turn around to look at your boyfriend without leaving the knife in the counter table. He raises his hands in defense, quirking his brow at you.
The way your body looks tiny beside him is amusing. You can't stay mad at him for much longer, so you need to focus on the problem and not in his enormous and gorgeous body.
"Drop the knife sweets, you ain't hurting nobody, I'll do anything to make those lines in your face dissappear." he flicks his finger in your forehead and then leaves it there to dissipate your expression lines.
You know he's messing with you right now because he knows he did something wrong, and Katsuki learned a while ago that the solutions when he's the one who's guilty aren't spatting and bickering back at you. The solution is using his charm and handsy manners with you.
"Use your words, baby." The finger that was in your forehead traced a path down to your lips and to your neck, right above your neckline in between the beginning of your boobs.
You sigh because it's better than moaning. He's so annoying.
"Fucking fine" you mutter. "If you're going to drop your gauntlets in the entryway, leave them on the side, I almost fall today because I stumbled on them"
He can't help but cackle at the mental picture of that.
"Hey! It's not funny, you asshole. " You smack his big arm while he dodges you easily to engulf you and embrace you inside his big arms.
"Jeez, so squirmy," he says, keeping you still while he kisses the top of your head. "No more heavy gear on the entryway ma'am," he mumbles against your hair.
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piplup-mafia · 1 year ago
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Summary of week:
Monday - get inducted. Don't get given card that lets me go on site due to not having had a medical done with a day's notice.
Tuesday - get second induction. Sit around in a compound carpark for seven hours waiting for the client to try and sort out getting me a card without the medical. Finally get given the go ahead at 4pm when it is too late to do anything about it.
Wednesday - go on a magical mystery tour to get card sorted. Get card. Go to site to find out that the client has a) not organised any permits to dig and b) never sent through the updated geomatics data for the borehole locations so we can't work. They've had since April to get their shit together.
Several boreholes are now not doable due to being under three tons of earthworks because they put the locations out in April and it is now October. Back tyre is flat due to a screw embedded in it.
Today - sit in compound for three and a half hours until client finally gives up and lets us demob (like they should've done on Tuesday). I can't go home because of the screwed tyre, which is booked in for tomorrow morning (too dangerous to drive on if I'm braving the M1). Boss says I am authorized to lay down in a dark room for the rest of the day and that the client are paying for it
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